Sacrifice

by Adriana Locke

  I went to the grocery store, something I normally hate because it’s just a big battle of “what can I afford?,” but really didn’t mind. Crew sent me a couple of pics of Ever on the swings, a smile so wide on her face that I couldn’t help but beam in the middle of the produce department. On the way home, I called Human Resources and updated them on what was going on with Everleigh.

  And then Crew and I went to Castle Island and all hell broke loose.

  We rushed her to the ER and they admitted her. Luckily, it was something they were able to control with fluids and more antibiotics, although she never seemed to regain the energy she had before she got so sick.

  This was the first time she really, really looked as sick as they said she was. She looked almost . . . lifeless. And there’s no pamphlet, no television show, no pictures, no lectures from doctors or nurses that can ever prepare you for that. To see your normally vibrant daughter without hair, puking into a bucket, trying to cry but having no tears, trying to talk but having no voice, trying to smile but having no energy or color in her cheeks . . . it’s soul crushing. Hell cannot be worse.

  I am sitting in the yellow room at the hospital, in the middle of another round of chemo. A round that is devastating my baby girl in every way. It’s such a contrast to the first round, her little face swollen, pain in her tummy that’s so bad she can barely even cry. It’s hell on earth. Pure, absolute, living hell.

  It makes no sense logically to think she has to be so abused to get better. It’s even harder to explain to her. Looking into her little face, telling her I can’t take her home, I can’t make it stop, is nothing short of devastating. I wouldn’t wish this on my worst enemy.

  Ever stirs and stretches. I stand and climb into her bed, careful not to disturb her cords. She shivers and I cover her with a blanket, wishing I could do something. That’s the hardest part, not being able to use your hands to fix it, to make it better. It’s beyond difficult to put your trust in people and poison.

  I hear my phone ring and I glance at the clock. I grab it off the bedside table. I know it’s Crew on his lunch break. He calls every day.

  “Hey,” I whisper, trying not to wake Ever.

  “Hey, love. What’s goin’ on over there?”

  I smile at the term of endearment he’s started using for me. I sigh and climb back out of bed and curl up on the couch beneath the window. “She’s still in a lot of pain. They gave her more meds an hour ago or so and she’s sleeping now.”

  “I wish I could be there,” he says and I know he means it. He managed to swing by last night after training. I’m not sure how he keeps going. I’m in awe of him.

  “Me, too. I miss you.”

  I know he’s smiling. I know he’s slightly shaking his head, maybe even running a hand across his scalp.

  “I miss you both.”

  There’s a long pause. I imagine his face, his full lips, his gorgeous eyes. I miss him so much. He’s quickly become the light in my life, my lifeline in this disaster.

  “Do you need anything? Will gets off early today. I can send him by.”

  “All I need is you. So if that can’t happen . . .” I’m only teasing, but I know he took it wrong. “Crew, I didn’t mean that like that.”

  “I know. I need you, too.” He shifts the phone, the line going fuzzy. “I gotta train tonight and Sal wants to talk about the media bullshit for the fight.”

  “What’s that mean?”

  “There will have to be a couple interviews and shit to drive sales. This is a pay-per-view event. So we have to do a few things for them to get people to wanna buy it.”

  This is all new to me. I don’t know a lot about fighting, I don’t know a lot about this fight Crew has taken on; I just haven’t had time to really deal with it. Crew doesn’t want to discuss it when I do bring it up. I feel like in some ways, we are living in two separate worlds in order to live in the same one half the time. It’s frustrating and isolating.

  “I see. Well, do what you have to do.”

  “I miss you,” he says softly. “If this wasn’t the only way out of this mess, I’d never leave your side. You know that, right?”

  “And if this wasn’t the only way out of this mess, I’d never let you leave my side. You know that, right?”

  “I hope so.” He clears his throat. “My break is about over. I’ll call you later, okay?”

  “Crew?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Thank you.”

  “For what, love?”

  I shrug. “For everything. For proving me wrong about you. For not giving up on me. For fighting for us, in every sense of the word.”

  “Always.”

  CREW

  “Get your head outta there, boy!”

  I jerk my head out of Victor’s hold, drive around him, dodging a punch, and throw him to the mat. My neck’s still giving me problems but it isn’t hurting as bad as it was. I’m icing it a lot and alternating it with a heating pad and lots of ibuprofen. I just need it to hold up a little while longer then it can go to shit for all I care. I can deal with the pain for the rest of my life as long as it gets me through those rounds.

