by Jude Sierra
“Maybe,” Megan said. She spoke quietly, with a curious worry. “River.”
He looked up to find her studying him then turned his eyes toward the window. The city was drenched, cold and unwelcoming. Days like this, he could understand wanting to leave. The warmth of another city probably called to those unused to Seattle’s fickle gray.
“What?” He waited for her to ask for the money. For her to spin him up in her web.
“What’s wrong, honey?” she said instead. When her hand touched his, when her gaze found his, it was genuine. River blinked back the sudden sting in his eyes and remembered why he loved her. Because even in her worst, even when her addiction drowned everything else out, she loved him. River laced his fingers with hers and wiped his eyes with his free hand before closing them.
“I can’t—”
“Not ready to talk about it?” she said gently.
River nodded.
She stroked his thumb. “Okay. Well, then let me get you some onion rings, and we can just sit here. And I’ll be with you, okay?”
They ate onion rings and spoke of small things, about River’s tattoo and Steve’s complaints about his job. He made her laugh with his story about catching Pax in his club wear, and when she asked if he was painting anything, he described his painting of Val.
“Anyone special in your life?” Megan asked. She offered a smile and waited.
He almost shook his head and changed the subject, but when his lips parted, “Yeah, actually. His name is Erik,” slipped from him, instead.
“Erik,” she repeated, warmth unfolding in each syllable.
River smiled, fingers curled around the cooling mug. She didn’t press him for anything else. They drank their coffee and sat together, close and quiet. River let himself enjoy the moment, and it wasn’t until he was back at the studio that he realized she’d never asked about the money.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Erik had never been alone in a room with someone. He understood the saying—to misunderstand a situation, to know a person one day and not the next. He remembered three nights ago, how River had slipped from his bed and left without a second glance. Erik had stayed awake, trembling and flushed, desperate for River’s hushed voice and the weight of his body beside him. They hadn’t talked about what that night meant. River leaving, Erik letting him go.
He wondered if there was a saying for the place he was with River. He wasn’t alone. They were together in this. But it was lonesome. When River was near, it was only half of him. He orbited Erik with a silent, practiced precision that left Erik wanting.
Wanting more. Wanting the truth—his own and River’s. Wanting to move forward, finally.
He scrolled through texts from Beverly. The last two she’d sent brought a smile to his face.
Beverly: Cute boyfriend. Cute name too.
Beverly: Don’t flake on me.
Beverly’s ability to forgive was a gift. It came easy, like rain or wind, like change. Erik’s war with forgiveness had gone on for years. It had taken three cities and a boy with a cute name to make him realize he should probably consider peace.
“You sure about this?” Desiree swept past him. Her head was freshly shaved and her makeup flawlessly done. She glanced at him, gaze flicking from his nose to his feet. “You can still bow out. Last time we were here, you got the shit kicked out of you.”
“I still won,” Erik said.
Desiree snorted.
The Warehouse was at capacity. People cackled like hyenas. Angry music poured through the speakers. A bottle shattered on the other side of the room. This was what these fights were made of—violence spun into storms that filled empty places and emptier people. The problem was, Erik was tired of being empty. He didn’t have room for what the fights made of him anymore.
“Pete covered my buy-in,” Erik said. He taped his knuckles carefully, watching each letter disappear. “He was short someone tonight and asked me to fill in.”
“You could’ve said no.” Desiree set a water bottle on the makeshift bar in front of him.
“I need the money.”
Desiree gave a short laugh. “Could’ve asked me for more hours behind the bar.”
“I’m not a good bartender, remember?”
“Would you stop it?” Desiree hissed. She leaned over the bar and grabbed Erik’s jaw, yanking until he looked at her. “Stop, Erik, c’mon. A few days ago, you told me you knew you shouldn’t do this anymore, that it was killing you. What now?”
“I’m doing someone a favor, okay?” He wrenched his face out of her grasp. “I’m gonna cut back to once a month. Chill out.”
“When are you cutting back?”
“Soon.”
She rolled her eyes. A bottle opener ringed her middle finger, popping the lid off bottle after bottle as she passed them to attendees. She flashed the customers a smile before turning back to Erik and snarling at him. “Soon?”
