Against the Ropes

by Sarah Castille

  away. Misery, who turns out to be the CEO of a major tech company,

  is handcuffed and thrown in the back of a police car. Max and Jake are

  questioned about the fight.

  “Hey, it’s my favorite EMT.” Ray drops to his knees beside me and

  pulls out his paramedic kit. “You’re looking all banged up.”

  “I’ll be fine.”

  “She was hit on the head and lost consciousness,” Amanda inter-

  jects. “The big guy also kicked her stomach and back when she was

  down.” I glare at her. I already told her I didn’t want anyone to know.

  I can take care of myself.

  Ray raises his eyebrows and feels along my scalp until I wince.

  “How are you feeling? Any symptoms of a concussion? Maybe we

  should take you to the hospital and get you checked out.”

  “I just want to go home.”

  Ray takes me to the ambulance and does a thorough check of all

  my bruises. He cleans up my face and gives me some ice. “I’ll let you

  go home if you have someone to stay with you for the next twenty-four

  hours. You know the drill.”

  “Sure. I’ll work something out.”

  He packs up his kit and hesitates. “Listen, my offer still stands. If

  you need any help or advice about qualifying as a paramedic, give me

  a call.”

  By the time he leaves, the street is empty. The bad guys are in jail.

  I haven’t spoken to Max since the incident in the shed, although he

  has never been far away. I wander back to the porch and huddle in a

  deck chair.

  Jake squats beside me, and clasps my hand. “I’m going to take you

  home, and Max will take Amanda on his motorcycle.”

  “Sure.” Numb and emotionally drained, I don’t need to ask why.

  “He’s not thinking clearly right now,” Jake offers. “And it’s prob-

  ably best for you, too. I think you need some time to come to terms with

  the fact he is capable of a level of violence you can’t tolerate.”

  I shrug.

  Jake sighs. “I’ll tell him to bring the bike to the front to pick

  up Amanda.”

  “Wait.” I grab his arm. “Aren’t you going to talk to her? You are the

  reason we came here tonight.”

  Jake presses his lips together and shakes his head. “Not going

  to happen.”

  “Why?”

  “She’s not the only one hurting.”

  Two hours later, I toss and turn in my bed. I can’t sleep. My head aches.

  My jaw throbs. My brain is sore. I briefly consider joining Jake in front

  of the television, but I don’t feel like talking. I wish Amanda hadn’t told

  him I wasn’t supposed to be left alone.

  Where is Max? Did he stay at Amanda’s house? Images of them

  together appear unbidden in my mind, and I push them away. Amanda

  would never hurt me. I trust her implicitly. But what about Max? Do I

  trust him? Would he ever turn his violence on me?

  I groan and turn to my side. A deep longing claws at my gut. A

  longing stronger than fear.

  The soft click of the bedroom door startles me. I look over my

  shoulder and my heart leaps. “Max!”

  He puts his finger to his lips. His leathers creak as he eases himself

  into the armchair in the corner of the room. He sits back and the

  shadows flicker around him, shades of black and gray.

  I toy with the sheet, winding it around my hand. I wait for him to

  take off his clothes, and come to bed, but he doesn’t move.

  “Max?”

  He draws in a ragged breath and shakes his head. His eyes are bleak

  and desolate, all traces of their usual warmth gone. My breath leaves me

  in a rush, and dread creeps its way up my spine. I sit upright in bed and

  pull the sheet around me. He is wearing his leather pants and a white

  T-shirt, stained with blood.

  “You’re hurt.”

  He looks away and my blood chills. His face is taut; his jaw clenched

  so hard it quivers. His lips are pressed together in a thin line. His hands

  are balled into fists on his lap. Anger or anguish? I can’t tell.

  “Talk to me. Please. I’m sorry I misunderstood your intentions.”

  He scrubs his hands over his face. “Sleep, baby.” His voice is raw

  and strained with emotion. His body is tense. He won’t meet my gaze.

  And suddenly I understand why he is here. Despair hits me like a punch

  to the gut.

  “You came to say good-bye.” A statement, not a question.

  His chin dips, just barely, but I don’t need the nod. The answer is

  in his eyes.

  “Can I hold you one last time?” I ask softly.

  He shakes his head. Tears trickle down my cheeks and my throat

  tightens. “You’re going to watch over me tonight and then you’ll go?”

  He grips the arms of the chair, his knuckles white, and he presses

  his lips together, tilting his head back to stare at the ceiling.

  Tears run down my neck, staining my top. “I’m sorry, Max.” My

  shoulders quake and I sob into my hands. “I’m sorry I can’t be who you

  need me to be. I’m sorry I can’t give you the trust you need. I’m sorry

  your violence scares me so much.”

  “I’m sorry, too, baby.” His voice is so low, so broken, I can barely

  hear it.

  I curl up on the bed facing him and wrap my arms around myself.

