Unspoken (The Woodlands)

by Jen Frederick

  Noah avoided my question, but instead gestured for me to help me him undress Bo. The jeans were bloodsoaked in spots, particularly on the thighs. Noah unsnapped the shirt that was thrown over Bo and pulled it out from under him. Each movement made Bo wince and moan. But Noah got Bo down to his boxer briefs, and I threw a blanket over him, not wanting to look at the desecration made of his body. His hand crept out from under the blankets. I looked at it but made no move to take it. Noah knelt down and grabbed the hand.

  “I’m here, buddy. What do you need?” His tone was almost motherly, soothing.

  “AM,” Bo groaned.

  I came over and knelt down beside Noah. He removed his hand, and I laid my head on Bo’s outstretched palm. It was the one thing on his body that seemed to be unhurt. I pressed my cheek against it and turned my head to the side. “Shhh. I’ll be here when you wake up.” This promise seemed to settle him. He pulled his hand out from under my cheek and placed it on top of my hair, tangling his fingers in the threads of my messy bed hair.

  Noah had dragged my chair up to the bed and pulled out his phone. He propped his feet up on the edge of the bed. He fiddled with his phone and then dropped it on his lap. I hadn’t even noticed that Finn had left.

  “What’s going on?” I asked again, unmoving. Bo’s hand lay warm but firm above me. When I shifted, his hand tightened and he moaned in distress. “Shh,” I tried to soothe him, stuffing down my anger.

  “Why haven’t you taken him to the hospital?”

  Noah’s breath gusted out, like it was some big ordeal to tell me what the hell had happened to Bo.

  “I can’t. Bo’s condition would place the whole fight ring under scrutiny. No one would allow him to fight again, and a lot of people would get into trouble. Besides, I had him checked out by someone I trust.”

  “Maybe it would be a good thing if he doesn’t fight again,” I whispered furiously. I was trying to keep my voice down, but it was hard, given how much I ached to yell at Noah, throw some things around, and just generally shout out my unhappiness. This was insane.

  “He’s been in worse conditions.”

  “Where? In Afghanistan, where you were fighting insurgents and dodging bombs? I mean, really, Noah, why can’t you leave that behind?” I stood and started pacing.

  “Itemize his injuries for me,” I demanded.

  Noah dully starting listing them off. “Possible concussion. Multiple contusions on the face, over the eye and cheekbones. Nose surprisingly not broken but damaged. Possible rib fracture, definitely rib bruising. Then just more contusions on the thighs and legs.”

  “Contusions? Speak English.”

  “Bruising and swelling. Superficial injuries.”

  “So the worst is the ribs?”

  “Yeah, but without an X-ray, we won’t really know. The fact is, for rib injuries, it’s just a matter of staying stationary until you heal. Like a tailbone. Nothing you can do about it.”

  “You know a lot about injuries.”

  “Can’t fight and not know the consequences. Bo knew the consequences. He wanted those consequences and given that he would not stop bothering me to come here, I’m guessing you had something to do with that.”

  “Me? Bo and I are—” I started to explain but I didn’t know what we were. Before tonight, I would have said we were dating and now, with a hole in my wall and one in my heart, I wasn’t sure what the hell was going on. I was worn out emotionally and couldn’t think straight.

  “Whatever.” Noah was just as angry as I was, I realized. He was angry at Bo, but he didn’t want to be angry with his old friend, so he redirected it at me. I was angry with Noah for the same reasons, because it seemed wrong to direct my ire at Bo while he was lying prone and defenseless and looking like a battered rag doll. I wanted to soothe his wounded brow with a soft cloth and then beat him with it when he recovered.

  “AM, why don’t you try to get some rest, perhaps in your roommate’s room?”

  Bo grunted a “No” and his hand reached for me again.

  “Okay,” Noah said, trying for a placating and patient tone. “No one’s trying to take her from you. I’m only looking out for her, like you’d want.” Noah turned his attention to me. “I need to wake Bo every two hours. Since he may or may not have a concussion.”

