by Grey, Priya
I gather the courage to look my sister in the eyes again. Then, I describe to her exactly how bleak things appear.
“I was doing some research, Layla. Even if this treatment works on Max, it doesn’t mean he’s in the clear. There might be a lot more treatments involved.” As I talk, the emotion I’ve been trying to suppress slowly bubbles to the surface again. I’ve been trying to hold myself together, but I feel like I’m about to break. “I want to do everything in my power to save him,” I confess to her. “But I’m failing.”
I smack one of my crutches against the wall. Then I glare at my sister, seething with self-loathing. “I wanted to win this fight so badly, Layla. But I couldn’t even do that. Even though I was fighting for my boy’s life, I could not win the fight.” I try to calm down but I can’t. Hot tears stream down my face. “I would have died in that ring,” I cry, “if it meant Max could walk out of this fuckin’ hospital, healthy.”
I take a deep, long breath.
With a sigh, I add, “It all comes down to money, Layla. And I don’t have it.” I look at her and confess the sad truth. “Even if you and Marcus take out a second mortgage on your house, it won’t be enough to keep Max alive.”
I look back at the floor. I feel like I’m suffocating from the pressure coming at me in all directions.
“Hey,” snaps Layla. She grabs my head with her hands and looks me squarely in the eyes. She speaks to me with a strength I wish I could manage at the moment. “You can’t lose faith, Kade. You hear me? You never lose faith. So you lost this fight and got a busted leg. It doesn’t mean it’s over. We’ll figure out a way to get Max what he needs. You hear me?”
I nod slowly.
“Yeah,” I mutter, although I’m having a hard time keeping my faith right now.
Layla straightens herself. “Okay. Now stay strong.” She adds, “I’m going to the cafeteria to get a cup of coffee. You want one?”
I nod.
“I’ll be right back.”
I grab her arm before she has a chance to walk away. “Thanks,” I tell her.
She looks at me with a sad smile. “For what? Being an older sister?”
I nod. “Yeah. I’m grateful I’ve got you by my side.” I pull her into a bear hug.
“Don’t mention it,” she says with a tender look. I release her and she walks toward the elevators down the hall.
Once she’s gone, I lean against the wall and close my eyes. I breathe deeply and slowly. I need to get myself together before entering the room again to see Max. I have to look strong when I’m in his presence. He can’t see me in this emotional state. It would just fill him with worry, and that poor kid has enough to deal with. That being said, I still have to figure out how to pay for Max’s treatment. Where the hell am I going to come up with that kind of money?
“Am I coming at a bad time?”
I open my eyes and see Shane standing in front of me. His two bodyguards, Vince and Leo, hover a few feet from us.
CHAPTER FIVE
“I thought I’d come by and see how the little guy was doing,” says Shane.
Shane and I are childhood friends. We grew up together in the ghetto of Westmont. We used to be thick as thieves – until Shane actually became a thief. He was always attracted to the quick buck; and by the age of sixteen, he was running his own gang, committing burglaries and dealing drugs. I didn’t agree with his life choices, but I remained his friend.
I even took a bullet meant for him.
It happened when we were teenagers. We were hanging out on the front lawn of a house party. A rival gang must have been tipped off about our location. Out of nowhere, a car sped down the street. When I saw a gun pointing out the car window, I immediately ducked and took Shane to the ground with me. I got shot in the side. Luckily, the bullet didn’t hit any organs. After a stint in the hospital, I was okay.
Shane couldn’t believe I took a bullet meant for him. I couldn’t either. On instinct, I just wanted to protect my friend. But that night, as I lay recovering in the hospital, I realized I needed to get out of the ghetto. I wanted my life to have meaning. So, I enlisted in the army.
Going to war changed me.
When I came home – between tours – I slowly realized I wasn’t right in the head. Everywhere I turned, I felt the possibility of danger. I couldn’t be in crowded places, and driving my car on a busy street always put me on high alert. I was angry most of the time and would lose my temper in a second. I didn’t realize it, but I was suffering from PTSD. Instead of getting help, I just went back to Iraq.
I felt more comfortable being in the Middle East than at home in LA.
That all changed when I came back from my last tour. I saw how badly Max’s mom, Monique, was doing. Her drug addiction had escalated. I realized then, even though my regiment needed me in Iraq, my son needed me to stay home. So I stayed… to be the father I wished I had been all along. Max moved in with me and I turned to MMA fighting to help support us. And fortunately, with some of my winnings, I opened up my own gym – Kade’s Cage.
Shane’s life took a much different route. While I was off fighting in the desert, Shane hustled the jungle of LA. He was always a smart guy – maybe too smart for his own good – and worked the streets to his benefit. In little over three years, he became a major figure in the LA criminal world.
And today, he has his hands in all sorts of rackets – from drugs, to prostitution, to underground fighting. He’s gone from being a ghetto kid, just like me, to a “businessman” who wears thousand dollar suits and expensive diamond stud earrings.
But when you’re at the top of the food chain, a lot of people want to take you down. So, Shane has his bodyguards – Vince and Leo – with him at all times. They’re big burly guys who might as well be cut out of stone. They show no emotion. They’re as cold as ice.
