by Jeff Zentner
He starts to constrict like a python, pulling on his foot. Yuri’s face turns a deep shade of purple in the orange glow of the parking lot lights. He wheezes what’s probably more Russian profanity, then jerks, trying to escape the hold, but he can’t get free. Lawson makes adjustments with his hands to the positioning of his legs and Yuri’s head and neck in the hold. Yuri tries to stand, pulling Lawson up, but Lawson keeps his shoulder blades on the ground.
Yuri slowly collapses back to his knees, struggles for a couple more seconds, and then goes completely limp. Lawson releases the hold and rolls Yuri’s hulking unconscious body onto its side. Yuri immediately begins snoring. Lawson jumps to his feet, dusts off his back, picks up his phone, and comes to me. “Are you okay?”
I swallow and nod, still stunned, too much adrenaline sluicing through my body to speak.
“Well, now you’ve done it, you brute. You killed Yuri!” Divine cries. “I’d grown fond of the oaf despite his coarseness.”
“He’s not dead, you idiot,” Lawson says.
“Oh, this is just a horrible thing for me to have to see. You dipping your hands in a man’s blood right in front of me.”
“Dude? I just choked him out. He’s snoring. If you’d shut up for a second, you’d hear it.”
“I knew you were trouble from how little you talked all night. Quiet people, you gotta keep your eye on them. If you’re not speaking, you’re scheming.”
Lawson points at Divine. “You shut up. You’ve talked enough tonight.” He bends down and rummages in Yuri’s pockets. He comes up with the keys to the Escalade.
“You better not steal our car, you hooligan!” Divine yells.
Lawson walks quickly toward Divine.
“Don’t you dare! One of my dearest friends is Steven Seagal. He’s promised to visit terrible suffering on anyone who tries to get my goat!” Despite his bravado, Divine shrivels from Lawson as he nears. “Stay back, you lout!”
Lawson holds the keys up to Divine’s face, then chucks them into the donation bin. He nods at Yuri, still slumped on the ground. “When he wakes up, he’ll be in a great mood. He can help you get unstuck, and maybe between the two of you, you can get the keys out. You might even still sell something.”
Divine nods nervously. “All right. Fine.”
Lawson walks away. As soon as he does, Divine starts in again. “I’m not scared of you! You got lucky!”
My voice returns. “Lawson, give Mr. Divine his honorarium.” I hope Lawson catches my drift.
Lawson gives me a knowing smile, spins around, and walks back to Divine, whose bravado abruptly evaporates again. “Okay, all right. Let’s be calm.”
Lawson lifts the tail of Divine’s jacket while blocking Divine’s impotent swats, grabs the waistband of his boxer shorts, and yanks upward with a loud rip. Divine howls. “Ow! That was an unnecessarily violent wedgie! You’ll be hearing from my attorneys in the coming days. I think you may have herniated a disc in my lower back when you did that! And if you’ve injured my anus, there’ll be hell to pay!”
I see my phone lying several yards away. I scurry over and pick it up. It seems to be working fine, but it has seven percent left on the battery. Lawson comes over to me and starts leading me away.
“Wait,” I say. “One more thing.” I run to the Escalade, open the door, and grab the lobster in its to-go box. I hold it aloft like a trophy. “I paid for this lobster. And Lawson and I are going to eat it.”
“What if I get peckish later?” Divine wails. “There’s nothing worse than being hungry in a hotel room. Oh, I don’t care to work with you anymore. I don’t. You don’t even mind if I get peckish. I’m going to tell everyone in television not to give you the time of day.”
“You do that,” I call back. “Start with Disme.”
Lawson and I speed-walk away. Divine’s indignant clamoring fades behind us. We steal one last look back at him, hanging there like a broken, outraged marionette. And in spite of ourselves—in spite of everything—we both laugh.
* * *
•••
My phone was at seven percent battery, but the minute I start using it to figure out where we are, it drops to four percent.
Lawson pulls his phone from his back pocket. The screen is shattered. “Aw…damn. Must’ve broken it during the fight. It turns on, but I can’t use the screen.”
“I think I know which way we need to start heading. It’s actually kinda easy to get back to the hotel. But it’s about five miles.”
“Should we try to get a cab or an Uber or something?”
“I have no idea what that would cost, and I seriously can’t spend any more money. I’m legit broke.”
“I don’t mind walking. Plus, I guess I have to buy a new phone now, so yeah.”
“I’m so, so sorry about this. How embarrassing.”
Lawson smiles and puts his arm around me. “Hey, I got to spend time with you. I’ll never complain about that.”
I kiss his neck. “Okay, explain to me what I saw.”
Lawson glows, perfectly in his element. “Basically, the minute Yuri went into his stance, I could tell he was a striker, not a grappler. I was worried he might be a Sombo guy—”
“Sombo?”
“Russian martial art. Kinda like jujitsu.”
“Wild. Go ahead.”