  I shook my head. Bo had moved silently to make room for me on the bed. I hadn’t heard him make a sound even though I knew it must have been excruciating. I sighed and climbed into bed next to him, leaning against the headboard. Bo grunted his approval and laid a hard, hot hand on my thigh. My presence on the bed seemed to settle him, because his breath evened out.

  “So Bo got in a fight tonight? Or got hit by a car? And you guys like to play doctor, so he’s here in my apartment and not in an emergency room?”

  Noah eyed me contemplatively, probably deciding how much truth and how much fiction I should be given. I cleared it up for him.

  “I want the whole story. You owe it to me.”

  Noah grimaced. “Right. Look, I only know that Bo wanted to come here so badly that he practically wrecked us in the car, fighting to get me to bring him here. So here I am.”

  “That doesn’t tell me why Bo looks like he was an extra in Rocky.”

  “Bo went to the Casino looking for a fight. He took one, and then challenged the crowd, asking for anyone with a set of balls to stand up. He knocked the next guy down and then the next, but with each bout he took a ton of hits. Finally, and I don’t know why but I suspect it’s because of something to do with you,” Noah accused, “he picked the biggest fucker in the room, someone who blew out his knee or he would have played professional football as a lineman. A pro athlete. And then Bo didn’t even try. He poked at him, taunted him, basically drove the lineman into a rage and then suffered a beatdown like none other. I kept yelling for him to tap out, to wave the white flag, but he kept going back in. Now we’re here. What’s your side of the story?”

  “My side?” I was furious that Noah wanted to blame this debacle on me. Furious and feeling terribly guilty.

  Noah sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. “Sorry. I’m just frustrated. I don’t know what happened tonight, and I wish to fuck I did.”

  I wasn’t going to tell Noah that Bo and I had fought over the frat party debacle or my refusal to transfer. I ached that my own wrongheadedness was what had driven Bo crazy. If only he’d waited just a few minutes longer, I could’ve told him I was going to confront all those things he rightly pointed out that I’d been avoiding.

  “Oh, Beauregard, always trying to make things harder on yourself.”

  “You know why Bo isn’t a professional fighter even though he’s far more naturally skilled than me?” Noah asked out of the blue. This seemed like a random question. Maybe they’d both suffered a knock on the head. When I shook my head, Noah continued, “Bo lacks discipline. He was constantly getting in trouble, just little things, when we were enlisted, but he’s so strong and capable and so damn brave that his little infractions were smoothed over. We needed every able-bodied person willing to step up, and Bo was willing to do all the things that were dangerous and scary and unwise. We all covered for him because every guy in the unit loved Bo. How could you not?

  “But the rigidity of the unit helped him. Out here, he’s just a crazy-ass motherfucker waiting for the right person to piss him off. You need to get as far away from him as possible, so you aren’t hurt by the shrapnel when he takes one for the team.”

  I struggled to understand all this military speak and how this applied to me. All I knew was that Bo was hurt and that made me hurt too. One argument shouldn’t have led to this. “You don’t have to stay. I can wake him up.”

  “I can’t. Bo would never leave me.” Noah shook his head adamantly.

  “What’s going on in his head, Noah?”

  “Dunno.” Noah dropped his own head in his hands. He spoke to the floor. “Why don’t you get some sleep?. I’ll watch him for the next couple of hours, and y
ou can take the next shift.”

  I looked at Bo reluctantly. I didn’t want to leave him, but Noah was right. I eased myself carefully off the bed, went into Ellie’s room, set the alarm on my phone, and fell asleep on her bed almost immediately, emotionally tapped out.

  When I woke, dawn was breaking through the windows. I looked at my phone to check the time. I’d slept for five hours. I jumped out of bed and ran into my bedroom. Noah was in the same position as I’d left him. Sitting in the chair and contemplating an unmoving Bo.

  “You didn’t wake me up,” I hissed at Noah. He seemed unsurprised by my presence. I guess he heard me get out of bed.

  “You didn’t wake up to the alarm. I’ve stayed up for far more consecutive hours than this.”

  “How is he?”

  “Fine. I don’t think he has a concussion. He responds normally whenever I wake him.”

  “He can hear you just fine, too,” I heard from the bed.

