by Tasha Black
Someone had tried to clean up the graffiti that covered the word “Field” in Worthington Field with “SUX”, but it was still visible.
West’s dad had donated a bunch of money to the Parks Department after his company had foreclosed on half the houses in the surrounding neighborhood. Naming the field after him was obviously someone’s idea of a joke.
A large crowd nearly filled the bleachers and more people milled around, carrying frozen lemonade and water bottles.
Cordelia didn’t remember ever having seen so many people here before.
“Excuse me, what’s going on here today?” she asked an elderly lady who was holding a soft pretzel.
“It’s the Junior League City Championship,” the woman exclaimed.
The woman looked ready to say more, but just then Cordelia spotted West and Jessica in the space reserved for handicap seating.
West wore Dalton’s fedora, a pair of large sunglasses and a gigantic grin.
“Thank you, I’ve got to go,” Cordelia smiled to the woman and kept moving.
She marched around the bleachers until she reached them.
“What do you think you’re doing,” she hissed, “getting behind the wheel with Jessica? You know you’re not cleared for that.”
“That’s exactly what he tried to tell me,” Jess cut in.
“What?” Cordelia asked.
“Relax. It was my idea,” Jess explained. “He didn’t even want to come. I had to convince him.”
“And how did you manage that?” Cordelia asked.
“She beat me in arm wrestling,” West offered. “I think she might have cheated. She also told me it was super important, for both of us. I’m still not entirely sure why.”
“Sit down. You’re about to find out,” Jess said dryly.
“Next up to bat for the East Glacier Gorillas… Sean Cooper!” a voice announced over the loudspeaker.
Sean Cooper. The name sounded familiar. Cordelia couldn’t place it.
She sat beside West.
He wore an expression of wonder.
A small boy stepped up to the plate. Dreadlocks peeked out of his batting helmet.
“Who is that?” she asked.
“Look at his arm,” West whispered.
Cordelia looked. It was almost unnoticeable, but his left forearm was a slightly different shade than the rest of the arm.
It was the boy from the foundation event, the only one to get fitted with a next-gen prosthetic before the fire at the lab. He was the only person in the world, besides West, to have one.
Cordelia remembered reading about him in the local news. But with all the excitement, and West’s recovery, she hadn’t paid much attention.
Jessica clearly had.
As the boy lifted his bat, West put his hand over Cordelia’s.
Together, they watched as Sean swung hard at the first pitch.
He missed.
“Strike one,” the umpire yelled.
He swung even harder at the second one.
“Strike two.”
Sean stepped away from the plate to collect himself. Then he turned back. His little face was a study in focus.
Cordelia noticed the change in his demeanor, and wondered if he would play this one smarter. He reminded her of West, always swinging for the fences. Sometimes, you had to learn that every time up at bat can’t be a -
Crack!
The whole park turned their heads as one to see the ball disappear through the trees.
By the time Cordelia’s gaze returned to the field, Sean was already rounding second.
“Homerun!” announced the voice on the loudspeaker.
West jumped up, howling with glee.
The whole crowd was on its feet, cheering.
Except for Jess.
Cord stayed seated and enjoyed the hope in her little sister’s eyes.
West turned back to them. He smiled at Cordelia.
Then he lifted Jessica out of her chair like she was a rag doll.
Cordelia knew from too many sore backs taking care of Jess, that her sister was anything but light. She looked on in wonder as West hoisted Jess up onto his shoulders to watch Sean run the bases.
Jess squealed with delight.
The joyful bell-like sound cut through Cordelia’s anger. Jess was laughing like a kid for the first time in… Cordelia didn’t know how long.
She stood and watched her sister watching the boy with the prosthetic arm.
When Sean made it to home base and the crowd quieted, West lowered Jess gently into her chair. He made it look effortless. One-eyed West Worthington was kind of being a hero.
“Want a hot dog?” he asked Jess.
“Sure!” Jess replied.
“I’ll be right back with dogs,” he said, slipping past Cordelia.
“Are you still mad at him?” Jess asked without taking her eyes off the field.
Cordelia tried to decide how to answer.
“It’s hard to be mad at him, huh?” Jess asked knowingly, before she could reply.
“Yeah, it is,” Cordelia admitted.
“Then don’t,” Jess told her. “He’s a pretty good guy. At least he’s honest, which is better than most people.”
Cordelia had to agree with that.
They watched another kid go up to bat. He popped one up, an easy out.
The teams changed sides as West returned, carrying a box with cups of lemonade, hot dogs, pretzels, and a wand of pink cotton candy.
“Awesome!” Jess said, grabbing for the cotton candy.
“Hey, that’s mine,” West teased, ruffling her hair and then handing it over.
He pulled a lemonade out of the box and handed it to Cordelia. Then he put a hot dog in her other hand.
