For The One

by Brenna Aubrey

  Doug is no longer playing to the crowd as we face each other for the last time. We stare through our visors, yet are unable to see each other's eyes. I briefly muse that it would be great if everyone wore helmets and visors in real life so that eye contact wouldn't be as important to neurotypicals as it is now.

  The flag comes up and Doug charges at me with a roar. He gets close enough to crowd me, so I leverage my big shield against him, giving him a mighty shove. He's thrown off balance, and having difficulty finding his footing, so he falls to a knee. I'm allowed to get in one hit in a case such as this--when the other knight has fallen. So I take the opportunity and sweep down on his shoulder with a harder-than-necessary hit. He rewards me with a grunt.

  That was for making her cry, douchebag.

  And I have plenty more where that came from. For making her worry about her tiara. For making her doubt herself and believe those horrible things you said to her.

  This third round will be all about payback--Doug has it coming to him.

  The yellow flag is again lowered between us, and I step back as Doug lumbers to his feet. He's dropped his shield, and his squire scrambles to pull it out of the dust and settle it back on his right arm. Something occurs to me...since we are mirror opposites--because he's left-handed and I'm right-handed--I can shove my shield against his to upset his balance again.

  The minute the flag comes up between us, I test this maneuver out on him. He is visibly shaken by it and steps back, lowering his weapon-bearing arm just slightly. Then he hesitates as if he's trying to figure me out. So I use his uncertainty to my advantage, pushing forward again with a burst of speed he hasn't seen from me before. I give him another shove, and this time, before he can find his footing, I acquire another hit.

  Doug throws down his weapon and the flag comes down again. One more hit and I will have swept him in the third bout. More importantly, the duel will be mine.

  His squire is pressing the sword back into his gauntlet, trying to encourage him. I can't hear what they are saying, but Doug's voice sounds tight, like he's talking through his teeth. He's no longer bothering to rile up the crowd.

  Oh yeah, the crowd. They're still there, but I've completely forgotten about them. I'm in the zone, a place I never could have imagined attaining--that place of ultimate focus, like when I'm painting in my studio or working at my forge.

  As the flag comes up again, it's obvious that Doug's anger has gotten the best of him. He's swinging wildly, every way he can, chopping through the air, probably hoping to overwhelm me. In my focused state, I block each hit with either my shield or my sword, and in seconds I see my opening and take it, slamming the blade down near where his collarbone would be under his armor. My third hit.

  I've swept him in the final round, but suddenly the chinstrap on my helmet is feeling very tight. As the flag comes down and I'm declared the winner, I yank the chinstrap free to alleviate that feeling. I'm coming back from "the zone," and I'm all too aware of the crowd again.

  Everyone is cheering loudly, waving their hands and stomping their feet. "Huzzah!" they shout, and the ground starts wavering beneath my feet. I turn toward Jenna to find her gaze, and our eyes meet through my visor before her head jerks to the side. She's looking off to my right and her eyes widen. Before I can even guess what's happening, a weight slams into me from behind, knocking me to my knees. "Stupid fucking retard!" I hear Doug yell, just as he lands a blow on my head, one that knocks my helmet completely off.

  I turn to see what's happened, and now the refs and my cousin are on top of Doug, wrestling him to the ground as he continues to shout obscenities. I make a wobbling attempt to get back on my feet, but suddenly the world goes fuzzy and the ground feels like it's buckling.

  There's stickiness across my forehead and moisture running into my eyes, stinging them. I'm overheated, but it's too much to just be sweat.

  And before I have another thought, everything goes black.

  Chapter 33

  Jenna

  The whole crowd gasped as we watched William go down. Instead of shaking hands and walking away like a gentleman, Doug had charged William the minute his back was turned...to look for me.

  My heart stopped as William fell over, lifeless, like a bag of sand. Blood streamed down his forehead and into his eyes. So much blood...

  And he wasn't moving. He was as still as that bag of sand.

  With a curse, Mia jumped up from her spot beside me and hopped the short fence to run to him.