  BO

  “GODDAMMIT, BO.” AM EXPLODED WHEN she heard me speak. My entire body ached like it hadn’t ached since Basic. I wanted to get up to take a leak, but every time I tried to sit up, the pain in my ribs made me dizzy.

  “Come ‘ere.” I gestured for AM to come closer. I needed her closer. “I’m sorry, Sunshine. So sorry.”

  My apology broke a dam of tears she must have been holding back, and she ran over to the bed, collapsing to her knees. I stroked her head as best I could with my mangled hand. “No, I’m sorry,” she sobbed. Noah cleared his throat. He looked more pained than if he’d taken the butt of an MK19 machine gun to his gut. He pointed to his watch and held up two fingers. He wanted me to check my signs every two hours.

  “AM, stop crying. You’re breaking my fucking heart.”

  “I’m breaking your heart?” Her head shot up and her eyes glittered, part with rage and part with fear. I understood everything she was feeling because that was exactly how I had felt last night.

  Between her crying and my aching body, I felt lower than an ant’s belly. Broken and bruised, I wanted nothing more than to sink into AM’s bed and have her soothe me, but now that I was here, I realized what a stupid mistake that was. I had to get out of here before I did more damage to AM. For the first time in my life, I wanted to think. Somehow I managed to sit up and signal for Noah to help me out of there.

  AM’s face went still at my movements.

  “Don’t look like that, AM. I shouldn’t have made them bring me here.” I struggled to my feet. “It was wrong. I’ve done you wrong.” Noah threw a blanket over my nearly naked body. There was no way I could bend over and put on clothes. Noah bent down to help me put some shoes on, but I shook my head no. There was a limit, and I’d reached it. I stood up as straight as possible and looked at AM. “This is wrong,” I repeated.

  “No,” she cried.

  I tried to shut out the sounds of her choked sobs, but they tore into me with more force than any of the fists that I’d endured last night.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  BO

  NOAH GOT ME HOME AND THE four guys took turns calling me names at every two-hour mark. Douche bag, asswipe, dickwad, fuckstick. Noah gave me a Vicodin, and I soaked in the jet tub installed in the bathroom attached to Finn’s bedroom. The heat of the water and the pain killers eased the pain.

  After I’d proven to Noah that I didn’t have a concussion, I went over to AM’s apartment, but she wasn’t home. I had no idea where she was. I weaseled my way inside the security door by flirting with a resident and then popped AM’s disgustingly easy locks with a credit card.

  After inspecting the hole I’d made, I called and asked Finn to bring over supplies for repair.

  “Your fist?” Finn asked when I let him into the apartment.

  “Yup.”

  Finn shook his head. “They just don’t make walls like they used to.” He set down a bucket that contained a bunch of tools and pulled out what looked like a tiny saw. “Do you want to learn to do this or do you just want me to fix it?”

  I looked at his tools: knife, hammer, power drill. “Is this a joke? Of course I want to fix it.” Not only would I get to use tools but I’d be able to brag to AM about it if I could bring myself to face her again. After running away like a chicken this morning I realized I had a lot of groveling and explaining to do. I was a mess, wanting to be with her and knowing that if I stayed I’d end up breaking her heart or worse. Patching this hole up was the least I could do. Whatever rip I’d torn between us wasn’t reparable.

  Finn looked at my bruised and swollen fingers and shrugged his shoulders.

  “Cut the hole into a square with this knife and then cut a square of this drywall to make the patch,” Finn instructed. He handed me the knife, which I clumsily grasped, and I went to work. The sheetrock crumbled as I sawed my way around the hole I’d punched. Bits of it clung to the back of my hand and other pieces fell to the ground to dust my boots and the carpet.

  “You enjoy flipping houses, Finn?” I asked as I finished creating a square in the wall. I’m sure Finn could have fixed about ten houses by now but he stood patiently while I fumbled with the tools. I held up the partial piece that Finn had handed me and marked the sides with a pencil.

  “Yeah, it’s okay. Here, score the front and the back and then just break it off,” Finn told me, running the knife down the pencil line I’d made. I broke the shorter piece off.