“You know, I asked you for advice one time. Once. That doesn’t make you my goddamn keeper, Des.”
Regret spiked into his throat. He squeezed his eyes shut and let the guilt have him. When he looked at her, she stared back at him, her eyes hard and narrowed. “I’m sor—”
“Don’t,” Desiree snapped. She squared her shoulders. “You wanna do this? You wanna get hurt? Be alone? Fine. But you’re right, you coming to me for advice doesn’t make me your keeper. It makes me your goddamn friend.”
“Desiree,” Erik said through a sigh. He loathed himself, absolutely and completely. He had to ruin everything good in his life, didn’t he? Everything. “C’mon, I’m…”
She turned and walked away, tending to customers at the other end of the bar. Her dismissal left a sting in his eyes that he blinked back. He grabbed the water bottle and made for the bathroom. Let’s get this over with. He needed to focus. To stop thinking about Beverly. Lee. To stop thinking about how right Desiree was and how badly he wanted to leave, to show up at River’s apartment and crawl into his bed.
He needed to stop rehearsing how he was going to tell River everything. How he was going to say I love you and I’m staying and Lee’s name in the same conversation. Because if he didn’t say it, if he didn’t try, he was going to lose River.
The familiar echo of a crowbar clattered against the cage. Erik listened to the crowd roar. He glanced at himself in the mirror and licked his lips. Dim lights flickered above him. A crack splintered across the mirror and sliced through his reflection. His dark hair was pushed out of his face, sheared on the sides and already damp with sweat. The Ouroboros circled his bicep, a vibrant splash on his skin. A blotch of violet stained the bottom of his throat, left behind by River’s mouth. He heaved a deep, shaky sigh.
Erik walked out of the bathroom and weaved through the crowd. People stepped aside for him. His opponent, a tall, lanky man with a decent build and skin paler than his, paced back and forth. As soon as Erik walked into the cage, his instincts told him to turn around. He tracked the fighter in front of him, the twitch in his hands, his unblinking gaze and set mouth.
This man, whoever he was, had come here for something more than money. It happened sometimes. People fought to cleanse themselves instead of filling their wallets. Erik understood. He glanced into the crowd once and was met by Desiree’s gaze. Jadis stood beside her and shook their head, a warning, but Erik couldn’t back out now. He wouldn’t.
“Fight!”
The other fighter moved in jagged, quick twitches. Another bottle shattered outside the cage. Erik steadied his breathing. Focus. He dodged the first swing, but the next one landed on Erik’s cheek. Focus. Erik side-stepped and circled, trying to find weaknesses, bruises, old injuries. There was nothing.
Erik got hit once, and then again. His feet were kicked out from beneath him, and his knees cracked the concrete. He hadn’t bothered to learn the other fighter’s name, but whoever he was, he was strong. He kicked Erik in the ribs.
Knuckles hit Erik’s cheek. His jaw. His collarbone. Something cracked, and E
rik yelped, pain blurring the line between tolerable and not. Blood warmed his mouth. Finally, he got a punch in. Another. But no matter how hard Erik hit, the other fighter refused to be beaten.
They were both on the ground. Erik tried to get to his feet first, only to be met with another swift kick to his abdomen. Finally, he stood, swaying on his feet. Something dreary and horrible ached in him. After another brutal punch crushed Erik’s ribs, followed by a slash of red-hot pain, he hit the floor and tapped.
“It’s over! Locke wins!”
Erik tried to sit up, but abrupt, sharp pain coursed down his right side and kept him where he was. “Fuck,” he whispered. He swatted the floor, hoping one of his friends—if he had any left—saw that he needed help.
A few seconds later, hands were on Erik’s face. The crowd was too loud to make out their voice, but he opened his eyes and saw Jadis hovering over him. They glanced at him, pupils blown and lips pressed into a thin line. Erik’s palm clamped below his rib cage on his right side. It was warm. Too warm. When he lifted his hand, it was slick with blood.
“Hey, ref!” Jadis yelled. They didn’t look shocked, but they were furious. “Locke slipped a blade in!”