  But I couldn't move. I was frozen where I sat, aware only of the racing heartbeat in my throat, the ice invading my limbs, the shallowness of my breathing.

  Absurd. That word once again invaded my thoughts, and I almost laughed--laughed--to stave off the cold panic.

  I tried to get up and follow after Mia, because somewhere in the midst of this strange, outside-of-myself sensation, I knew that's what I should do. But my legs wouldn't obey and my arms were like dead wood. The sounds of everyone around me echoed as if from a vast distance.

  I was in the middle of a dream--no, a nightmare--willing myself to wake up. Every cell in my body weighed more by a factor of at least a hundred, or maybe even a thousand.

  Mia and Adam crouched over William's unconscious form. People in the crowd were on their feet, watching it all, discussing amongst themselves what had just happened. Mia cupped a hand around William's neck and gently rolled him onto his back while checking his vital signs. Adam pulled out his cell phone, presumably to call 911.

  And all I could do was sit here and stare, as if I was watching a news report on TV.

  "Holy crap, what the hell just happened?" Alex said at my shoulder as the two refs dragged Doug out of the ring. Several people from the clan council quickly crowded around him just outside the arena.

  Someone ran up to Mia with what looked like a first aid kit, which she quickly sifted through before pulling out a package of gauze. As I watched her tend to William, saw the blood begin to soak through the white bandage, my numb fists knotted so tightly that my fingers cramped.

  I closed my eyes as a massive shudder wracked my body. My throat constricted at the recollection of that horrible night when Helena woke me up, sobbing, telling me there'd been an accident. That Brock had been killed.

  I wanted to cry, but no tears came. Everything within me was lifeless and cold as the Moon.

  Was it happening again? Could Fate really be this cruel?

  When I was six, Aunt Beti sat my sister and I down next to each other on the couch of the tiny apartment we lived in when we first came to the US. Mama and Papa were due to arrive next month, so I couldn't imagine why Beti had tears in her eyes. I recalled her gripping her hands so tightly that the skin turned white, and I'd focused on them as she told us she had news.

  Papa would not be coming. He'd been hit by a sniper's bullet on his way back from getting the water for the week. Beti said he'd been pulling the big tanks in a wagon behind him, like he did every week since the beginning days of the siege. There hadn't been running water or electricity in Sarajevo for months--years.

  But I was six and I didn't understand any of that. What I did understand was that I was never going to see my papa again. I'd never again hug him around his neck and feel his whiskers tickle me when he kissed me. I'd never listen to him tell me another one of those wild and outlandish bedtime stories. I'd never sneak another piece of halvi from him when Mama wasn't looking. I'd never again get to look in his eyes.

  And I couldn't even go back for his funeral.

  That night before bed when I said my prayers--the way Aunt Beti always told us to do--I told God I wouldn't speak to Him again after that day. That I would always be angry at Him for taking my Papa away.

  But I wasn't just angry at God. I'd polished that tiara and cried as I thought about Papa's words to me--his promises that we'd all live together in America and be a family again.

  Lies.

  And here I was in the present, watching my future threatened yet ag
ain. As always, a helpless observer of my own life.

  I couldn't breathe. And I couldn't cry. I could only sit and stare, tracing the scattered threads of thought as they slipped through my mind.

  William was not coming to, despite Mia's best efforts. In the distance, I picked up the faint sound of a siren. Paramedics.

  The blood was pooling around William's head now. Mia applied pressure to the wound and appeared to be giving instructions to Adam.

  Alex nudged my arm. "They'll let you ride with him to the hospital, I'm sure."

  My nails dug into my palms, drawing blood. Adam was on his feet calling to Jordan, who hopped the fence and was beside them in seconds.

  By this time, the ambulance was already pulling into the parking lot, red lights ablaze.

  "Wow, they got here fast," Alex said. "There must be a fire station nearby. The closest hospital is in Bakersfield, about thirty minutes away. I just checked it on my phone. We can follow them over."

  I didn't move. I didn't answer her.

  I couldn't take my eyes off the prone figure lying on the ground. After conferring with Adam, Jordan took off running toward the paramedics while Mia and Adam stayed with William.

