Walking Disaster

by Jamie McGuire

  We all chatted and laughed, waiting in line for trays of God-knows-what, and then sat at our regular seats. Shepley comforted America while I amused Brazil with the story of how Abby hustled my brothers on poker night. My phone buzzed, but it didn't register until Abby pointed it out.

  "Trav?" she said.

  I turned, tuning everything out the second she said my name.

  "You might want to get that."

  I looked down at the cell phone and sighed. "Or not." Part of me needed that last fight, but part of me knew it would be time spent away from Abby. After she was attacked at the last one, there was no way I could concentrate if she came to this one without protection--and I couldn't concentrate fully if she wasn't there, either. The last fight of the year was always the biggest, and I couldn't afford to have my head somewhere else.

  "It could be important," Abby said.

  I held the phone to my ear. "What's up, Adam?"

  "Mad Dog! You're gonna love this. It's done. I got John fucking Savage! He's planning to go pro next year! Chance of a goddamn lifetime, my friend! Five figures. You'll be set for a while."

  "This is my last fight, Adam."

  The other end of the line was quiet. I could imagine his jaw working under the skin. More than once he'd accused Abby of threatening his cash flow, and I was sure he would blame her for my decision.

  "Are you bringing her?"

  "I'm not sure yet."

  "You should probably leave her at home, Travis. If this really is your last fight, I need you all in."

  "I won't go without her, and Shep's leaving town."

  "No fucking around this time. I mean it."

  "I know. I heard you."

  Adam sighed. "If you really won't consider leaving her at home, maybe you could call Trent. That would probably set your mind at ease, and then you could concentrate."

  "Hmmm . . . that's not a bad idea, actually," I said.

  "Think about it. Let me know," Adam said, hanging up the phone.

  Abby stared at me expectantly.

  "It's enough to pay rent for the next eight months. Adam got John Savage. He's trying to go pro."

  "I haven't seen him fight, have you?" Shepley asked, leaning forward.

  "Just once in Springfield. He's good."

  "Not good enough," Abby said. I leaned in and kissed her forehead. "I can stay home, Trav."

  "No," I said, shaking my head.

  "I don't want you to get hit like you did last time because you're worried about me."

  "No, Pidge."

  "I'll wait up for you." She smiled, but it was obviously forced, making me even more determined.

  "I'm going to ask Trent to come. He's the only one I'd trust so I can concentrate on the fight."

  "Thanks a lot, asshole," Shepley grumbled.

  "Hey, you had your chance," I said, only half teasing.

  Shepley's mouth pulled to the side. He could pout all day long, but he dropped the ball at Hellerton, letting Abby get away from him like that. If he'd been paying attention, it would have never happened, and we all knew it.

  America and Abby swore that it was a fluke accident, but I didn't hesitate to tell him otherwise. He was watching the fight instead of Abby, and if Ethan had finished what he started, I would be in jail for murder. Shepley apologized to Abby for weeks, but then I took him aside and told him to knock it off. None of us liked reliving it every time his guilt got the best of him.

  "Shepley, it wasn't your fault. You pulled him off of me, remember?" Abby said, reaching around America to pat his arm. She turned to me. "When is the fight?"

  "Next week sometime. I want you there. I need you there." If I'd been any less of an asshole, I would have insisted she stay home, but it had already been established on numerous occasions that I wasn't. My need to be around Abby Abernathy overruled any rational thought. It had always been that way, and I imagined it always would.

  Abby smiled, resting her chin on my shoulder. "Then I'll be there."

  I dropped Abby off at her final class, kissing her goodbye before meeting Shepley and America at Morgan. The campus was quickly emptying, and I finally resorted to smoking my cigarettes around the corner so I wouldn't have to dodge a coed carrying luggage or laundry every three minutes.

  I pulled my cell phone from my pocket and dialed Trenton's number, listening to each ring with increasing impatience. Finally, his voice mail picked up. "Trent, it's me. I need a huge favor. It's time sensitive, so call me back ASAP. Later."

  I hung up, seeing Shepley and America pushing through the glass doors of the dorm, each holding two of her bags.

  "Looks like you're all set."

