by Mercy Levy
Billie rode up the elevator feeling jittery with anticipation. His hand throbbed. The pain was beginning to cloud his thoughts. Still, just thinking about Joy made him able to turn the volume down a little on the pain and focus. He felt his body react to the thought of her and immediately regretted his focus. He mentally shook himself. She was just another woman. A beautiful one, to be sure. Brainier than the girls he was used to lately. And she cared. She cared about her kids, she cared about his well-being. That was harder to find in his circle of friends. The elevator doors opened and a short guy in a visor, who smelled strongly of curry, stepped to one side to let him out. Billie licked his lips and adjusted his clothes one last time and knocked on the door. He saw the light behind the peephole go dark for a split second before the locks clacked and Joy swung the door open, ushering him inside. He let her take the wine from him and help him slide his light jacket off over the thick bandages wrapped around his right hand.
“Do you want to talk about how that happened?” Joy queried, as she plied the bottle opener to the cork and deftly pulled it out. She set the wine aside to breathe and pulled two plates out of the cupboard. Billie sat in a tall barstool and watched her plate fragrant Indian yellow curry and naan bread for each of them.
“I don’t really think we need to open with my stupidity.” Billie groused, cradling the offending appendage in the crook of his left arm. “Let’s just leave it at, ‘turning a blind eye never did anyone any good’.” Joy glanced up at him, then added some vegetables to the plates and slid one in front of him. She poured wine for them both, and leaned against the counter, standing to eat.
“Well, I’m glad you’re here now.” She said, pulling the soft naan bread apart and scooping some of the curried meat onto a chunk. She neatly tucked the chicken and bread into her mouth and watched him struggle to do the same with only his left hand.
“Hold on,” she chuckled, “Let me help.” She reached over the marble countertop and pulled a small corner off the bread and dipped it in the curry-sauce, then slid it between his parted lips. “Is that better?” She murmured, pulling another piece off the bread.
“I’m not really sure.” Billie answered honestly. “For a second I forgot what came next.” He licked his lips. “You should try again.” Joy smiled at him and scooped up a little food on some bread and placed it gently in his mouth.
“Are you going to be okay?” She asked, motioning towards his injury before taking a bite of her own food.” He shrugged his shoulders.
“I guess I really don’t know.” He replied. He had a faraway look in his eyes, and Joy could tell he wasn’t talking about his hurt hand. He had the appearance of a man at a crossroads, where no path ahead of him looked promising, but he had an inevitable choice to make. Joy fed him another piece of food as he watched her, then another. She met his eyes, and it looked like he was laughing at her.
“What, if you don’t want my help…” She said, irritated.
“I was just going to ask for fork, but Indian food really should be eaten with your fingers.” He smiled at her, a grin that made his eyes laugh along too and dimpled his cheeks. Joy glared at him and handed him a fork. “Oh now, don’t be like that.” He complained. “I like you feeding me.” Joy shook her head and picked at her own food, taking long sips of wine between bites. They ate the rest of their meal in silence, watching each other over the counter top as they enjoyed the silence together.
After they were finished, Joy moved the bottle of wine to the coffee table and sat on the overstuffed white sofa. Billie sat on the opposite end and smiled at her when she pulled her feet up and tucked them under her. She was the same as she had always been, young and lithe and graceful, completely unself-conscious and unaware how lovely she really was. Billie reached for the bottle of wine to top off his glass, and Joy jumped up to fill it for him. As she set the bottle back down, he grabbed her arm and pulled her closer to him.
“Remember how we used to curl up on the bed to listen to music?” He asked her, tucking her into his side and carefully resting his hurt hand on her shoulder.
“I remember.” Joy answered, trying to keep her voice casual, even though her heart was racing. “I remember that even though we weren’t doing anything, my father always thought we were up to no good.” She looked up at him, his face irresistibly close. He looked down into her face, caramel skin framing, and large, innocent brown eyes. She wasn’t wearing makeup, her hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and her skin was soft and the air stirred with a delicate floral scent when she moved. He looked down at her and every other woman disappeared from mind and memory.