“So I could see he was pretty much a street brawler from his stance. He didn’t move like he had fight training. Still, I wasn’t about to stand and bang with him. I figured if I could get the fight to the ground, I could get him in an armbar or a choke. No way does he have any submission defense. But I didn’t wanna try to take him down, because he was too big. So I faked a fall to lure him to the ground, and bam! Triangle choke. Prettiest one I ever did.”
“In other words, you basically played a chess game in your head in like one nanosecond.”
“A chess game where one punch could land me in the morgue.”
“Wait, seriously?”
“It’s a worst-case scenario, but…”
“You risked death to put yourself between Yuri and me?!”
“I was not about to let him lay his hands on you.”
“That is ridiculously hot.”
He shrugs, self-consciously casual. “My favorite character in the Bloodfall books is Taaro Tarkkanan, this warrior who’s the personal bodyguard of the Queen of the Autumnlands. He’s sworn to die for his queen.”
I step in front of him and put my hand on his chest. (It’s a nice chest.) “Hey, stop.” I stand on my tiptoes and pull his face down to me until his lips brush mine. “I need to make you some pancakes,” I murmur.
* * *
•••
“You know what I wish I hadn’t left in Divine’s car?” I ask, stopping to take off my heels.
Lawson smacks his forehead. “Your flip-flops.”
“Yep. I guess they’ll have to be Divine’s honorarium.”
“They’re not going to help him if he gets peckish later.”
“Nope.”
Lawson stops and pulls off his shoes and socks. He stuffs his socks in the toes and hands them to me. “Put these on.”
“What about you?”
“My feet are super calloused from fight training.”
“Your awesomeness levels are almost scary,” I say, putting on his shoes.
By about thirty minutes into our walk, the adrenaline and giddiness of our close escape have worn off. What’s replaced it is the sinking realization of what our failure with Divine means.
“You’ve been quiet for the last few minutes,” Lawson says.
“I’m pretty bummed out that Divine was such a disaster. Like legitimately bummed out.”
“I can imagine.”
“I made a big bet on this.”
“You’ll be able to save
up money this summer.”
“That’s not what I mean.”
“What do you mean?”
I almost say, Now’s not the time. Let’s talk about it later. But that’s the worst. That’s not what you say to someone who just risked his life for you. But I also can’t look him in the eyes. And then, out of nowhere, I start crying. I didn’t mean to. But the stress, exhaustion, and defeat of the night have overwhelmed me.
“Hey, now,” Lawson says gently. He hugs me to his chest, and I bury my face in it. He strokes my hair. “It’s okay. It’s okay.”
“What’s one more indignity tonight, right?” I say, half composed.
Lawson shakes his head. “You have nothing to be ashamed of. You handled tonight like a champion. You’re a fighter.”
I sigh and wipe away tears. “I don’t know. I made a deal with my parents. Remember that internship with Food Network I told you about the first time we hung out?”
“Yeah. That your mom hooked up for you?”
“That’s the one. I kinda promised my parents that if things didn’t work out with Divine, I would take the internship.”
“So—”
“So if I keep my promise, that means I’m headed to Knoxville at the end of summer.” I look up to see Lawson’s reaction.
“Oh.” His face dims. Like when you turn on a light in a room and something seems weird and you notice there’s a lightbulb out.
“I don’t know what to do. I don’t want to leave you and Delia.”
Lawson is quiet for a long time. I see his jaw muscles clenching. Finally, he says, “I never want to be the reason you break a promise.”
“The other thing is, after this weekend, I’m not sure I’m meant to be a horror host for the rest of my life. Walking around that convention—I’m just not a horror person. Not really. I don’t feel dedicated enough. I mean, do you have any doubt that being a professional fighter is what you want?”
“None. If I had doubts, no way could I do the things I do. It would hurt too much.”
“See? Plus, I know Divine was largely full of beans, but I believe him that he’s achieved as much as you can in the horror-hosting world. And it doesn’t look that great.”
“No. It does not.”
“How am I going to tell Delia?”
“It’ll come to you.”
“I feel terrible. I pressured her to go see her dad.”
“No, you didn’t. She wanted to go. I could tell. You just gave her permission.”
“It’s going to break her heart. This. We can’t tell her much about how gross a time we had. Delia doesn’t require much convincing that she’s a bad person.”
We walk along quietly, contemplatively.
“I’m gonna miss you,” Lawson says. “I wish we’d met each other sooner.”
“I bet they have fighting coaches or whatever in Knoxville.” Hearing the words out loud, I realize how badly I want them to take root in him.
“They do.”
I give him a few seconds to take the hint. “And?”
“And…I gotta stick with my coach. He’s a great coach. He and I have been working together since I started fighting. I’m super loyal to people.”
“Think about it?”
He nods. “I’ll think about it.”
“I regret being bratty to you on our first date.”
“Part of your charm.”
“You’re a really good guy.”
“You’re a really great girl.”
We walk and walk, my dejection deepening with every step. It’s started to feel like a funeral march.
I get out my phone for a progress check, and I run through the last dregs of battery doing it. Which is bad, because now there’s no calling for rides, for sure. And I’m completely out of gas. Emotionally. Physically. My feet have blisters. So does my heart.