  Shepley smiled; America didn't.

  "They're really not that bad," I said, nudging her with my elbow. Her scowl didn't disappear.

  "She'll feel better once we get there," Shepley said, more to encourage his girlfriend than to convince me.

  I helped them pack the trunk of the Charger, and then we waited for Abby to finish her midterm and find us in the parking lot.

  I pulled my beanie over my ears and lit a cigarette, waiting. Trenton still hadn't called back, and I was getting nervous that he wouldn't be able to come. The twins were halfway to Colorado with some of their fellow Sig Tau alums, and I didn't trust anyone else to keep Abby safe.

  I took several drags, working out the different scenarios in my head if Trenton didn't call back, and how fucking selfish I was being, requiring her presence in a place where I knew she could be in danger. Complete concentration was needed to win this fight, and that depended on two things: Abby's presence, and Abby's safety. If Trenton had to work or didn't call me back, I'd have to call off the fight. That was the only option.

  I took a final drag off the last cigarette in the pack. I'd been so wrapped up in worry, I hadn't realized how much I'd been smoking. I looked down at my watch. Abby should have gotten out of class by now.

  Just then, she called my name.

  "Hey, Pigeon."

  "Everything okay?"

  "It is now," I said, pulling her against me.

  "Okay. What's up?"

  "Just have a lot on my mind." I sighed. When she made it known that my answer wasn't good enough, I continued, "This week, the fight, you being there . . ."

  "I told you I would stay home."

  "I need you there, Pidge," I said, flicking my cigarette to the ground. I watched it disappear into a deep footprint in the snow, and then took Abby's hand.

  "Have you talked to Trent?" she asked.

  "I'm waiting for him to call me back."

  America rolled down the window and poked her head out of Shepley's Charger. "Hurry up! It's freaking freezing!"

  I smiled and opened the door for Abby. While I stared out the window Shepley and America repeated the same conversation they'd had since she learned she would be meeting his parents. Just as we pulled into the parking lot of the apartment, my phone rang.

  "What the fuck, Trent?" I asked, seeing his name on the display. "I called you hours ago. It's not like you're productive at work or anything."

  "It hasn't been hours, and I'm sorry. I've been at Cami's."

  "Whatever. Listen, I need a favor. I've got a fight next week. I need you to go. I don't know when it is, but when I call you, I need you there within an hour. Can you do that for me?"

  "I don't know. What's in it for me?" he teased.

  "Can you do it or not, douche bag? Because I need you to keep an eye on Pigeon. Some asshole put his hands on her last time and--"

  "What the fuck, Chuck? Are you serious?"

  "Yeah."

  "Who did it?" Trenton asked, his tone immediately grave.

  "I took care of it. So if I call . . . ?"

  "Yeah. I mean, of course, little brother, I'll be there."

  "Thanks, Trent." I clicked my phone shut and leaned my head against the back of the seat.

  "Relieved?" Shepley asked, watching my anxiety unwind inside the rearview mirror.

  "Yeah. I wa
sn't sure how I was going to do it without him there."

  "I told you--" Abby began, but I stopped her.

  "Pidge, how many times do I have to say it?"

  She shook her head at my impatient tone. "I don't understand it, though. You didn't need me there before."

  I turned to her, my finger touching her cheek. She clearly had no idea how deep my feelings ran. "I didn't know you before. When you're not there, I can't concentrate. I'm wondering where you are, what you're doing . . . if you're there and I can see you, I can focus. I know it's crazy, but that's how it is."

  "And crazy is exactly the way I like it," she said, leaning up to kiss my lips.

  "Obviously," America muttered under breath.

  Before the sun set too far into the horizon, America and Shepley took the Charger south.

  Abby shook the Honda keys and smiled. "At least we don't have to freeze on the Harley."

  I smiled.

  Abby shrugged. "Maybe we should, I don't know, consider getting our own car?"

  "After the fight, we'll go shopping for one. How about that?"

  She jumped up, wrapped her arms and legs around me, and covered my cheeks, mouth, and neck with kisses.

  I walked up the stairs to the apartment, making a beeline to the bedroom.

