"It's cute, and you do look great in it, but it's not you."
She looked back at herself. "No, it's not, is it?"
The saleswoman sighed and undid the dress's zipper.
Sandra said, in her best sweet voice, "Angela, now that my maid of honor is here I think we can handle it without you. I know you're busy today, so why don't you leave us to get on with it?"
Angela shook her head but it was clear she didn't mean it. "I should be here with you. What if you need anything?"
Sandra jerked her head in my direction. "I'll send my servant to fetch it."
Angela wavered, then said, "If you really don't mind, that would be great. We had someone call in sick and it's a zoo out there."
"Go for it."
When she'd left, Sandra said, "She's nice enough but I get no truth from her. Okay, let's do this."
"Do you have a few to try on?"
"See that rack there?"
Easily fifty dresses. "Yup."
"Let's get cracking."
We did, but things still weren't right between us. Sandra seemed distant, and completely uninterested in the hunt for her wedding dress, and the more I thought about her comment about Andrew the less I liked it.
I was gathering the nerve to ask why she didn't like him as we worked to get her into yet another gown, a sleeveless number with a sleek satin-ribbon-wrapped bodice flowing into a full skirt of pure white silk with the same ribbon at the hem. I zipped it up, she faced the mirror...
And we both knew.
"I love it," she whispered, her eyes glowing. "This is the one."
I burst into tears. She looked so gorgeous, and it hurt so much, I couldn't hold them back.
She turned and hugged me hard, and through my sobs I could hear her crying too. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I wish it was you. It's been bothering me all day. I knew it would but it's even harder than I expected. We should have bought your wedding dress first."
I squeezed her as tight as I could. It was partly that, partly what Julie had stolen from me. But not entirely. "I'm going to miss you so much."
"I'm not going anywhere."
"But you'll be with Mark all the time. Like Kathleen."
After the drama with her grandmother had settled down, Kathleen had disappeared so completely into her marriage that we never saw her any more.
Sandra rubbed my back. "You're my best friend. Mark'll just be my husband. No contest."
"You can't know that." I was arguing the wrong thing. I knew Sandra wouldn't be like Kathleen. But seeing her in the gown, so perfect for her, made it real: she was marrying the man she loved, and the one I'd loved was dead. I didn't know how to tell her how hard it was going to be to stand at her side and watch her get married as we'd both wanted her to stand and watch me.
I didn't have to. She hadn't been my best friend for years for nothing. "My wedding's going to hurt you. I know that. And I love that you're still willing to be there for me. I love you for it. And I promise you, nothing is going to change between us. You know that, right?"
"I know." I pulled away. "I shouldn't cry on your dress."
We both managed watery smiles, and she said, "This is a sample one, so you can."
I sniffled. "No, I'll be okay. I'm sorry I'm wrecking this for you."
She hugged me again. "Not even close. If that's the plan you'd better try harder."
Our smiles were a little more solid this time. I didn't want to ruin the moment but I had to ask, "What have you got against Andrew?"
She sighed. For a second I thought she'd deny it, but I should have known better. She was too honest for that. "It's not that I don't like him. I don't even know him."
I leaned back to look at her. "Then what's the problem?"
Her tears rose again. "You ask him to come help you but you don't ask me. He's there for you in the middle of the night and I'm not. You don't want to lose me, but I don't want to lose you either."
"You won't. Never." I squeezed her again then let her go so I could find us some tissues. With my back turned, it was easier to say, "He didn't know me when it happened. That makes it easier somehow. If you'd been there last night, you'd have been picturing Bill and Julie. It's not real to him in the same way, and so I can detach a bit too."
I handed her a wad of tissues and she blew her nose. "Yeah, I can see that, I guess. But you know I'd have helped you, right?"
"You know you have helped me, right? Over and over again? Of course I know that."
We hugged then stood looking at her reflection in the mirror.
She took the skirt in both hands and swished it from side to side. "Think Mark'll like it?"
