by Quinn, Cari
It’d really fucking blow if my buddy’s hard green eyes were the last I ever saw.
“Do you want to die? Is that what this is? Forget playing chicken in the ’Vette. Just wait until Costas cracks open your skull. More of you would be left in whole pieces in a damn street race.”
I patted his head as if he were a dotty grandfather. “Don’t worry ’bout me, surfer boy.”
“Fox, dammit—”
I popped in my spare mouth guard and stumbled away from the ropes, ostensibly toward the center of the ring. The match was about to start and hot pants girl was fellating her words as she shouted them in the general direction of the crowd. Raucous cheers accompanied them.
“The Eye Of The Tiger” began to play, a song that normally made me grin. Unlike Rocky, I was in my prime. Failure wasn’t an option.
Pushing all the noise out of my head, I focused on the present. All that mattered was here and now. Even in my exhaustion, my training came to the fore. I took deep, even breaths and centered my mind, forcing out the negativity.
You want to hand him the bout? Then keep winning it for him in your head. You’re all you’ve got.
With Timmins’ voice playing on a constant loop in my mind, I took my usual stance and waited for the ref to start the round. Across from me, Costas was sneering and prancing, victory clear in his eyes. He’d only have to land a few good blows and the match would be over.
My gaze drifted from his face to the crowd, searching for something I could hold close to get me through. A fan, a smile, a sign of support. Then I saw her, a hood shielding her face, brown leather dwarfing her shoulders. My coat. My girl.
Mia.
Costas swaggered forward before I could recover from the shock. He landed a single staggering blow—one fucking hit, goddammit—and bones crunched as my head snapped back. My bones. Blood gushed out of my nose, obscuring the horrified woman who’d somehow pushed her way to the front and now clung to the ropes, shouting my name. She begged me not to fall, and for a few seconds, I believed I’d remain upright from sheer will alone.
I swayed on my feet, my vision narrowing until she became my whole world. Then everything went black.
Twenty-Four
I was caught in a nightmare.
It had started when Tray fell to the mat, blood fountaining out of his nose with such pressure that I was sure an artery had been hit. I launched myself into the ring before the fight had even been called and somehow ended up on Costas’s back with my hands in his hair. My nails scored his skin and he howled in shock and pain, which made me happy for one shining instant until they pulled me off him and I remembered the carnage that had propelled me toward him in the first place.
Tray. On the floor, bleeding. Unconscious.
I slapped aside the hands that attempted to hold me back and crawled toward him through his blood, cold tears tracking down my cheeks. Every time I blinked, Darren’s face superimposed over Tray’s, flashing on and off like a macabre stop light. Even with all my fights, I hadn’t seen this much blood since it had stained my hands. But I didn’t let the memories of Darren slow me down. Tray needed me. I’d have plenty of time to go crazy later.
Sucking in a breath, I knelt next to his head. I was shaking so hard I feared touching him might cause him additional injury. So I bent to press my cheek to his and cupped my hand over his heart—still beating, thank God—and prayed he could feel my presence. My tears ran into his blood and when I backed away to let the EMTs do their job, both smeared my face. A sick, disgusting kind of warpaint.
I’d caused this, every damn bit of it.
What happened to Tray was my fault. I’d caused him to break that glass in frustration. I’d punched his jaw. Somehow I’d even compelled him to look at me in the crowd, not knowing that one moment of distraction would be enough to take him out.
He was so strong, so vital. His silence and stillness were unnatural in every way. Rage and terror burned in my eyes and throat, finally drying to a pitiful dust that singed. I ached to switch places with him so badly that my lungs quaked around the silent plea.
That should be me bleeding out on a stained mat. Not him. Never him.
Eventually, they loaded Tray in the ambulance. His trainer ignored me and gave the EMTs brisk instructions before hopping in the back at Tray’s side. I wasn’t allowed to go, because I wasn’t family. Neither was Timmins, to the best of my knowledge, but he got to go and I didn’t.
I’d have to find another way.