Security tackled Locke. The crowd screamed and bellowed. Cheater! Get him! Hold him down! Erik didn’t care. His body quivered and tears leaked from his eyes. He hissed when Jadis sealed their hand over the wound.
“We have to get you out of here, Erik,” Jadis said. “You need stitches, like, right fucking now—shit, shit.” They scrambled to their feet. “Desiree—don’t!”
“Move!” Desiree shouted.
“Des, don’t!” Erik yelled from the floor. He picked himself up slowly, bracing on his palm. “Leave it!”
Jadis darted away and came back, hauling Desiree by the arm. Erik dragged himself to his knees.
“We should get you to urgent care.” Desiree’s voice wobbled. She steadied him and took most of his weight when he finally got to his feet.
“I don’t have insurance,” Erik said. “It’ll cost me more than it’s worth. Jadis can do it.”
“What?” Jadis went white.
“Yeah, c’mon, it’ll be fun,” he joked, then winced and gave a weak smile. “Seriously,” he whispered, “I’m still paying off my last visit. It’s not a big deal. I’ll walk you through the whole thing.”
“You’re insane,” Jadis said. They shook their head. “You gonna tell me to cauterize it next? Jesus, Erik, I’ll pay for your stupid stitches. C’mon.”
Jadis and Desiree helped him stumble into the bathroom. Leftover attendees called to Erik as he went. You won that fight, O’Malley! Everybody saw! He ignored them and was thankful to hear the lock on the door click. Jadis bandaged his torso while Desiree gathered Erik’s things.
“I’m sorry, Des.” He grunted and swatted Jadis’s hand when they pressed too hard on his wound.
“Suck it up, O’Malley,” Jadis mumbled. They soothed their hand over his arm, an apology masked in motion.
“I bet you are,” Desiree said. She scrolled through her phone, tapped it hard with her thumb and started typing. “I accept your apology, even though you’re still a dick.”
Erik rolled his eyes. “What’re you doing?”
“Texting your boyfriend.” Desiree shot him a glare that told him not to complain. “And telling him to meet us at the twenty-four seven clinic down the street.”
“Oh, awesome. Thank you. That’ll go over well.”
Panic hid under sarcasm. All he wanted was River, to be in bed next to him, to put his head in River’s lap and let himself be held. River had seen Erik beaten before. He’d seen Erik bloody and hurt and volatile. But this was different. That blade could’ve landed somewhere else. Could’ve gone a few inches deeper. The thought made Erik dizzy and shaky. This was the kind of recklessness that ended in funeral planning. The kind Erik had kept close for so long but now wanted distance from. Maybe River would understand. Or maybe he’d run as far away from Erik as he could. Erik wouldn’t blame him if he did.
“Someone needs to take care of you,” Desiree said. “And I’m too pissed to do it, so.” She helped him slide his coat on. “Come on. Let’s go.”
…
The nurse didn’t bat an eye at Erik’s state. He had a new, fresh mark on his jaw, and his teeth had sliced open the inside of his cheek. She sat him down and told him to take off his coat. He did. She unwrapped the bandages from around his middle and sighed.
“How’d this happen?” she asked.
“I fell on my knife while I was making dinner,” Erik said.
That snide remark earned Erik a less than flattering comment under her breath. She was quick and efficient, though, stitching the three-inch gash with nimble, gloved hands.
Once it was over, he glanced down at the tiny black stitches and flinched. Blood stained his jeans and was smeared across his abdomen where the nurse’s gauze had missed. He ran a hand through his hair and limped into the lobby, fumbling with the zipper on his coat.
Fear had left a strange taste in his mouth, a reminder that life was worth a little more than he’d thought. Happiness. Trust. Love, especially. He noticed how it all built inside him, a warmth he melted under, and found himself clinging to the thought of River and a future and a home most of all.
Chapter Thirty
Desiree and Jadis were the only ones in the waiting room. River expected more people, considering their proximity to the Warehouse.
“Hey, what—where, where is he?”
Desiree was dressed for bartending, bottle opener still on her hand. Jadis retreated to the other side of the room. There was a smudge of blood on their neck.