  Abby and I spent the next four days snuggled up either in the bed, or on the couch with Toto, watching old movies. It made waiting on Adam's call tolerable.

  Finally on Tuesday night, between Boy Meets World reruns, Adam's number lit up my cell phone's display. My eyes met Abby's.

  "Yeah?"

  "Mad Dog. You're up in an hour. Keaton Hall. Bring your game face, sweet pea, he's Hulk Hogan on steroids."

  "See you then." I stood up, bringing Abby with me. "Change into something warm, baby. Keaton is an old building, and they've probably shut off the heaters for break."

  Abby did a little happy dance before jogging down the hall to the bedroom. The corners of my mouth turned up. What other woman would be that excited to see her boyfriend trade punches? No wonder I fell in love with her.

  I slipped on a hoodie and my boots, and waited for Abby by the front door.

  "Coming!" she called, strutting around the corner. She gripped each side of the door jamb and shifted her hip to the side.

  "What do you think?" she asked, pouting her lips attempting to imitate a model . . . or a duck. I wasn't sure which.

  My eyes traveled down from her long, heather gray cardigan, white T, and tight blue jeans tucked inside tall black boots. She meant it as a joke, thinking she looked frumpy, but my breath caught at the sight of her.

  Her body relaxed, and she let her hands fall to her thighs. "That bad?"

  "No," I said, trying to find the words. "Not bad at all."

  With one hand I opened the door, and held out the other. With a bounce in her walk, Abby crossed the living room and intertwined her fingers in mine.

  The Honda was slow to start, but we made it to Keaton in plenty of time. I called Trenton on the way, hoping to God he would come through for me like he'd promised.

  Abby stood with me, waiting for Trenton beside the tall, seasoned north wall of Keaton. The east and west walls were protected with steel scaffolding. The university was preparing to give their oldest building a face-lift.

  I lit a cigarette and took a drag, blowing smoke out of my nose.

  Abby squeezed my hand. "He'll be here."

  People were already filtering in from every direction, parking blocks away in different lots. The closer it came to fight time, the more people could be seen scaling the south fire escape.

  I frowned. The building choice hadn't been thought through. The last fight of the year always brought the more serious punters out, and they always came early so they could place their bets and secure a good view. The size of the pot also brought out the less experienced spectators, who showed up late and ended up flattened against the walls. This year's was exceptionally large. Keaton was on the outskirts of campus, which was preferred, but its basement was one of the smallest.

  "This is one of the worst ideas Adam has had yet," I grumbled.

  "It's too late to change it now," Abby said, her eyes traveling up the concrete blocks.

  I popped open my cell and shot a sixth text to Trenton, and then snapped the phone shut.

  "You seem nervous tonight," Abby whispered.

  "I'll feel better when Trent gets his punk ass here."

  "I'm here, you whiny little girl," Trenton said in a hushed voice.

  I sighed with relief.

  "How ya been, sis?" Trenton asked Abby, hugging her with one arm, and then playfully shoving me with the other.

  "I'm good, Trent," she said, amused.

  I led Abby by the hand to the back of the building, glancing back to Trenton as we walked. "If the cops show and we get separated, meet me at Morgan Hall, okay?"

  Trenton nodded just as I stopped next to an open window low to the ground.

  "You're fuckin' with me," Trenton said, staring down at the window. "Abby's barely gonna fit through there."

  "You'll fit," I assured him, crawling down into the blackness inside.

  Now accustomed to breaking and entering, Abby didn't hesitate to crawl on the frozen ground and inch backward through the window, falling into my arms.

  We waited for a few moments, and then Trenton grunted as he pushed off the ledge and landed on the floor, nearly losing his balance as his feet hit the concrete.

  "You're lucky I love Abby. I wouldn't do this shit for just anyone," he grumbled, brushing off his shirt.

  I jumped up, shutting the window with one quick pull. "This way," I said, leading Abby and my brother through the dark.

  We weaved farther into the building until a small flicker of light could be seen ahead. A low hum of voices came from the same point, as our three pairs of feet grated against the loose concrete on the floor.

  Trenton sighed after the third turn. "We're never gonna find our way out of here."