Numbly, I walked out of the building and across the sidewalk to where the cabs should be. Snow clung to my lips, and the subdued voices that spilled out of the warehouse barely intruded into my consciousness. Blood smeared my hands and face, but I wasn’t going to wash anytime soon. I couldn’t bear to rinse any part of him away.
Heavy footsteps pounded up behind me, too close for comfort. Normally, I would’ve whirled and prepared for a confrontation.
Tonight, I’d just hand over my wallet and cell phone. I no longer cared.
“Hey.”
I kept walking, shoulders hunched. Where the hell were the cabs? The hospital was too far away to walk. Carly had a license, but we didn’t have a car.
Go get Tray’s Corvette out of storage.
A high-pitched laugh burst from my lips, puffing into the cold air. The footsteps behind me came to a halt.
“Hey. Are you Mia?”
That brought me up short. I turned warily and glimpsed a tall guy in bike shorts and a hoodie with shaggy brown hair and furious eyes. I had no idea of their color in the darkness, but I could tell from his squint he was pissed. Or it could’ve been the way he stood with his fists balled and his hips thrust out, daring me to challenge him. Hoping I would.
I’d seen him in Tray’s corner. He must be his friend. That didn’t mean he wasn’t my foe.
“Who are you?” I returned, matching his stance.
He didn’t answer for a few seconds. “I’m Slater. Tray’s best friend. Are you Mia?”
So Tray had mentioned me. Hope quivered in my chest before the glow from a streetlight highlighted the brutal set of Slater’s jaw. He didn’t like me.
Yeah, well, get in line. I wasn’t too thrilled with myself.
“Yes.” Rather than elaborate, I turned and continued walking up the street, away from the crowds and the questions and the judgment. I needed to get to Tray.
“Where are you going?”
Was this guy stupid? “To the hospital.” I continued walking.
“You think you have any fucking right to be there?”
I came to a halt. No, I didn’t have any right. Luckily, Brooklyn Presbyterian didn’t segregate by moral code so I’d still be able to drag my tarnished ass through the glass doors.
But I also didn’t owe him a response. He’d know I was at the hospital when he saw me there. If he chose to waste valuable emotional energy on poking at me, that was his choice. I wasn’t making the same one.
“What the fuck? Don’t you speak?”
When I started walking again—without speaking—the footsteps behind me sped up in a manner meant to intimidate. Poor guy didn’t realize I didn’t intimidate easily.
I spun around and caught him off-guard, raising my arm near his face. He was taller than me, but not by much. “Get the hell away from me. I’m not your problem.”
His exhales cut through the taut, cold air between us. I’d barely breathed for the last half hour. His glacial expression warmed, just a fraction. “You really did punch him.”
“What?”
“You punched Tray in the jaw. I didn’t believe it. He was still bruised all to shit tonight.”
My eyes stung. Great, more tears. I couldn’t break down here. Not in front of this stranger.
Not in front of anyone who wasn’t Carly…or Tray. The realization that somewhere along the line he’d risen in status in my head made me tighten the jacket around me from my sudden chill. His jacket. It was wet. Maybe from snow—
I gl
anced down. Dark patches marred the front. Confused, I brought my fingers to them, a sob escaping at the blood that dampened my hand. God. I couldn’t do this. I couldn’t go back to another hospital, even for him. Not again.
“Mia?”
Slater’s voice had gentled and that made me angriest of all. I didn’t deserve his kindness. He should hate me, just like Tray.
I pulled off the coat with the utmost care. Then I pushed it into Slater’s arms and gazed up into his baffled face. “You need to get this dry cleaned. Now. Please. I’ll pay whatever it costs.”
He wasn’t moving. “It’s eleven o’clock.”
“I don’t care. There has to be a twenty-four hour place around here somewhere. Whatever it costs. Goddammit, please.” Another sob escaped as I shoved his chest. “I have to go be with him. I can’t lose this jacket.”
Before he could tell me no, I pressed my hand to my mouth and whirled away. The metallic taste on my lips told me which hand I’d used.