“Just so you know, this does not make up for dinner at Les Cadeaux,” Cordelia scolded him playfully.
He smiled at her warmly. She could feel it to her toes.
“Listen,” he said. “I know you love waiting on me hand and foot, but I’ve got to get back to work. We need to rebuild Med Pros. I finally have something important to do.”
“Are you sure you’re ready?” she asked.
Crack!
West’s right arm flashed out, almost too quickly for Cordelia to see it, snatching a foul ball a few inches before it hit Jess in the face.
Jess held out her hands, mesmerized, and West let the ball drop into them.
“Neat,” Jess murmured.
“I think I am,” West said to Cordelia.
33
West hadn’t exactly been looking forward to working out for the first time since the accident.
On the other hand, he hadn’t seen his buddy, Jason, in months, and though he got a fine workout of his new limbs in physical therapy, his other muscles were feeling cagey.
At least that was as good an excuse as any.
The truth of the matter was that he had a more immediate reason to be here.
The maddening draw of Cordelia’s constant proximity was killing him.
He needed her, to his bones - both the real and the titanium. He wanted nothing more than to claim her, to chase the concern out of those blue eyes and fill them with passion instead.
And he wanted more for himself as well. How many years had he lost to erasing the past with partying?
He couldn’t get them back. But he could give years of a better life to the children from the foundation - to people all over the world - if he could only build Med Pros back up, develop the new patents, source the materials, convince the FDA…
But all that would require late nights, travel, and delicate negotiations.
And he didn’t even have ownership over his own limbs.
No. If he wanted the girl and the new life, he had to earn them. And that started by finding his strength again.
This determination had gotten him to the gym. Jason had opened after hours, so they could train in private.
Now that he was here, however, he realized how much ground he
had lost. He was sweating and sore after warming up and hitting the focus mitts for ten minutes.
Jason was really putting him through his paces. That’s what he’d asked for, but still. His left arm was getting tired. He wasn’t sure if the right one could get tired.
The new limb had been responding well, but he had been going light with it, not wanting to push it too hard. How would it hold up to some real punches?
“Take it up a notch?” Jason asked, as if he had sensed West’s concerns.
“Sure, why not?” West replied.
Jason smacked the mitts together a few times, the hollow slap reverberating around the empty gym, then looked expectantly at West.
Trying not to think too much about how it might feel, West jabbed with his left hand and gave a half-power cross with his new right hand.
The aftershock startled him. It had been a light punch. But it felt good, so he hit it again.
Jab, cross. Jab, cross.
There was no pain with the punches, only the exhilarating feeling of contact.
“Does it hurt?” Jason asked.
West shook his head.
“Then stop babying it,” Jason teased.
West smiled, but he wasn’t going to risk the new limb over a pissing contest. He continued his steady assault.
After a few minutes the rhythm got to to him, as it always did, and he forgot to hold back.
Jab, cross. Jab, cross.
“Hey, man,” Jason gasped. “Hold up, hold up.”
“What’s up?” West asked.
“My arm’s getting sore,” Jason said with a hint of indignation.
“Okay, sorry,” West replied with a satisfied smile.
“It’s okay. Let’s get you on the bag instead.”
Jason strode across the room to the largest heavy bag in the room - a big Muay Thai model.
“Here ya’ go, man, let ‘er rip.”
West took it easy once or twice. When there was no pain, he started hitting it harder. It felt good.
“Hang on, hang on,” Jason yelled. “I’m getting the Punch-o-matic.”
“The what?” West asked.
But Jason was already sprinting across the room.
He came back a moment later with a 2’x2’ mat. He wrapped it carefully around the heavy bag, then attached a wire to it that led to a small display.
He hung the display from the chain at the top of the bag, where they could easily see it.
“What is that?” West asked.
“It’s one of those force sensors, like in Rocky,” Jason said with an expression of glee. “Tells you how hard you’re hitting.”
“Cool,” West said.
“Let’s start off with your left hand, to get a baseline,” Jason said.
West nodded, and hit the bag.
“Sorry,” Jason said. “I didn’t realize my grandmother was working out with us today. You wanna hit it for real?”
West smirked and gave it a hard left hook.
The display blinked, and then flashed a number.
1158
“There we go,” Jason said approvingly.
“What’s it measuring in?” West asked.
“Pounds of force. That’s solid. Like boxer-level solid,” Jason explained.
“What would be really good?” West asked.
“I read that George St. Pierre, when he was UFC champ, clocked in at around 2500. But that’s harder than most fighters can kick,” Jason said with an expression of wonder.
West felt his old drive kicking in. He knew he would regret it in the morning, but he had to give it his best shot now.
He stepped back into his fighting stance, and then hit the bag again with a few more lefts. After a minute he hit his stride again and really let loose.
“Nice,” Jason said, after a particularly good punch.
West stopped to take a look at the display.
1303.