My eyes flooded with tears once more at her sweet shy tone. "How could he not? You look amazing. It's so totally you."
As we hugged again, she said, "I want to meet Andrew. He does sound great. I'm just scared he'll hurt you."
"Never." I laughed. "But if you want to see him hurt someone else, what are you doing next Saturday?"
She blinked. "That sentence made no sense."
"He's got his first MMA fight next weekend. He asked me if I'd go to support him, and I said I would, and then he said I should bring you so I have support."
"Mark always wants to see live fights. He'll be so jealous that I get to... wait, Saturday?"
I nodded.
She groaned. "I can't. Mark's mother's doing this big 'time for you to meet all the church ladies' party at her house that night."
"Why do you need to meet the church ladies?"
"So I can join them in bake sales and rummage sales and whatever else they do."
That was less like Sandra than the first dress had been. "Don't his parents live two hours from here?"
"Nearly three."
I raised my eyebrows and she said, "His mother apparently prays every night that we'll move 'home', which I think means right around the corner from them."
"Eep."
"Totally."
"Does Mark want to?"
She grinned. "He's planning to keep at least two hours away at all times. If they move, we're moving too."
"Good man."
"That sucks, though. I'd love to see Andrew fight."
I shook my head. "I still can't quite believe it. I'm terrified he's going to get flattened."
"Well, you'll have to cheer extra-hard so he doesn't."
*****
Louisa had cheered pretty loudly when I told her about my second overnight session with Andrew. She'd been happy that he'd invited me to his fight, thinking it was a good sign for our relationship. More, though, she'd been thrilled that the speech we'd prepared had been in my mind, and positive I'd soon be able to say it.
But six weeks later, I still haven't managed it.
And now maybe I never will.
I don't want to think about Julie and that speech. I'd far rather think about Andrew. Andrew, and how his fight changed everything for us.
Chapter Nine
"Rhiannon?"
I turned to see a tall black man wearing a red "Keyes Kombat" t-shirt bulging with muscle. "That's me."
He extended his hand. "I'm Jake. Andrew asked me to hang out with you."
We shook hands, and I tried not to wince at the strength of his grip. "Nice to meet you. Where is Andrew now?"
"In the dressing room getting his medical check and all that stuff. Want to grab a seat?"
Jake guided me through the crowd and found us chairs a few rows back from the mesh fence surrounding the raised boxing ring. I'd have to thank Andrew later for sending him to me; I hadn't known what to do with myself and had been regretting coming alone.
A short balding man, his red t-shirt stretched so tightly across his large stomach the logo was distorted, picked up a microphone. "Fights start in two minutes, folks."
I shivered at the rowdy cheers he got in response. Andrew didn't seem to fit in here, and I wasn't at all sure I did either.
Jake turned to me. "How do you know Andrew?"
"
We work together." Much simpler than trying to explain how he'd helped me with my nightmare, how we'd had lunch together every day last week, how happy I was whenever I was with him and how afraid too. "You?"
"I help train him." He gave me a half-smile. "Too bad you're not his girlfriend."
I blushed and hoped he didn't see. Had Andrew been talking about me? "Why?"
The smile faded. "We want him to commit to fighting. Thought you could convince him."
If I were his girlfriend, I'd be more likely to talk him out of getting pummeled, but I didn't say so. "What do you mean, commit? A full-time fighter?"
"Only the top guys do it full-time. But he's been training for years and this is the first time he's let us put him in a fight."
I remembered what Andrew had said the day we met. "I thought he was still learning how to fight."
Jake shook his head. "He's been ready for ages. He's had some great sparring sessions but he always refused to do it for real. We were shocked last month when he agreed to fight. We'd pretty much given up on him."
"Does it matter? I mean, why do you need him to fight?"
"Good for our reputation if our guys fight and win. Makes people want to train with us."
I nodded, and he added, "Might be good for him too."
"How?"
He shrugged. "Build up his confidence, go after a goal, that sort of thing."