Nausea climbed up my throat. I ran, hoping to hold it back, the snow-covered ground in front of me blurring from the endless siege on my eyes. The cold air rushed over my now bare arms, chilling me so deeply I doubted I’d ever get warm again. But I wouldn’t stop. I’d run all the way there if I had to.
At the end of the next block, I spotted a yellow car idling at the curb. I waved my arms like a lunatic as I approached at a speed that probably scared the cabbie. He’d just exited his vehicle. “You’re picking up riders? Please? God, I need to get to Brooklyn Presbyterian.”
“You are bleeding. You are hurt?” the guy asked in a thick accent I didn’t recognize. “You need an ambulance?”
“No, I’m fine.” But what must I have looked like if I had enough blood on me to make him think I had open wounds? I didn’t have time to worry about it. “It’s my—friend’s blood. I need to go to the hospital. Please.” It was only then that I noticed the Off Duty sign above the cab. I let out another combination sob/dry heave. “Please, it’s an emergency. I’ll pay double, triple the fare.”
He pulled open the door he’d just shut. “I have a daughter your age. Get in. I will take you.”
“Thank you. Oh, God, thank you.” I rushed around to the back of the car. Only when I gripped the door handle did I realize that I had no money on me. Absolutely none.
My decision to come to the fight had been spur of the moment. All night, I’d paced around the apartment, bored and restless, watching the clock. Carly had gone to the gym and then out with some friends she’d met there. We didn’t have money for fancy gym memberships, but she’d scored a free month, and I didn’t want her to go stir-crazy alone in our place. She’d applied for a couple of jobs in the neighborhood, thinking she could help out until we split town. Hopefully, she’d find a position soon.
My sister wasn’t antisocial like me. Without daily interaction with someone who wasn’t her sullen, grouchy older sister, she’d go nuts.
I’d figured I’d go to see the match and be back before Carly returned. The fight locations weren’t public knowledge, so Kizzy had checked around for me. She knew everyone on the circuit. Not that she’d wanted to help me go see Tray, but I’d convinced her it was in preparation for our bout in a few weeks. I’d promised her I wouldn’t even speak to him.
Did it count if he’d been unconscious for our conversation? One that had consisted mostly of, “Oh, God, I’m so sorry, you’ll be fine, we’ll get you help,” over and over again?
The cabbie leaned back between the seats. “Coming, miss?”
Nodding, I got in the car. My hand shook as I yanked the door shut. I’d figure out payment once we arrived.
Less than fifteen minutes later, the cabbie stopped at the end of the circular driveway in front of the hospital and put on his emergency lights. I grabbed the door handle and searched for my voice. Once upon a time not that long ago, I’d bartered easily and often with my body. I wasn’t that girl anymore. And Tray would’ve killed me for even considering it.
The words formed on my tongue, but I swallowed them at the last moment. I couldn’t ask this kindly older guy if he wanted a blowjob in exchange for the fare. I just couldn’t.
I opened my mouth, prepared to apologize, to make promises, but he turned toward me and shook his head. “No charge. Go now, see your friend. I hope he will be okay.”
Relief rushed through me, sweet and dizzying. “Thank you so much. I appreciate it more than you’ll ever know.”
He smiled. “Oh, I know.”
Curiosity had me turning back before I hurtled out of the car. “How did you know my friend was a he?”
“Your face,” he said simply, waving me forward. “Go on and help him get well.”
“Thank you again. Thank you.” My throat tightened before I jumped out and ran toward the entrance.
Gasps greeted me as I pushed my way up to the admissions counter. After waiting for several minutes to talk to someone, I then had to explain multiple times that I wasn’t injured. I also had to accept the wipes the nurse kept pushing at me.
Eventually, they stopped fussing at me long enough to give me the information I’d requested. Tray was being evaluated, and they would notify me when he had a change in status.
Feeling utterly useless, I took the only available seat in the waiting room between two squabbling kids and glanced around, hoping to see a familiar face. People gazed back at me, probably because of my bloody warpaint.
I didn’t care. Let them stare.