  "Just follow me out. It'll be fine," I said.

  It was easy to discern how close we were by the growing volume of the crowd waiting in the main room. Adam's voice came over the bullhorn, yelling names and numbers.

  I stopped in the next room, glancing around at the desks and chairs covered in white sheets. A sick feeling came over me. The venue was a mistake. Almost as big as bringing Abby somewhere so dangerous. If a fight broke out, Abby would be protected by Trenton, but the usual safe haven away from the crowd was full of furniture and equipment.

  "So how you're gonna play this?" Trenton asked.

  "Divide and conquer."

  "Divide what?"

  "His head from the rest of his body."

  Trenton nodded quickly. "Good plan."

  "Pigeon, I want you to stand by this doorway, okay?" Abby looked into the main room, her eyes wide as she took in the chaos. "Pigeon, did you hear me?" I asked, touching her arm.

  "What?" she asked, blinking.

  "I want you to stand by this doorway, okay? Keep hold of Trent's arm at all times."

  "I won't move," she said. "I promise."

  I smiled at her sweet, overwhelmed expression. "Now you look nervous."

  She glanced to the doorway, and then back at me. "I don't have a good feeling about this, Trav. Not about the fight, but . . . something. This place gives me the creeps."

  I couldn't disagree. "We won't be here long."

  Adam's voice came over the horn, starting his opening announcement.

  I touched each side of Abby's face, and looked into her eyes. "I love you." A ghost of a smile touched her lips, and I pulled her into me, holding her tight against my chest.

  ". . . so don't use your hos to scam the system, boys!" Adam's voice said, amplified by the bullhorn.

  I hooked Abby's arm around Trenton's. "Don't take your eyes off her. Even for a second. This place'll get crazy once the fight starts."

  ". . . so let's welcome tonight's contender--JOHN SAVAGE!"r />
  "I'll guard her with my life, little brother," Trenton said, lightly tugging Abby's arm for emphasis. "Now go kick this guy's ass and let's get out of here."

  "Shake in your boots, boys, and drop your panties, ladies! I give you: TRAVIS 'MAD DOG' MADDOX!"

  At Adam's introduction, I stepped into the main room. Arms flailed, and the voices of many boomed in unison. The sea of people parted before me, and I slowly made my way out to the Circle.

  The room was lit only with lanterns hanging from the ceiling. Still trying to keep a low profile from nearly getting busted before, Adam didn't want bright lights tipping anyone off.

  Even in the dim light, I could see the severity of John Savage's expression. He towered over me, his eyes wild and eager. He bounced from one foot to the other a few times, and then stood still, glowering down at me with murder in mind.

  Savage was no amateur, but there were only three ways to win: knockout, submission, and decision. The reason the advantage had always been in my favor was because I had four brothers, who all fought different ways.

  If John Savage fought like Trenton, he would rely on offense, speed, and surprise attacks--which I had trained for my entire life.

  If he fought like the twins--with combinations of punches and kicks, or switching up his tactics to land blows--I had trained for that all my life.

  Thomas was the most lethal. If Savage fought smart, and he probably did, judging by the way he was sizing me up, he would fight with the perfect balance of strength, speed, and strategy. I'd only traded blows with my eldest brother a handful of times in my life, but by the time I was sixteen, he couldn't defeat me without help from my other brothers.

  No matter how hard John Savage had trained, or what advantage he thought he had, I had fought him before. I had fought everyone that could fight worth a damn before . . . and I had won.

  Adam blew the bullhorn, and Savage took a short step back before powering a blow in my direction.

  I dodged. He would definitely fight like Thomas.

  Savage got too close, so I pulled up my boot and launched him back into the crowd. They pushed him back into the circle, and he approached me with renewed purpose.

  He landed two punches in a row, and then I grabbed him, shoving his face down into my knee. John stumbled backward, got his wits about him, and then charged again.

  I swung and missed, and then he tried to wrap his arms around my middle. Already sweaty, it was easy to slip from his grasp. When I turned, his elbow met with my jaw, and the world stopped for less than a second before I shook it off and answered him with a left and right hook, landing one right after the other.