When I came back to LA for good, I tried to leave the war behind me. Shane, on the other hand, has been fighting his own war since he entered ‘the life’ at the age of sixteen. His life is always at risk. But I think he likes it that way. It gives him a rush. Since I’ve been back, we’re not as close as we used to be. Shane’s been busy building his criminal empire. But that’s not the only reason. The only thing Shane values these days is money. He has no room in his life for old childhood friends. That’s why I’m surprised to see him here.
“He’s sleeping,” I tell him. “But you can come in and see him.”
I turn and hobble into the room. Shane follows me. His bodyguards wait outside.
Shane can’t hide his shock when he sees how sick Max looks. “Damn,” he mutters.
“Yeah,” I reply.
We stand in silence – both Shane and I – virile, strong men staring at the ravished, sickly body of my son.
“How’s the leg?” Shane eventually asks.
I shrug. “Broken.”
“I heard you didn’t tap out?”
“I couldn’t.”
Shane stares at me for a moment. I can’t tell what he’s thinking. He then sighs and walks out of the room. I follow him. When we step into the hallway, he reaches into his suit pocket. He takes out an envelope and hands it to me.
“Here’s your take from the fight.”
I take the envelope and open it: two thousand dollars. If I had won, the take would have been seven thousand dollars. Still not enough for my son’s treatment. But it’s a start.
Shane turns to Vince and Leo and tells them to give us some space. The two burly bodyguards nod. Shane then walks down the hall and motions me to follow. I sigh as I try to keep pace with him on my crutches.
“The lobby downstairs is crazy,” he says.
“Yeah, I think there’s somebody famous staying here.”
“Melody Swanson,” he replies.
I look at him and shrug. The name doesn’t register with me.
“You know, the singer?”
I shake my head.
“Dude,” he says. “Her songs are all over the radio. She was i
n that movie. That chick flick with that guy; I forget the name of it.”
“I don’t watch chick flicks,” I say offhandedly.
“I don’t fuckin’ either,” says Shane. “But the billboards for it were everywhere. I think her car exploded or something. I heard one of the reporters say she’s fried chicken. Anyway, who gives a shit.” Shane points at me and says, “You should have tapped out, Kade. Now, you’re out of commission for at least five months.”
“You’re probably right,” I agree, not really listening to him.
My mind is elsewhere – on Max.
Shane stops and turns to me. He looks me up and down.
“Hey, I understand why you didn’t,” he says. “He’s your son. I get it. ” He continues walking, and I hobble along. “Either way,” he says. “You made quite an impression. I think once you’re all healed up, we can schedule you for another fight. Bigger take next time. How’s that sound?”
“I’m not sure the result would be any different,” I admit. “I need to spend more time training and with everything…you know, with Max…it’s tough.”
Shane looks at me and nods. “Yeah, I know. How you holding up?”
I stop and take a breath. I straighten up and look at him. “I’m holding.”
We stare at each other for a moment. Shane’s not a big talker and neither am I.
“Listen,” he finally says, glancing down at the floor. “I’ve been doing some thinking about your situation.” He sighs and shrugs. “I’ve never forgotten about that bullet you took for me when we were kids.”
I nod.
He continues. “And I know you need a ton of money for your boy’s treatment. I have an arrangement that could work for the both of us. If you’re interested…”
I don’t know what to say. The tension I’ve been carrying in my chest and stomach eases for the first time in weeks. I’m overcome by a foreign feeling, a jolt springing my body back to life: A sense of hope.
“What?” I ask, unable to control my smile.
Shane motions me to continue walking. I hobble along, but I’m excited now, energized. I might be able to save Max’s life!
“Now, I’ve got to warn you,” says Shane as we continue walking down the hall. “You might not like it at first.”
“I’m listening,” I say, unable to hide my enthusiasm.
“You know guys like you – vets? It turns out you’re quite popular.”
“That’s news to me,” I reply. “Nobody seems to want to hear about us when we get back home. We’re just forgotten.”
“I’m not talking about any of that,” says Shane. He stops and looks at me. “It turns out there’s a demand for guys with your background and with your looks.” He moves in closer and lowers his tone. “I’ve started a side business that’s making me a ton of money – a lot of demand and not enough supply. I’m thinking you can help me out in that department.”
I’m not sure what he’s talking about. But honestly, I don’t care. I’ll agree to anything if it means saving Max’s life.
Shane leans back and looks me straight in the eye. “You agree to help me out,” he says. “And I’ll cover all of Max’s medical expenses.”
I don’t know what to say. My prayers have been answered. Hallelujah!
When Layla steps out of the elevator with two cups of coffee, she’s surprised to see Shane and his two bodyguards standing in the hallway.
Shane smirks as he admires my sister in a long, lustful gaze. “Hello, Layla. Looking as beautiful as ever.”
“Thanks,” replies Layla in a flat tone as she walks past them and toward me. She hands me my cup of coffee. She then turns and watches as Shane and his men step into the elevator and disappear.
“I’ve never liked him,” she says. “What did he want anyway?”