  “This is cool,” I told him. “You go to school for that? Is there like a construction school?” I repeated the cut on the other side.

  “The ‘on the job’ school, you mean? I went to State and got my business degree and worked summers at my dad’s construction company.” Finn leaned against the wall and watched me construct my little square patch.

  “Why aren’t you working for him?” I asked, lifting the square to see if it fit into the hole. Perfect, I thought.

  Finn didn’t answer and I looked over my shoulder to see him peering at his boots. “Flip?” I asked him, using the nickname that one of my other roommates had used once in jest.

  “Why do you and Noah never go home to Texas?” Finn answered.

  “Gotcha.” I turned back to the wall. Those were things filed under “don’t want to talk about it.” “Now what?”

  Finn pulled out a sheer tape that looked like it had little fibers running through it. “Tape the patch to the wall with this, and then we’ll mud over it.”

  As we were putting on the final touches of white plaster, or what Finn called mud, I asked him, “You ever feel like hitting a woman, Finn?”

  Finn sighed, knelt down, and started packing his tools away. “Is there any beer in this joint?”

  “Why?”

  “We gotta wait until the plaster dries, and then we have to sand it smooth.”

  “Oh, okay.” I went over to the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. It was filled with diet soda and juice. I started going through the cupboards and found a bottle of vodka. “How about a screwdriver?”

  Finn’s look clearly conveyed distaste and resignation. “Vodka on the rocks?” I offered as an alternative.

  “Whatever.” He walked over to AM’s ugly sofa.

  “Are these chicks color-blind?” Finn asked as he stood next to the monstrosity.

  “Not that I know of.” Finn sat down and looked like he was swallowed inside the cushions.

  “Goddamn,” I heard him moan. “This is the most comfortable sofa ever.”

  I found two glasses and pulled some ice from the freezer. Poured two large fingers of vodka and a splash of OJ.

  I handed a glass to Finn as I rounded the sofa and sat on the other end. I sank down deep, as if embraced by an actual goose. “There’s something wrong with those girls for not covering it. Looks like snails are leaving a blood trail behind them.” But given AM’s penchant for not running away, I guess it made a perverse kind of sense.

  Finn laughed and took a long draught of the vodka. “Yeah, I have thought of it.”

  It
took me a minute to track back and remember what question Finn was answering. “And?”

  “My mother.”

  “Dude, what?” I choked on my ice cube. I had kind of asked the question half-facetiously so Finn could tell me I was fucked up and that I belonged a thousand feet away from AM at all times. Finn fell firmly in the decent guy category, but he was just as fit as Noah or me. His muscles were developed from hard work rather than the gym. He carted around boards and pulled down walls. A blow from his fist would probably level a woman.

  “She cheated on my dad with my dad’s brother.” He took another drink. “Worst part, my dad and uncle are in business together and still are. Which is why I flip houses instead of build them with my dad like we’d always planned.”

  “That’s…” I didn’t know what to say. It wasn’t a story I’d ever heard before. It was like something you’d see on a daytime drama and that you’d think was all made up and shit.

  “Unbelievable? Incredible? Disgusting?”

  I just nodded.

  “When my mom finally confessed, my dad looked devastated, and I wanted to hit her. Make her feel even a portion of the pain she’d caused us.”

  “But you didn’t?”

  “No. I went outside and chopped a tree down in our backyard. It was her favorite. Took me an hour.” Another sip and an evil grin appeared. “Damn, that felt good.” He rolled his shoulders as if remembering the pain of the effort and appreciating it.

  “She cry?” Finn might have hated his mom about as much as I hated my dad.

  “Her little lower lip trembled, but she heroically kept her tears in,” Finn said grimly.

  “Damn. But I hear you.”

  “So you’re worried that you’re going to hit AnnMarie?”

  “Or someone,” I admitted and tossed back half my glass. There wasn’t enough liquor to smooth the passage of my story so I just vomited it out. “My dad beat the shit out of my mom all the time while I was growing up. I begged her to leave, but she just refused. Said that she was married to him and she wouldn’t leave him. That I didn’t understand.” I drank the rest and slammed the glass on the table. “I didn’t understand. Still don’t.