“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 s
aid 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 anything 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.
“I got jumped on my way home from the movies on Sunday, by Duffy’s troll-friends. If Mike, my foster-dad, hadn’t found me and scared them off, I would’ve been in much worse shape today.” He said, shifting uncomfortably as Joy stared at him. He shrugged. “Mike owns a really small boxing gym across town.” Caleb continued. “He’s the one who’s been teaching me how to defend myself.” The young man chuckled. “When he found out that I put Duffy in the hospital for trying to force himself on that little girl, he bought me an Xbox to pass the time while I was suspended.”
Joy repented of the awful things she’d assumed about Caleb’s foster parents. She sighed and rubbed her temples with her eyes closed. Would Billie call her and tell her if he was okay? Would anyone tell her if he wasn’t? She opened her eyes and Caleb was watching her intently.
“I’m sorry, Caleb, I was thinking, I’m not trying to ignore you.” She apologized with a wan smile. “I have a friend in trouble. I’m just really glad you’re back at school. What class should you be in right now?” She asked him.
“Lunch.” He replied. “Are you okay Miss Joy?” He queried, a worried look on his face.
“I’m worried about my friend, but I’m okay.” She answered him. “You go get some lunch. I have to go, but I’ll you come see me tomorrow, okay?” Caleb nodded his assent, and Joy headed for the parking lot, dialing a cab as she strode quickly through the near empty halls.
In less than thirty minutes, the cab was pulling up to her destination. Joy paid her fare and climbed out of the car shakily. Her nerves jangled and her heart was in her throat as she opened the door and slowly walked in to the harsh florescent lighting of the gym. She heard a familiar thud and a grunt of pain from the other side of the room, where she saw a group of men standing in a circle around the sparring mats. The men crowded each other like hungry vultures trying to get close to a carcass. The image in her head made Joy choke back a wail. Billie was in the middle of those men, she knew it and she was terrified of what she would see.
She forced her way through the crush of men and stared as Billie lashed out with a foot sweep to knock one opponent down as the other came at him from behind. Appalled, she took a step forward, only to be yanked back by the arm. She turned and slapped the man holding her. It was Marcus, Billie’s trainer. She bit off what she wanted to scream at him and turned back to the fight as she heard the loud snap of breaking bone and a high pitched scream of pain.
Billie stood in the center of the mats, looking down at the man writhing in pain at his feet. Across from him was his second assailant, glaring at him and circling around his wounded companion. The men watching the fight backed away to give the men room to move, and when they had circled far enough away, a couple of the medical staff stepped in to take the other man away, still cradling his arm while lying on the stretcher.
Billie leaped at the heavily muscled man facing him. He jabbed hard and fast, grunting each time he connected with his broken hand. The other man ducked and weaved, desperately trying to stay ahead of the lightning fast punches being thrown. Joy watched the spectators and realized they weren’t just watching the fight. They were each waiting for their turn to join in. Distraught, she looked for some way to help Billie. Then, as he landed a solid left to his opponent’s solar plexus, someone moved up from behind him aiming a sucker punch toward the back of Billie’s head. Another spectator swiftly moved in, blocking the blow and sending the new attacker flying backward, then stepping back into his place at the edge of the circle.
Billie fought like Joy had never seen before. Not limited by ringside judges, he switched up his fighting style and kicked out hard and fast, catching his opponent in the back of the knee and driving him to the mat. The man struggled to get up and managed a fist to Billie’s groin, causing Billie to gasp and double over. The other man took advantage and attacked hard, aiming for Billie’s face over and over. Billie struggled, barely blocking the blows to his face, and backed upright to the edge of the circle of men to escape the barrage. The men behind him held him steady, and he pushed off from their supporting hands for one final offensive.
He pulled his arms in and tucked his elbows in tight, then struck out, fast and efficient, not wasting a single millimeter on unnecessary movement. He split the bigger man’s eye open when he connected with his right, the metal splint tearing the guy open, even as Billie stifled a howl of pain from his broken hand connecting with sold bone. His struck out repeatedly with his left, driving the man into the circle of bodies hemming them in, then kicked out with his foot in a judo sweep and knocked the man flat on his back.
Wordlessly, the gathered men declared the fight over and surrounded each of the fighters, blocking them from one another. Joy pushed her way to Billie past the men and sank to her knees, throwing her arms around his neck as he sat on the floor, half-dazed.
“Hey,” he finally croaked through his split and bleeding lips, “I told you not to come down here.” He tried to stroke her hair as she sobbed into his shoulder.
“I couldn’t leave you here alone. I thought you might be killed.” She stammered through her tears. Billie let her hold him while he recovered some energy.
“You know how fighting is.” He finally responded. “It’s like a gang. If you want to get out, or disobey orders, you gotta get jumped out, just like you were jumped in.” He looked down into her tear-filled eyes. “I came clean to the guys. Slade didn’t like it. He told them to beat me like a dog, and a couple of them tried.” She pulled away enough to see his face. His left eye was swollen shut and blood oozed down the side of his face, mingling with sweat and trailing down his neck to his chest. His bottom lip was split and bleeding, and his nose looked broken and bent at a bad a
ngle. She sniffed back new tears as she looked at down at his right hand, the bandages that she’d painstakingly applied hours before were now dirty and blood-soaked.
“What will you do now?” she asked, as the men around them went back to their own workouts, ignoring the injured fighter and young woman sitting on the floor. Billie tried to stand, and as Joy moved to assist him, a second set of hands slid under him and propped him up. Marcus slid Billie’s arm over his shoulder and nodded to Joy.
“He can’t stay here now.” Marcus looked sad, but proud. “He’s going to need a place to hole-up for a while, and recover. Then we have to find him a new gym, if that right hand ain’t busted for good.” Joy bit her lip in concern.
“He’s staying with me.” She declared, as Marcus stooped to grab Billie’s bag on the way past it. She watched the other fighters ignore them, as thought they were being shunned. “Why aren’t they helping him?” She asked Marcus.
“They help him, they’re out too.” He replied. “Not everyone is brave enough to go against the establishment.” He muttered. “Damn near thought Billie was going to sell his soul to the devil.” He glanced at the woman supporting his protégé physically, (and he suspected emotionally as well).
“He’s staying with me.” Joy said to no one in particular. She remembered the day she’d asked her father to watch out for him. It had always been Billie that she cared about, more concerned for his well-being than anyone else in her life. Marcus helped Joy get Billie into the cab and waved as they drove off. He took Billie’s duffle bag and put it in the trunk of his beat up Buick. He figured Billie could get it later, there was nothing in there he’d need while he recovered from the broken bones and bruises.
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