  I study his beautiful, haunted face. I try to memorize every plane and

  angle of his jaw, his strong chin, the curve of his lips, and the crinkle

  at the corners of his eyes. I imagine I can feel the scratchy stubble on

  his cheek and smell the spicy scent of his cologne. I close my eyes and

  imagine the warmth of his body and the light caress of his hand over my

  skin. I remember the deep rumble of his laugh and the low growl of his

  voice. I imagine I am in his arms. Safe. Cherished. Loved.

  When I open my eyes, it is morning.

  Max is gone.

  Chapter 25

  A Decent Kinda Guy

  Monday morning. Seven fifty-seven a.m. My eyes are bleary

  from a lack of sleep. My head aches. I see Max everywhere—on the bus,

  on the street, in the coffee shop. My heart leaps and crashes at every

  false sighting. I can’t bear the pain anymore, and it’s only been two days.

  “Late. As usual.” Big Doris tears a green slip off her pad and drops

  it on my desk.

  “I’m not late.”

  She tears another green slip off her pad, and another and another

  until my desk is littered with paper.

  “What are these for?” My voice rises as the green slips continue

  to fall.

  She presses her lips into a thin line. “You ruined EVERYTHING—

  the dinner on the weekend, the date…He’s supposed to be mine and all

  he talks about is YOU.”

  Huh? What did I ever do to her? Who’s she talking about? Charlie?

  As if on cue, Charlie pokes his head around the partition. “What’s

  going on? Are you okay, Doris?”

  “Don’t speak to me.” She spins on her heel and marches down

  the corridor.

  Charlie stares after her and then turns his gaze to me. “Hey, Mac.

  You look like shit.”

  “Back at you.”

  My phone rings. My heart thuds and I stare at the receiver. The<
br />
  phone rings and rings.

  Charlie pokes his head over the partition. “Hey. You gonna pick

  that up?”

  “No. New debt collector. Mean, nasty one.”

  “He’ll call your cell next,” Charlie nods at my purse.

  “Don’t have a cell. It got smashed on the weekend when I was

  tied up and beaten by a couple of drug dealers in the basement of a

  fight club.”

  Charlie stares at my cut and bruised face. “No shit. I thought maybe

  you’d walked into a door.”

  “I wish I had.”

  The phone rings again and I throw my jacket over it.

  “Won’t work,” Charlie offers. “My brother had a debt collector

  after him for years. He kept changing his phone numbers, but the col-

  lector came to his house. Sometimes he sat outside in his car for hours.

  My brother lost it one day and smashed all the windows of his car with

  a bat. Collector just added it to the bill.”

  “Maybe I’ll move back to my old place. It’s still being renovated.

  He won’t think to look for me there.”

  Twelve hours later, I am back in my old room. I unpack the boxes in

  my as-yet unrenovated lilac sanctuary, and dig out my old phone. After

  talking to Dr. Drake over lunch in the canteen, and agonizing about it

  all day, I’ve decided to apply to medical school, and I want Amanda to

  be the first to know.

  “Hi Mac,” she says. “Guess what? I’m on a date with Kink on a

  Stick. I needed to rebound from Jake, and Drake was totally on board.

  We’re sexually but not romantically compatible so we’ve decided to

  become friends with benefits.”

  A roar fills the speaker and I hold the phone away from my ear.

  “What’s that?”

  “We’re at a mixed martial arts club. After his pissing contest with

  Max, Drake is all gung ho to get into the circuit, and he really knows how

  to work a crowd. They love him. He held his own in the last fight for

  almost two minutes. He really did wrestle in college. Apparently he even

  won a few titles. You should see him. He’s fast and so light on his feet.”

  “Is Max there?”

  “No. We’re at some fancy club in Palo Alto. Not as big as

  Redemption, but it’s been done up with wood floors and high-end

  equipment. All licensed and sanctioned.” Her voice drops to a whisper.

  “Have you heard from Max?”

  A lump forms in my throat. “No. His good-bye was pretty clear.

  And, I’m not sure I even want to. I just can’t get over my violence issues.

  I think we aren’t meant to be together.”

  “Maybe you should call him. Talk to him. Find a way to build a

  level of trust where you aren’t terrified he’ll turn into your father, and

  he isn’t terrified to give you some space.”

  “It doesn’t matter now.” I sigh. “I’m going to send a fax to the

  collection agency on Friday that says I don’t consent to Max making

  the payment. He’ll be furious. I’m sure the new collector will be too.”

  “Don’t you worry about that collector. I’m in the game now.”

  “Why are you whispering?” I play with the heart-shaped pendant

  around my neck. I should probably take it off. Maybe even sell it, but

  I’ve never had a piece of jewelry that meant so much to me. It reminds

  me of the night Max first said, “Mine.”

  “We’ve snuck into the first aid room. Drake said he needs personal

  medical attention. He’s gone to his car to get his supplies. I’m not sure

  what he expects me to do. I’m an attorney, not a doctor.” She bursts

  into laughter and I can’t help but smile.

  “I’m thinking of taking him up on his offer to help me get into

  medical school,” I tell her. “He can help me get a full scholarship and

  get my application through on the fast-track. If it goes well, I could be

  in med school in just four months. If I can hold off the debt collector

  until then, my payments will be waived while I’m in school.”