Coach Timmins wasn’t in the waiting room. Maybe he’d gone somewhere else to wait for news. Tray’s friend would’ve been there if I hadn’t sent him off on a needless errand, but otherwise, I didn’t recognize anyone. Surely someone had come to see if Tray was okay?
Apparently not.
Hopefully, the injury had looked worse than it was—getting knocked out by a punch could happen relatively easily, and a nosebleed made anything seem worse—but we just didn’t know that yet. As young, strong, and fit as Tray was, stuff happened every day. I’d heard of fighters who’d been paralyzed in the ring, and others that had suffered brain damage—
Shuddering, I rose to pace. No, not going there. I would wait to hear. Not think the worst.
I needed to be doing something productive. I tugged out my phone and realized I’d had it off all night. Shit. As I swiped it back on, I noticed the time. Past eleven. Almost eleven-thirty. Much later than I’d thought.
Carly.
Almost on cue, her texts popped up on my screen.
Home now. Where r u?
U didn’t leave a note. R u at the store? I need cornflakes, baking powder & coconut flakes.
That one made me smile. That was my sister the chef, with her random food needs.
Y aren’t u answering me?
R u w Fox? I won’t make fun of u, promise, just want to know u’r ok. Pls reply.
The last one had come in five minutes ago.
Ame, I’m scared. Pls be ok.
God, we were a pair. Worry first, think later. But in our defense, we both had reason to know that sometimes people were late for reasons that were far from innocent. Sometimes the bogeyman was real. And once you knew that, you never, ever forgot.
She answered my call on the first ring. “Ame, oh, thank God. I was about to call the police.”
I didn’t want to know if she was serious. We both had our neuroses, and acknowledging her very understandable ones would mean I should rightly examine mine.
That wasn’t happening tonight.
“I’m sorry I didn’t call. I turned off my phone, then stuff happened and I forgot to turn it back on. I’d planned to be back home before you got back from the gym but—”
“But what?”
I pressed my finger to my ear to block out the drone of voices and walked toward a relatively quiet corner. Yet again, my voice failed me when I attempted to speak, so I changed tracks entirely to avoid what I couldn’t say. “Car, I need you to look something up for me online.” I was
too jittery to do it myself right now.
“My laptop’s not turned on.”
“Since when? You’re on that thing day and night. Watching movies at all hours, playing games when you should be reading up on colleges.”
I waited for her to light into me about the whole college thing again, but she only sighed. Evidently, her worry had subdued some of her usual spitfire.
“Yeah, yeah, Mama Bear. What’s up? I can tell something is going on.”
“I need you to find the number for Tray’s parents.”
“Tray?” She paused. “You mean Fox? You never call him that.”
“Yes, Fox. I have no idea what their names are, but I know he comes from Long Island. I’d guess they’d be named something fancy. His dad’s middle name begins with a T and he’s a lawyer. What’s the abbreviation for that?” I bit my lip and answered my own question. “Esquire.”
“Who actually uses Esquire after their name?”
From what Tray had said, his dad would, I was almost sure. “Just look it up.” When she hesitated, I gripped the phone tighter. “Please. Hurry. It’s important.”
“Ame, where are you? What’s going on? I thought maybe you were embarrassed to be bump-and-grinding it with Fox so you didn’t call, but that’s obviously not it. And you’re not with him if you’re calling his parents.” She gasped. “Was there a fight tonight? Is he all right?”
“I’m with him at the hospital.” It was all I could say before the ever-present lump in my throat grew to maximum density once more. “Find some numbers for me to call. I’ll go crazy waiting around to hear something. At least I can keep busy.”
“Okay, okay.” Rustling noises sounded over the line before a spate of furious typing. “His last name is Knox?”
“Yes.” I didn’t question how she knew that. She paid more attention than I gave her credit for.
I made the mistake of glancing down the hallway and sucked in a breath. A pair of doctors in scrubs walked toward the waiting room and the image brought back a flood of memories, none of them good. The walls seemed to swell and contract right along with my head.