“That’s good,” Jason said. “Let’s try the right.”
“I don’t know if it was really built for this kind of thing,” West hedged.
“You’re not even curious?” Jason asked.
Of course he was curious. He was very fucking curious. He was going to have to find out sooner or later. Better now than when it actually mattered.
West shifted his angle and gave a right hook.
1873
And another.
2347
Jason whistled in admiration.
West hauled back for a big one.
3823
“Damn, son!” Jason crowed. “How’s it feel?”
“Good,” West said, stretching out his arm. “Great, actually.”
“Wanna try some kicks?” Jason asked hopefully.
“Yes I do,” West replied, falling back to line up his right shoulder with the bag.
He swung in for a roundhouse and was glad his right foot pivoted in time to keep up with the swing of his left leg. He’d forgotten how much there was to it.
His shin connected with the bag with a satisfying thud that rattled the chain holding the thing to the rafters.
He fell back and grinned at Jason.
Jason gestured to the bag again.
West gave it a few more runs, then got into it for real.
6000
Jason screamed like a wild man and did a little dance.
7000
“Oh, shit,” Jason said, his dance forgotten.
8000
The steel beam that held the bag shook.
Jason had gone silent.
West stopped kicking to look over at him.
“Switch sides?” he asked.
Jason nodded slowly, wide-eyed.
No longer in the mood to take it easy, West decided to just get it over with and give it all he had.
He dropped back to line up his left shoulder with the bag.
Then he hauled off and unloaded on it with his right leg.
The heavy-duty chains holding the bag snapped.
The bag tore in the middle and tumbled across the room.
The two men watched as it came to rest against the far wall of the gym.
Jason stood for a moment gaping, then galloped across the room to look at the bag.
West moved to join him.
His legs didn’t respond.
He fought to keep his balance, but his legs were rooted to the spot, totally unresponsive.
“Holy shit, man,” Jason exclaimed in a frenzy of delight. “Look at this!”
West carefully tried taking another step toward his friend. His legs responded as usual.
Weird.
It must have been a fluke.
“You are totally buying me a new one,” Jason scolded him, as he examined the bag in awe.
34
To her surprise, Cordelia was enjoying herself, really enjoying herself.
The restaurant was a bit dimly lit for her taste, but the atmosphere was down-to-earth in spite of the fanatical service.
As if on cue, another waiter topped off her already full water glass.
“Thank you,” she murmured.
Peter Watson smiled across the table at her encouragingly. It was a kind smile, Peter had always been kind. But there was something oddly weaselly in the curve of his lips that always threw her off.
“So, what did you want to talk to me about?” he asked.
Oh, boy. This was the hard part, and the reason she couldn’t believe he had insisted on taking her to dinner when she’d only mentioned meeting for a cup of coffee and a quick chat.
“It’s West,” she began.
She could tell by Peter’s tight-lipped smile that this was going to be a tough sell.
He nodded for her to continue.
“I know he was awful to you. He was awful to me, too. But he could really use a friend right now,” she said softly.
“West could use a lot of things,” Peter replied. “But I’m not one of them. I’m done being his punch line.”
“I think he’
s changed,” Cordelia ventured.
Peter’s mouth twisted into a smirk, but then he seemed to catch her horrified expression. He leaned in to address her earnestly.
“Listen, Cordelia, I’ve known West for most of my life. Do you know how many times I thought the exact same thing?”
“But ever since the accident—” she began.
“—Or since his dad went to jail, or since his mom left, or since he broke up with Gwen, or they didn’t have the color Ferrari he wanted at the dealership. That’s West. He has these big, life changing experiences. He sees the error of his ways, vows to turn over a new leaf. Until he’s on to the next thing, then it’s back to business as usual, which means shitting on everyone that cares about him.”
Who the hell is Gwen?
Cordelia instructed herself firmly to focus.
“Maybe this time is different,” Cordelia said slowly.
And she believed it too. West was behaving differently in so many ways. He seemed genuinely driven to use his company to help others. And there was the gentle way he had with Jess. And the way he seemed to feel about Cordelia.
It was real. Wasn’t it?
Peter watched her work through it, his expression sympathetic.
“It’s never different, Cordelia. And if you’re not careful, he’ll use you up, just like the companies he dissolves. Have you ever seen him when he gets into it?”
“Yes,” Cordelia replied flatly, remembering his intensity when he had started picking apart Med Pros. “He has a fierce determination when it comes to business.”
“Well, I’ve got some news for you,” he said. “You’re business.”
“What do you mean?”
“Is he getting something from you?” Peter asked.
He is living in my house, working through his recovery.
Cordelia paused to gather herself.
“You don’t have to answer that,” Peter said. “We both know he is, or you wouldn’t be here. What do you think is going to happen when he gets what he needs from you?”
“He wouldn’t,” Cordelia said. But she was starting to feel less than certain.