Joy looked down at her hands, lying closed in her lap. Billie lifted her chin and brushed his lips across hers. She gasped, and he deepened the kiss into her open mouth, exploring with his lips and tongue. She turned to face him and he shifted her onto his lap so she was straddling him. He slid his hand behind her neck and pulled her in tight, savoring the wine on her tongue as she responded to his kisses with increasing intensity. He braced against her with his bandaged right hand, and slid his left hand down her throat, resting his palm just over her breast. Joy pulled back and stared at him for a long, silent moment.
He moved his hand away from her body, preparing to be shut down. Instead, she pulled the t-shirt off over her head, and placed his hand on the swell of her breast. He moved his hand off of her hot skin and slid it around her back, lifting her and gently kissing the bare skin above her bra over and over until he heard her strangled pleas for more.
“Oh honey,” Billie panted, “I have to stop. I can’t do this. It’s not right.” He rested his forehead on her bare skin and felt her heart pound against him. “I’m in a bad way right now, with you, I need to be all the way here, okay?” He smiled at her. “You’re not a one-off kind of girl, Shorty.” Joy’s face brightened from dismay to sweet happiness.
“You just trying to get out with your other limbs intact, Payne?” She asked him, looking at him through narrowed eyes. Billie shook his head and pulled her down onto his lap hard.
“Does it feel like I’m looking to get away at all?” He snorted at her, grinding her against him. She slid off his lap and sat right next to him with her legs across his. She pulled his right arm off the back of the sofa and sat with it in her lap, gently stroking her fingers over the bandages and splints.
“Is this part of what’s going wrong with you?” She asked him, not meeting his eyes, just looking at his hand cradled in hers.
“I got myself into a bad situation.” Billie answered, watching her cautiously. “I ignored bad shit that was happening, because I figured if I wasn’t doing it, it wasn’t my problem.” He shrugged his shoulders. “I know that’s not what you want to hear from me, and it’s not what you would’ve done. Not what your dad would’ve done.” He continued. “I told you I wasn’t a hero.” He waited for a second, but Joy just sat there quietly, waiting for him to keep talking. “I have to throw a fight for Slade.” Billie finally choked out the words. “Not all my wins were clean. I pretended that when those guys went down, it was because they were weak, not because someone told them too. I wanted the wins so bad I didn’t say anything.” Billie felt his throat get tight, and he struggled to breathe normally. Joy lifted his hand up a little and bent forward to kiss it gently. She placed the bandaged appendage against her cheek and looked him in the eyes.
“You can’t do it.” She said. “You won’t be the same if you do.” She saw the defeat in his eyes. “You can’t let him do this to you.” She repeated. She remembered the day her dad quit fighting. He’d made the choice to stand tall, and not cower before men like Slade and his ilk. “Every fighter has to make the choice someday, one way or another. Stand for something, or be nothing.” Joy held his hand in hers again and repeated herself. “Stand for something or be nothing. That’s what my dada told us, remember?” Billie nodded his head, he knew she was right.
“If I don’t do what he says, he’ll go to the papers that I’m the one who paid
those guys to take a fall.” He lifted his broken hand. “And he threatened a whole lot more of this.” He snorted angrily. “I’m tough, but so are all the guys working for him. And you know I don’t get to fight them one on one.” He sighed and rubbed his good hand over his mouth, thinking. “I understand if you don’t want me to speak to your kids tomorrow.” He offered. Joy smacked him on the chest.
“Of course you’re talking to them.” She replied. “What did I just finish saying?” She glared at him. “I know you’re not nothing, so I expect you to stand up for yourself. You’re a great fighter, I’ve seen it. Every fighter has to deal with rumors and bad press about dirty fights at some point, suck it up and deal with it.” Billie’s eyes widened at her words and tone. “Don’t look at me like that, ‘Billie the pain’,” She demanded. Billie snorted at the old nickname she’d had for him when they were fighting as kids. He raised his hands in surrender.