I didn't think Andrew lacked confidence, but I did agree he wasn't much into goal-pursuing. But would I want him to have a goal that involved stepping into that ring, onto that mat splotched with old blood?
Jake nudged me. "He's a good guy, you know. Maybe you should be his girlfriend. Ask him out, babe, what have you got to lose?"
I laughed, surprised by the "babe" but positive he said it to every woman, and happy that Andrew apparently didn't have a girlfriend. I'd doubted he did, given how much time he was spending with me, but hadn't thought of a way to ask him. "I'll think about it," I said, and Jake grinned, but the fat man picked up his microphone again and the place erupted into such loud cheers I wouldn't have been able to hear myself if I'd tried to think.
Even uneducated me could tell that the first fight was hopelessly unbalanced. One fighter was shaking so hard his knees were actually knocking together, while his opponent stood tall and relaxed with his shaved head held high, a tattoo reading "Tap or snap" inked across his chest.
"Tap or snap?" I said to Jake.
"If you've got the guy in a submission hold that can break an arm or leg, he can either tap out so you let go or refuse to tap and you'll snap the bone."
Oh, dear God, Andrew.
Jake laughed. "Wish you could see your face, babe. Don't worry about him. Bones heal."
"Is that supposed to make me feel better?"
He laughed again.
The referee asked both fighters if they were ready. Shaky didn't look too sure, but the fight was on. They circled each other, taking some tentative swings to test the other's reactions, then the tattooed one took Shaky to the mat and twisted his arm back so his shoulder bulged horribly from its socket. Shaky's face went bright red and he struggled to get away, but then his free hand began tapping against the other guy's back and the referee dragged them apart.
Through the crowd's cheers, Jake said to me, "This your first time watching fights?"
When I nodded, he said, "That one sucked. There'll be better ones tonight."
And there were. The next fight lasted for more than two full five-minute rounds, each fighter dominating and being dominated in turn, and as it went on and Jake explained what was happening I started to get into it despite myself. The crowd's primal grunts and bellows, the electricity in the air, the half-naked powerfully muscled men... I could see why Sandra had grown to like watching fights with Mark.
When I cheered with the crowd at a particularly hard kick, Jake leaned in. "We train girls too."
I looked over, and he said, "You should try it. Might be fun."
"Me? Not a chance."
"Lots of women fighters now."
"Not me."
"Why not?"
One of the fighters caught his opponent with a full-on punch to the temple. Even at a distance I could see the consciousness disappear from the guy's eyes. He dropped like a sack of grain to the mat and lay slumped in a heap.
The crowd went wild, and I yelled at Jake over the noise, "That's why!"
He laughed. "It's not that bad. He'll be fine."
After a few seconds the fighter, surrounded by his trainers and a doctor, straightened himself out on the floor, and in a minute he was sitting upright, albeit still looking stunned.
"See? No harm done."
Except to whichever part of his brain had absorbed the force of that punch.
Andrew was second-last on the card, and as I watched the other fights I tried not to imagine him in the ring. I knew he was in good shape, knew he'd been training for ages, but these guys were all so aggressive and Andrew was such a sweetheart. Would he survive?
Eventually, it was time to find out.
Each fighter had a song played for him as he walked in, and Andrew's opponent had picked a delightful little piece with a shouted chorus of "Hurt, hurt, put him in the dirt", which didn't help my nerves. The guy looked meaner than I'd have liked, with his military-short hair bleached white and a huge tattoo of a gravestone on his back, but Jake said, "Don't worry about Kevin. He can punch but he can't do much else."
I clenched my hands in my lap to stop them shaking. I didn't want to see Andrew punched. Why was I here? For that matter, why had he even wanted me here? He'd said he wanted a link to the real world, but why me? Nobody else at work had mentioned being invited. He'd been so cute and shy when he'd invited me. What would I say to him afterwards if he got slaughtered?
Kevin stalked around the ring, then cocked his head and looked up as his song was replaced with one with piano and violin. It took a second to register but then he, and the crowd, laughed and clapped.