  “And if you can’t?”

  “I’ll be in a position to buy my parents a new house when I graduate.”

  Amanda sighs. “I thought it wasn’t what you really wanted to do.”

  I bunch my sweater in my fist. “It’s not, but I don’t have any

  other options.”

  “This is my fault,” she says, her voice flat. “You didn’t work on

  Saturday because of me. You and Max broke up because of me. I was

  too busy with my trial to help you when you needed me.”

  I curl up on my bed and wrap one arm around myself. “Don’t ever

  think that. You’re my best friend. I was there because I wanted to be

  there, and I would do it again. This was going to happen anyway. I just

  can’t think of another way to get out of it. I can’t take Max’s money,

  especially now.”

  “Too bad you don’t know an attorney who owes you a big favor.”

  My chest tightens. “I don’t need you to fight my battles either. This

  is my mess. I have to sort it out.”

  Amanda groans. “I’m not offering to fight your battles. You are

  going to fight your battles, but I am going to help you. That’s what at-

  torneys and best friends do. And lucky for you, I have a space on my pro

  bono list for a best friend who has been there for me and had my back

  since I was four years old, even when it cost her everything, like now.”

  Tears well up in my eyes. “Stop. You’re making me cry.”

  “Good. You made me cry, and now when Drake comes back with

  his fake medical supplies my face will be all puffy and red. Not a good

  look for playtime. I’m going to have to run to the washroom to freshen

  up. In the meantime, you need to think about getting some leverage.”

  “I owe the money. I don’t have any leverage.”

  “The law is your leverage.” Her tone switches to full-on lecture

  mode. “There are laws about how he can collect the money. He can’t

  harass you; he can’t threaten. The list goes on.”

  “I thought it took a long time to run these things through court.”

  “It does. Unless you have friends in high places. And you know I do.”

  A door closes in the background. Amanda giggles. “Drake is back.

  He’s pulling a nurse’s uniform out of his bag. Hmmm. I’ve never seen a

  nurse’s uniform with only two inches of skirt and breast cutouts. What

  else does he have? A pair of rubber gloves, a giant syringe with no needle,

  twine, a roll of plastic wrap, a crescent wrench, battery cables, a plastic

  whale, and…I don’t even know what the last object is, but it moves.”

  Laughter wells up in my chest and spills out in a snort. “You’re

  making that up to cheer me up.”

  “I couldn’t make that up if I tried.” Her voice drops so low I can

  barely hear her. “I don’t think he’s really injured.”

  “Maybe in the head.”

  “Are you sure you don’t want him? He still holds a torch for you,

  and I think you could learn a few things.”

  “No. Definitely not. I have issues with plastic animals being used as

  sex toys. He’s all yours.”

  “Ooooo. He’s showing me where it hurts. That’s a very big owie.

  Maybe nursie should kiss it better.”

&n
bsp; “LEAVING NOW,” I shout into the phone. “TMI.”

  “Bye, honey,” she whispers. “Don’t worry about the debt collec-

  tor—” She cuts herself off. “Bad patient. Stop running around or nursie

  will have to spank you. Oh, I see. You brought your own paddle. Gotta

  go, Mac. Things are heating up.”

  Dr. Drake beams when I walk into his office after work the next day.

  “Look who’s here. It’s my favorite med school applicant.”

  “Hi, Dr. Drake.” Don’t think about whales. Don’t think about whales.

  Images of plastic whales float through my mind. Bad whales. Go away.

  He gestures me over to a round table in the corner and takes a seat

  beside me. “I am so glad you decided to take me up on my offer,” he

  says. “After you called this morning, I had my secretary put together

  two files—one for scholarship applications and one for medical school

  applications. I thought we could fill them out together, and I could give

  you tips about what they’ll be looking for.”

  “Great.” I plaster a fake smile on my face and try to convince

  myself this is really what I want to do. “I can’t thank you enough for

  all your help.”

  Dr. Drake throws his arm across the back of my chair. “Don’t

  thank me yet. Thank me when you get that big fat scholarship and the

  acceptance letter to medical school. Just think. In seven to ten years,

  you’ll be a fully qualified doctor working in the emergency room. We

  can lunch together every day.”

  A scraping sound in the hallway startles me, and the hair on the back

  of my neck stands on end. I spin around, and look at the open door. No

  one there. My disapproving subconscious is giving me the jitters.

  “Ten years.” I swallow. “Looking forward to it.”

  “Would you mind grabbing the medical school listing?” he says, as

  he sorts through the files. “Top shelf. Red book with blue letters.”

  “Sure.” I push my chair away from the table and catch the sound of

  tapping in the hallway. “Is someone there?” I walk to the door and look

  left and right. Nothing. I am definitely getting paranoid. I head back to

  the bookshelf and stretch up on tiptoes to ease the book down.

  “Sorry, Mac. I forgot it was so high. Let me help you.” Dr. Drake

  comes up behind me and reaches for the book. He is so close I can feel