  "Jenna, are you okay?" Alex asked, her voice squeaking.

  I shook my head, my hands clamping tighter around the seat beneath me. The paramedics wheeled in a stretcher and surrounded the figure lying in the dust. Everyone crowded the railing, gawking as they worked on William. Soon, they were strapping his head and neck to a board and putting him on the stretcher.

  "He's coming to...I think he's conscious!" Alex said. She stood up on tiptoes to look over the rest of the crowd. I buried my face in my hands, unable to look.

  I could hear Mia at the railing, calling up to her mom, informing her that she and Adam were going to ride in the ambulance to the hospital. I looked up as Adam threw his keys to Jordan. Then they were gone, following the stretcher to the parking lot and the waiting ambulance.

  The bleachers around us started to empty, everyone talking excitedly about what had happened. As far as I knew, there were more events scheduled, but they had either been canceled or postponed to deal with William's emergency. I even heard someone mention an impromptu clan council meeting, probably to address Doug's asshole move. Maybe I should attend...or maybe I'd grab my stuff to--

  "Jenna!" Alex said loudly. I stood up, brushed off my skirt and started for my tent. She called out again, but instead of turning to face her, I kept walking in the opposite direction of the parking lot.

  A breeze blew and my cheeks were cold and wet. I marveled at that. Was I really crying? Tears trickled out of my eyes, but it didn't feel like I was crying. I just felt freezing cold. Numb.

  Alex's arm wrapped around my shoulder, attempting to redirect me toward the parking lot. "William will want to see you. Come on, we can follow them."

  I shook my head, my unsteady legs pulling me back on my intended path. "Can you wait for me? I'm going to pack my bag and I'd like to go home."

  She frowned at me. "Uh, did you two have a fight or something?"

  I shook, from my scalp to my toenails. But I remained silent, unable to talk about this with her...or anyone, for that matter. This pure, icy terror pulsing through my veins was muting everything. It was all I could think about, all I could feel.

  This powerful sense of loss. This pain. This panic.

  Brock can't be dead. He's not even eighteen years old! This isn't fair. It's not!

  I remembered the day they put him into that cold, hard ground at the cemetery. I'd fallen to my knees at his graveside and wept, wishing they could put me in there, too. It had been my fault. My fault. I hadn't driven him home from the party. Josh had--and Josh had had too much to drink.

  And now here was William, injured and possibly permanently impaired because of me. He would never have been fighting the second duel if it hadn't been for me...

  What if he had a concussion, or worse, a brain injury? What if he was hemorrhaging? What if...

  But William won the fight. It's not fair. It's not!

  I sucked in a breath, alarmed at the parallels. And I was devastated that I felt every bit as helpless today as I did then.

  This was all my fault. It was true. Be a man and love me, and you'll end up dead. I really was cursed.

  A sob escaped my lips. "I can't handle this." My voice was tight, strangled.

  Alex's arm slid tentatively around my shoulders. "Dios mio, you are shaking like it's twenty below."

  "Please, Alex...I want to go home."

  She was silent as we walked to my tent, then she stood nearby watching as I shoved all my stuff into my bag and cinched up the top, occasionally wiping my face with the back of my hand or my sleeve to dry the tears. But the moment I did it, more trickled down to replace them.

  The moment the bag was full, I was ready to go. I tried to suck in another breath, but it wouldn't come. My chest wouldn't cooperate...it wouldn't expand to inhale again.

  I doubled over, falling to my knees.

  "Jenna!" Alex shrieked, crouching down with me. "Okay, you are really freaking me out, girl."

  I shook my head, sobbing so hard I couldn't catch my next breath.

  "William will be fine!" She rubbed my back. "I'm sure of it. We'll go to the hospital. You'll see. Head wounds naturally bleed a lot."

  But I wasn't listening. I just kept shaking my head, and then I curled in on myself, pressing my cold, wet face to my bag.

  "Take me home, please," I finally managed.

  Alex's eyes widened. No doubt she thought I was insane. Or heartless. Or both. Maybe I was. Maybe I didn't deserve to be happy. I'd already blown my chance.