I don’t answer her. My mind is still spinning from my conversation with Shane. I take a sip from my coffee, trying to process it all. Shane might have been my best friend growing up, but I feel like I just made a deal with the devil.
“Kade, what did he want?” repeats Layla.
I finally snap out of it. “He offered to help with Max.”
Layla looks surprised. “How?”
“He’ll pay for all the treatments.”
Layla’s expression slowly changes to one of suspicion. “In exchange for what?”
CHAPTER SIX
One Year Later…
“I need you to increase my dosage.”
“You’re already taking a pretty high amount.”
I eye my therapist coldly through my mask. “It’s not enough,” I say. “I still can’t get any sleep.”
“Nightmares?” she asks, staring at me through her glasses, her notepad flipped open on her lap.
I nod.
She scribbles something down. “Describe this last one for me.”
I sigh, annoyed, and then shake my head. I don’t want to relive it. “It’s the same as all the others,” I reply.
“You’re trapped in the car,” she begins saying. “The fire.”
I nod. I know it’s impossible, but when she mentions the word fire, it feels like hot flames suddenly attack my skin. Images of that paparazzi guy filming me, as I begged for help, trapped inside the burning inferno of my car, flash instantly through my mind.
It’s been a year since that horrific night, but it feels like it happened only yesterday.
After eight months of rehabilitation, I finally started walking again. I’ve had multiple operations – on my body and my face. I have scars everywhere. I still have a few more facial surgeries scheduled, and as a result, I wear a mask whenever company is around. It’s a white mask that wraps around my head. Trust me, you wouldn’t want to see me without it. I guarantee if you saw my face, you’d scream and run away. I still cringe whenever I take the mask off and stare at myself in the mirror. I look like I’m straight out of a horror movie. But I’m not wearing any special effects makeup to look scary. This is my real face. I look like the deranged monster in a film I starred in a few years ago… The Monster Under the Stairs. I’m the female version of that gruesome beast. The doctors insist the next round of plastic surgery will do wonders. But I’m not so sure.
One thing is certain: I’ll never look the way I did before the accident.
“I don’t think prescribing you more medication to help you sleep is the answer, Melody.”
I shoot my therapist an annoyed look.
“Why is that?” I ask, unable to hide my frustration.
She crosses her legs and glances at the pad of paper resting on her lap. She lowers her glasses down the ridge of her nose. “Well, I think the nightmares are a sign that you need to start dealing with what happened. The accident happened a year ago. It’s time you start taking steps to reclaim your life.”
“Here we go again,” I mumble under my breath. She doesn’t have any idea what I’m going through. She doesn’t know what it was like, after the crash, when I finally got discharged from the hospital and came home. She doesn’t know how dark and lonely that experience was… and still is. She doesn’t know that I took a bottle of pills to kill myself but last minute forced myself to puke them up.
She has no clue. But she acts like she does, which is really fuckin’ annoying.
I’m hanging by a thread here. The least this motherfucking therapist can do is prescribe me something to help me sleep.
“I know you don’t want to hear what I have to say,” she says, clearing her throat. “But I think it’s the only way you’ll be able to move past what happened.”
“Moved past what happened?” I blurt. “Do you even know what it’s like to have everything you ever wanted, everything you worked for, snatched away from you? And then to top it off, I’ve become a side show freak.”
“You can still write music,” she begins to say.
I hold up my hand, cutting her off. “Don’t! I’ll never be able to step out on stage looking the way I do.”
“But aren’t yo
u going to have another procedure –”
“Yeah, to make me look a little less freakish,” I acknowledge. “But not by much. My face is permanently ruined. In this industry, it’s not the music that matters but the image. And I’m a horror show. So, Jeanie, don’t even begin lecturing me on what you think I need to do. You have no idea what I’m going through. Just do your job and prescribe me more sleeping pills.”
She looks at me shocked and slowly shakes her head. “No.”
“Fuck you,” I snap.
She sighs and takes off her glasses.
“At some point, Melody, you’re going to have to make a choice. Right now, you’re stuck in a moment, in a freeze frame. I’m not going to tell you I completely understand what you’re going through. But I’ve counseled many patients who have suffered traumatic injuries. You have to begin with baby steps. For example, instead of insisting to meet in your house, we could have had this session in my office downtown.”
I shake my head. “Hello? Have you not noticed the paparazzi in front of my house? They’re dying to get me on camera. It’s safer this way.”
She motions with her arm to the room we’re in. “So, is your plan to stay stuck here, in your mansion, for the rest of your life?” she asks.
I look at her and shrug. “Maybe. At least I know I’m safe here.”
“Let’s explore that more,” she says leaning back in her chair. “So, you feel safe in your house. But the world outside makes you feel what?”
She stares at me, waiting for an answer. I fuckin’ hate her. I am boiling over with frustration. I shoot her a dirty look through my mask. But I doubt she can see it.
“Are you going to prescribe me more sleeping pills, or what?”
She shakes her head. “I really think we need to address the underlining issue–”
“The underlining issue,” I say cutting her off, “is that you’re a shitty therapist and you’re fired. I should have fired you years ago.”