“He’s being taken care of, and no, you can’t go back there,” Desiree said, hand on his elbow. River let himself be tugged into a seat. Rubbing the palm of his hand against his chest did nothing to slow his heart.
“What happened?” River asked.
“The other guy had a blade. He fought dirty,” Jadis said from the corner.
“What do you mean fought dirty? Isn’t it all dirty?” River winced but didn’t capitulate.
“I mean he won illegally. There are no weapons in the cage. But…the way he fought…” Desiree shook her head. “We could tell there was something off.”
“And you let him—”
“There is no letting him.” Jadis tugged at their shirt, played with an earring. Rolled their shoulders. “You should know that.”
Desiree’s fingers bit into River’s arm, and he held back a retort. They were right, and lashing out at two of the only people in Erik’s life—ones who obviously cared about him—wasn’t wise. River didn’t trust Jadis as far as he could throw them, but Erik, in his own way, did. Silence came over them, a thick blanket, worry and distrust and anger. River didn’t care that Erik would have gone in regardless of the risk. That wasn’t surprising. He cared that these people were a part of something that hurt him.
Somehow, Erik’s appearance was worse than River had expected—blood smeared, eye blackened yet again, gait listing to the side a little. What would he look like without bruises? It slammed into River—he’d never known Erik otherwise. Never seen him unmarked.
River stood perfectly still. He didn’t breathe or speak or blink. His eyes were glued to Erik’s exposed torso, and even when Erik finished zipping his coat, they stayed fixed there.
“It was a fluke thing,” Erik said softly. “It’s not… I’m fine.”
“You’re not.” River’s voice cracked. His eyes slipped shut. “Don’t lie to me like that, all right? I’m not blind.”
“Okay.” Erik’s shoulders dropped. “Everything hurts, and I feel like I was hit by a truck. Better?”
River’s jaw tightened. He held out his hand. “Are you gonna let me take care of you? Or do I need to get a leash and drag you to my apartment?”
Erik tried to bite back a laugh, but it snuck through. “I’m not opposed to the leash.”
“Erik,” River whispere
d, an air of stern desperation. He had no time for Erik’s poorly timed jokes, for deflections, for pretending that Erik wasn’t, most likely, going to break his heart. Erik took his hand. River’s thumb stroked the tail of the Imugi curved over his middle finger. As soon as River noticed Erik limping, he pressed forward, snaking his arm through Erik’s so he could lean on it.
“I’ve got you,” River said.
Erik nodded. “I know.”
“C’mon. I drove.”
“Seriously?”
“Yes.” He opened the door for Erik, folding his free fingers into a fist. He couldn’t bear it, Erik rejecting care. For now, it was easier not to offer and just to give.
That same heavy silence from the waiting room smothered any conversation in the car. Erik’s face flickered in and out of view. Mist clung to everything, shrouding the light. It passed, eerie and haunting, spilling into the car in flashes. Erik kept his head against the window. River had heard his breathing in so many permutations. Deep in sleep, caught in pleasure, on the tail end of laughter. He’d never heard Erik breathe so carefully, so gingerly.
River parked, covered his face with his hands, and did his own careful breathing. Ordered himself to get it together.
“Riv—”
“Shut up. Just… Please, shut up. Get out of the car,” River said. Guilt twisted, sharp and hot when Erik winced and nodded. He grabbed Erik’s hand. “I’m sorry. I’m—I shouldn’t—”
“It’s okay.”
“Wait here, please.” River swallowed the spikes in his constricting throat. Coming around the car, he helped Erik out. Erik bit his lip as they climbed the stairs. River wouldn’t be able to carry his weight, but he could help.
He tossed his keys on the counter, arm still supporting him, and then tried to shift them toward the bathroom. “Let’s get you cleaned up, okay?”
“I got it.” Erik stood in place and moved to toe off his shoes.
“Please, stop.” River’s fingers were cold on Erik’s warm cheek. “Please, just let me.” He didn’t quite know what he was begging for, but it was bigger than this moment. Bigger than River knew what to do with.