Andrew's walk-in music? Christina Aguilera's "Fighter".
I burst out laughing and turned to Jake, who said with a grin, "He thought you'd like it."
"I love it. Not exactly tough, though."
"He says he wants Kevin to laugh so hard he's easy to beat."
That sounded like Andrew.
Smiling, I turned with everyone else to watch him walk down the aisle toward the ring, but my smile disappeared and my heart pounded at the sight of him.
I'd never seen this man before.
'Walk' didn't come close to describing his movements; he was prowling, a predator seeking his prey. His head was held high and his jaw was set, and those usually warm blue eyes were colder than dry ice as he swept along without acknowledging the people cheering and trying to get him to high-five them. He didn't look toward me and frankly I was glad. He frightened me, both by the change in him and by how strongly I was drawn to him.
"See why I think he'll be fine? Dude's born to fight."
I nodded, mesmerized by Andrew's strength and focus, and also by his exposed body. Like the other fighters, he wore only shorts and padded fingerless gloves. I didn't know the others, though, and seeing him like this, his strong chest and abs and the powerful muscles of his arms and legs, felt unexpectedly intimate. He'd invited me into an area of his life that I didn't think very many people saw. Certainly no hint of this proud defiance had ever shown at work. I'd thought he was sweet and gentle, and I still believed that, but there was more to him than I'd realized.
At first I thought he had no tattoos, but as he turned to enter the ring I saw a sword on his left bicep. I stared, trying not to laugh, at the prime prize from the game, the shining silver weapon I'd designed for the hardest-to-defeat monster. Nerd and fighter, all at once.
He circled the ring, passing Kevin, who was bouncing up and down on his heels, as if he didn't see him, and my need to laugh faded. He was magnificent. A caged lion.
The referee started the fight, and though my he
art raced I cheered with the crowd as Andrew made first contact, kicking Kevin on the lower thigh.
Kevin staggered, but he wasn't close to finished yet. His first punch clipped Andrew on the cheekbone and drove him back.
Seeing the red mark on Andrew's cheek filled me with unbelievable rage, and I shrieked, "Kill him!"
Andrew's head jerked as if he'd heard me through the crowd, and Jake said, "Easy, babe. He's got tons of time. I just hope he stays focused."
Despite the swelling cheekbone, Andrew's face showed nothing but focus. He did take more punches to that face, though, and kicks everywhere, and I flinched each time he got hit and cheered whenever he nailed Kevin.
Unlike earlier fights, they stayed on their feet right until the end of the round, when Kevin shot forward and caught Andrew around the legs, dragging him to the mat.
The crowd erupted and panic flooded me. I didn't want him to lose, especially not now.
"Come on, Andrew!"
Kevin twisted Andrew's arm back in the same hold Shaky had lost to in the first fight, and my terror grew.
"Ten seconds," Jake said. "He can hold out."
I wished he'd sounded a little more confident.
The crowd began counting down, and I watched, my heart pounding so fast and hard I thought I might faint, as Andrew's face contorted in pain. His free hand went up into the air and new panic swept me at the thought he'd tap out, but instead he clenched that hand into a fist and kept it aloft.
Amid the crowd's cheering, the bell rang to end the round and the referee scrambled to pull Kevin off Andrew.
I released a breath I hadn't known I was holding and slumped back into my seat.
"Exciting?"
I wiped sweat from my forehead and beneath my eyes. "Try terrifying."
Jake nudged me, grinning. "Thought he wasn't your boyfriend."
He wasn't, and I couldn't imagine that someone with his physique would want someone with mine. "Doesn't mean I want to see him get hurt."
"He didn't. He's doing well."
Andrew's entourage laid a bag of ice across his neck and held a water bottle for him, and his trainer squatted in front of him, talking and staring intently into his eyes. After a minute, Andrew nodded, the trainer clapped him on the back, and everyone left him in the ring again.
Toronto Collection Volume 1 (Toronto Series #1-5) Page 63