  I couldn't do this again. Not for the third time. Fate had spoken.

  On shaky legs, I followed her out to her car. I shoved my things in her trunk, and then we wordlessly drove the hour and a half home to Orange County.

  My phone chimed repeatedly the entire way.

  Mia: Hey, where are you? You okay?

  A few minutes later...

  Mia: W is asking for you. Are you coming? What do I tell him?

  I swallowed hard before turning off the phone. The tears began pooling again and the terror came back with a vengeance. I remembered reaching out and touching Brock's face at the viewing. His skin felt like ice. Like how I felt inside.

  Maybe that was it? Maybe I was dead inside.

  Chapter 34

  William

  "Call her again," I say to Mia. I can tell there's something she wants to say but doesn't.

  "I will. I'm just going to give it a few minutes. Lie back, William. They aren't done."

  I stare up at the holes in the acoustic ceiling. We've been in this stupid little room in the ER for hours, and there's no cell reception in here. Whenever Mia needs to make a phone call, she has to walk outside the hospital in order to do it. We may as well be back in the Middle Ages with our lack of ability to communicate. Worse, actually, because we have no carrier pigeons, either.

  I'm starving and my head hurts, but other than that, I'm fine. They've already sewed me up and glued me shut. And now all I want is to see Jenna.

  "Maybe Alex's car broke down and Jenna's phone is out of charge," I say. "They could be in danger."

  Mia looks across the room at Adam, who rubs his jaw and turns to me. "I'm sure she's okay." Then he turns back to Mia. "Maybe you should try texting Alex."

  Mia's eyes widen, and then she looks at me and jerks her head back at Adam. I have neither the energy nor the desire to figure out what all that means. My head is really hurting.

  "Uh, good idea," she mumbles.

  She's staring at Adam and then looking at the door, then back at Adam again. I close my eyelids and rub my eyeballs through them. Everything hurts, and this stupid hospital gown I'm wearing is itchy and leaves my back completely exposed. I hate hospitals. Hate them.

  I open my eyes when both Adam and Mia stand up. "I've gotta hit the bathroom," Adam says.


  "I'll show you where it is. It's kind of hard to find." Mia takes his arm and they head to the door.

  I frown, recalling that we walked right by a bathroom on the way to this examination room.

  "It's just down the--"

  "Be back in a minute, guy," Adam says, holding the door open for Mia. They're gone for about five minutes, and then the door opens up again and it's just Mia.

  "Adam's going to go check in with your Dad and my Mom in the waiting room as soon as he's done in the bathroom."

  "You could have just texted to tell them I'm all right. I wish I had my phone. I have nothing with me."

  "Well, some of your friends from your clan were here while you were getting sewn up. They offered to pack up your tent and belongings then load them up in your truck. Your dad is going to go to the campsite so he can drive it back to your house. I think they were hoping you'd have gotten the MRI by now."

  I scowl. "I don't want the MRI."

  "It's not about what you want. The doctors are not going to release you 'til they know you're okay. You were knocked out, William. It's a given that they're going to do an MRI. I'm sure it will be soon...okay?"

  I stare at her, folding my arms over my chest. "Has Alex replied to your text yet? I'm very worried about Jenna."

  Mia hesitates and looks toward the door, but she doesn't answer me.

  "Are you waiting for Adam to come back so he can give you permission to tell me whatever it is?"

  She gives me her mad look. "I don't need Adam's permission. Yes, Alex texted me. They're okay. They, are, uh, back in Orange County."

  I sit up, more questions pouring into my mind. Why hasn't Jenna checked to see that I'm all right? Why hasn't she even answered her damn phone?

  I open my mouth to start asking when suddenly Adam returns holding various objects he didn't have before. Mia, however, is watching me closely. "You okay?"

  "No," I reply.

  Adam steps closer to the bed. "Your dad and Kim just left to go get your truck, but they gave me some stuff your friends brought from the campground. Your phone..." He brandishes it, and I reach up and snatch it out of his hand. I check the text messages.

  Nothing. Nothing from her at all.