“Okay, I’ll talk to the kids in the morning, and I’ll face Slade and his goons in the afternoon, and you can visit me in the hospital tomorrow night.” He grimaced. “And how I wish that was a joke.” He sighed. Joy snuggled into his chest without answering. Her heart sank at the very real possibility that Billie was right about all of it. She hugged him tight around his chest and listened to the beat of his heart. It was a good heart, strong, and sound. She hoped it would be enough for him to pass this trial, and not give into his fear and need for the next big win.
4.
Joy insisted that Billie spend the night, and he woke up strangely refreshed after his night of drinking and confessions, his right arm over the still sleeping woman lying with her back pressed into his stomach. He tried to pull away from her without waking her, but the moment he lifted his arm off of her, she rolled over and smiled at him.
“I’ve been awake a while.” She admitted, as she snuggled into his chest for a morning hug. “I just didn’t want to disturb you.” She kissed him quickly on the cheek and slid out of the far side of the bed, dashing toward the bathroom. He laughed to himself as his own body let him know that he had, indeed, had a large quantity of wine the night before. He got out of bed and adjusted the covers up over the pillows, then made his way to the guest bath for his toiletries, rather than wait for Joy to be finished.
Feeling relieved, but famished, Billie checked out the sad state of the refrigerator and cupboards, then settled for the sad fact that they would have to stop somewhere for breakfast before he went to the school with her. He thought about it nervously. What could he possibly have to say to kids about being honest and standing for the truth, when his throbbing hand constantly reminded him that he was about to do the opposite? He knew what Joy wanted from him, but his choice wasn’t that cut and dried. He knew if he threw a fight, she’d never accept him, but if he didn’t, he’d be so broken by Slade’s goons that he couldn’t see anyone wanting to be with him.
He wished for whiskey, or even coffee, but settled for getting dressed and waiting for Joy to be ready to leave. Thankfully, she was low-maintenance and was showered, dressed, and ready to go in short order. The drive back to Billie’s house was silent. Joy knew he was worried about Slade, and Billie was afraid to start a conversation that would lead to Joy asking him what he was going to do. They walked up the flight of stairs to his second story flat, and he let her wander around and check the place out while he showered and changed. She looked around at the high-end furnishings and wondered if he would be able to let go of the material things he’d gained, to keep his soul intact.
He rejoined her quickly, carrying bandages in one hand. Joy quickly and efficiently changed the dressing on his hand, marveling at the bruising and scrapes on his knuckles, darkened to a deep purple and black around the base of each finger splint.
“That doesn’t look like just a break, Billie.” She murmured as she examined the damage. “I thought you said you punched a locker.” He shifted awkwardly in his seat.
“I said I broke my hand punching a locker.” He reminded her. “That was after Slade sic’d his guys on me for an impromptu three on one pick-up match at the gym.” He shrugged. “I told him to…well, I told him no, in words I won’t repeat to you.” She raised an eyebrow in response, and he cleared his throat. “His guys met me in the locker room as I was changing to work out.” She released his hand, clean and neatly bandaged.
“You ready to make the world a better place?” She asked him, her coat slung over one arm. He nodded a nervous “yes”, and she tossed him his keys. They stopped for coffee once he found out that caffeine was the only breakfast she was interested in, and headed to the school. They arrived late enough that the kids were already gathered in the auditorium, listening to the band squeak, squawk, and wail out a simplified rendition of a song so badly butchered he couldn’t even name it. The teacher standing in the wings told them that Billie could speak next, if he wanted. He didn’t, but silently nodded his agreement and waited for the musical torture to end.
Joy peeked out at the audience, ecstatic to see Caleb near the front. In the dimmed light of the auditorium, she couldn’t tell if he was still bruised, but she was so excited just to see him, that she pulled Billie over and showed him the young boy from the edge of the curtains.