I stop in the middle of the sidewalk. I feel like crying again. “I’m exhausted.”
“How far?”
“Another mile.”
He turns around and gets down on one knee. “Giddyup.”
“Dude.”
“I’m serious. Saddle up.”
“You’re gonna give me a horsie ride for a mile?”
“Yep.”
“Come on.”
“This weekend has been a wash, training-wise. It’ll do me good. We carry each other around the gym during practice.”
“Okay, but I’m making you wear your shoes.”
“Deal.”
He puts his socks and shoes on. I get on his back and hold on, resting my face in his thick black hair. It feels like heaven. “You are strong like hippo,” I murmur. We both start giggling so hard he has to let me down for a second.
“No more making me laugh if you want this to work,” he says.
“Okay. I’m really going to miss you.”
“Perfect. That’s the least funny thing for me to think about.”
“I wasn’t finished. Miss you…like hippo.”
My eyes are so tear-blurred, I almost run off the road a few times.
There aren’t enough good places to scream in this world. You can’t do it in public. You can’t really do it at your house, if you live anywhere near other people. Can’t do it at school. It’s strange that we provide so few places to do something that you really need to do sometimes. There should be padded, soundproof rooms, like restrooms for screaming. Fortunately, a Kia Rio on a three-hour drive on the interstate from Boca Raton to Orlando is a great place to scream.
So I roll down the window and scream into the humid night. I scream until the back of my throat is raw and hot like a skinned knee. Until I can taste copper. I scream with my wounded seven-year-old heart and every year of hurt that followed. The air, weighted with water, seems to swallow up the sound, like I’m screaming into a pillow. This strange place feels like the jungle wants to devour it; as if the moment humans stop cutting it back, it’ll reclaim what belonged to it. Maybe the ice caps will melt and this place will disappear completely, washed away.
What a good place for someone running from memories, where all of the world’s motion is toward forgetting.
By the time Lawson gets out of the shower, I’m sitting cross-legged on the bed, my hair wrapped up into a towel, dressed in the shorts and tank top I sleep in, tearing into my repossessed lobster. I dip chunks of the sweet white meat into the little container of butter that came with it. Delia just texted me to say that she was getting gas and would be back in about an hour and a half.
“Sorry, dude,” I say, my mouth full, as Lawson emerges. “Couldn’t wait.”
Lawson roars in mock anger, runs up to the bed, and dives on, forcing me to pick up the lobster box at the last second, squealing and giggling. He tickles me, and I squeal some more.
“I’ve heard there’s nothing worse than being hungry in a hotel room,” he says.
“What can I say? I got peckish.”
I tear off a chunk of lobster, dip it in the butter, and feed it to him.
He chews and nods. “Not bad…It’s no pancakes, though.”
“Worth ninety bucks?”
We look at each other for a second and bust up. “No way,” he says.
“What a disaster this night was,” I say. “In every conceivable way.”
Lawson gets a distant, contented look.
“What? What’s that look?”
“There’s one way it wasn’t so bad.”
“What?” I reach up and smooth an errant patch of his damp hair.
“I told you I’d win a fight in front of you someday. Tonight I did.” He beams.
I set the lobster box on the nightstand and stand at the foot of the bed. “Come here. Stand beside me.”
Lawson does as he’s told. I grab his hand. “Aaaaaaand the winne
r of tonight’s fight—What do I say next? Do I say your name?”
“Yep. Also say how I won. By triangle choke.”
I raise Lawson’s arm. “Aaaaaaand the winner of tonight’s fight, by triangle choke, Lawson ‘Lost in Translation’ Vargas!” I yell the last part so loudly, someone thumps on our ceiling. But we don’t care. Lawson does a backflip onto the bed, bouncing a couple of times, and I flop next to him, and we laugh and kiss a lot.
We may not have forever together, but we have right now.
* * *
•••
There’s none of the weirdness or awkwardness I feared when we get in bed together to sleep. Just pure snuggliness, both of us smelling like hotel soap.
As tired as I am, and as comfortable as I am, spooned into him, I take longer to fall asleep than I expect.
I imagine how tonight probably bruised me emotionally in ways I won’t realize until I wake up tomorrow, like after a hard day of some strenuous physical activity your body isn’t used to.
I ponder the promise I made my parents and the wisdom of leaving behind a small but sure thing for an uncertain future.
I picture Delia, driving back alone in the dark, having had either the best night of her life or the worst. There’s no way it was anywhere in between. And I consider what I’m going to have to tell her.
And I think about the boy whose warm, strong, hard-yet-welcoming body I’m nestled into. The one currently being a perfect gentleman about his obvious raging boner. The one who stood quietly by my side through every moment of a difficult night. The one who casually risked death in battle for me. The one who literally carried me on his back. The one who has taken me completely by surprise in so many ways.
I try to be absolutely silent entering the hotel room, because Josie and Lawson are probably asleep. I fumble around by the light of my phone.
Josie raises her head, squinting. “DeeDee?” she whispers, in a voice thick with sleep. Lawson doesn’t stir.