“Do you see that boy with the very straight, dark hair, sitting two seats in on the third row?” She asked him as he peered out at the kids. He nodded to her and looked at with questioning eyes. “His name is Caleb.” She answered the unasked question. “He’s a good kid, in a real bad situation.” She continued. “I think his foster father might even be hitting him.” She rubbed Billie’s arm like a worry stone. “Kids like him need to hear that if you don’t give up, you can get out.” She finished, watching Billie’s face.
“I get you, Shorty.” Billie replied. He looked down at the slight figure of the boy Joy was so worried for, and saw himself at a much younger age. He understood what she meant when she asked him to stand for something. Just as her father had stood up for him and kids like him. He let the curtain fall back into place. “I got you, don’t worry.” He said to her with a wry smile. The band students filed past them as they emptied the stage, and soon Billie had no choice but to face the throng of students already shifting aimlessly in their seats. He accepted the mic the teacher handed him and strode out onto the stage, heart pounding like he was about to begin a match. He grinned at the kids and took a deep breath.
“Some of you might know who I am…” He began, only to be drowned out by cheers. Suddenly, his nervousness was gone, replaced by the thrill of the audience. He let the kids chant his name for almost a full minute, then raised his hands to signal their silence. Almost immediately, the chants died down and the students and teachers alike waited for him to speak.
“So, some of you might know who I am,” He began again, “but for those who don’t, my name is Billie Payne, and I’m a fighter.” A few scattered cheers went up, and quickly died off as he waited to speak again. Billie let the energy carry him, and before he knew it, he’d been speaking for fifteen minutes, and Joy was signaling him from the wings. He barely remembered anything he’d said, and felt high and shaky when he waved one last time and walked back offstage.
“Did I do all right?” He asked anxiously, as Joy stared at him like he had suddenly sprouted a second head.
“Are you kidding?” She gasped at him. “I thought you said you weren’t sure you could do it, and you killed it!” She hugged him tight. “I hope you really meant what you said about not giving in to the rumors and holding your ground.” Billie froze, startled. Shit, he thought, had he said that? He considered it. It felt good, it made him feel lighter. Even while his hand throbbed and he felt in his pocket for more pain meds, he felt like everything was going to be okay. He looked at Joy. “What?” She asked, self-consciously pushing her hair behind her ear.
“Do you make everyone be better than they are, or is it just me?” He asked her, enjoying the color that rose to her cheeks.
“I didn’t make you anythin
g you weren’t already.” She replied, rolling her eyes. “You are who you are, and from what I’ve seen, you are what you always were.” He pulled her in under one arm.
“I guess I’m gonna have to be.” He released her. “But I still have something I have to do. And I need to go alone.” She frowned at him.
“I don’t want you to go alone.” She replied. “That’s just asking for more trouble.” He shook his head in disagreement.
“No, Shorty,” he answered, “These guys aren’t the kind that will stop short of hurting a girl. I need you out of sight.” Joy’s eyes filled with tears, but she nodded.
“Just don’t get hurt, okay?” She pleaded with him, knowing anything he said now would probably be a lie. He simply nodded and touched her cheek, then winked and walked away, leaving her worried and hating herself for encouraging him to fight his manager.
Caleb found her as she watched Billie walk away. He stood quietly for a minute, then touched her gently on the arm, jerking back from her as she jumped in surprise.
“Caleb!” Joy exclaimed, giving him a quick one-armed hug. She leaned back and looked at his face. “Oh, Caleb, what happened to you?” She murmured as she examined his fading bruises. “Please talk to me, so I can help you.” Caleb shrugged and smiled at her.
“I’m okay, Miss Joy.” He replied, shoving his hands into his pockets. “My foster dad, he talks rough, but he’s okay. He just worries about strangers, that’s all.” Joy gaped in disbelief.
“But Caleb, your face…” She managed to get out, finding herself speechless. Caleb pulled his hands out of his pockets and showed Joy his scuffed and scabbed-over knuckles.