  “Stop!” Sal walks into the ring. “That’s good. Your foot work has gotten a lot better. I like it.”

  I roll to my back and my lungs struggle to breathe. It’s been a long night. I glance over at the corner and see Will watching, his hands draped over the bottom rope.

  “You can go, Victor. Thanks for staying late,” Sal says, dismissing him.

  Victor tips his chin to Coach, shakes my hand, and bounces off into the locker room. My hand hits the mats with a thud.

  “The NAFL wants to meet with us next week for a press day. We don’t have long ‘til show time and they really want to start drumming up the hype.”

  “Drumming up the hype? Fuck that,” Will says, climbing over the rope and into the ring. “I think we—”

  “Will,” Sal cuts him off, “there is no ‘we.’”

  “What the hell does that mean?” Will looks offended. “You gave me a job. I’m like a trainer now, too.”

  “The hell you are.”

  “You gave him a job?”

  “Yeah,” Will says proudly. “I’m a part of Team Believe. My job is to keep your ass in line.”

  “Team Believe?” Sal asks. “What the fuck is that?”

  “Us,” I groan, shaking out a cramp in my leg.

  Sal puts a hand on his hip. “Do I wanna know?”

  I shrug. “That’s up to you. Anyway, the media?”

  “Yeah. The NAFL wants to hype the shit out of this.”

  “The hype surrounding this fight is in-fucking-sane already,” Will says. “You should see the boards online. This is all they’re talking about.”

  “What are they saying?” I ask, rolling onto my stomach and then sitting back on my knees. My side aches a little from a blow from Victor.

  “Doesn’t matter what they’re saying,” Sal says. “Don’t worry about that. You worry about you and the work in front of you. Hear me?”

  “I hear ya. But I wanna know what they’re saying.”

  “I said it doesn’t matter,” Sal glares. “No distractions, Gentry. What a bunch of wanna-be assholes sitting on a couch somewhere that can’t fight their way outta a wet paper bag think doesn’t mean jack shit to you or this fight. All we care about is that they want to watch it.”

  “Frankly,” I say, standing up. “I don’t even care if they wanna watch it. I just wanna get paid.”

  He looks at me and I know he knows what I’m implying.

  “Let’s just cut the shit. You and I both know that I don’t have some career in this. This is a one and done for me.”

  Sal turns his back to me for a minute. When he faces me again, his eyes are blazing. “Then you better make it worth your while.” He crosses the ropes and heads towards his office in the corner of the building.

  “I want Brett from Boston 15 to get in on this somehow!” I shout.

&
nbsp; “Be here tomorrow at six!” he replies without even turning around.

  Will and I stand in the center of the ring, the lights hanging from the ceiling shining directly on us.

  “What did ya mean by that?” he asks, jamming his hands in his pockets.

  I grab the back of my shoulder with the opposite hand, wincing as the pain starts to wear through the adrenaline. “I always wondered if the doctor’s were wrong, that I could’ve gone ahead and fought. And now I know. I’ve got one fight left in me, Will. That’s it.”

  “You hurt?”

  I laugh angrily. “What difference does it make?”

  I climb out of the ring and grab my bag off the floor. Will follows me outside, the cool air slapping us in the face.

  “What are they saying online?” I ask as we walk across the parking lot.

  “You sure you wanna know?”

  “I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t want to know.”

  He stands back as I open the door to my truck and toss my bag inside. “They’re saying you’re the man to dethrone that motherfucker. That you’re his kryptonite. That you about fucking died and still beat him.”

  I love it. I love hearing this. It feeds that place inside me that needs fuel, that needs built up. The key to fighting is confidence. It’s going into that ring and knowing you’ll be the victor. This helps.

  “Vegas odds only have him winning by a slight margin right now,” he says. “Dude, you haven’t fought in years! This is pretty crazy. They’re dubbing it ‘The California Kid vs The Comeback Kid.’”

  I shut the door behind me and lean against the cab. “Are you serious?”

  “As a heart attack.”

  “Let’s hope they’re right.”

  “I’m heading over for a beer. Don’t forget tabs are due today. Did you pay yours?”

  “I haven’t paid it in a few weeks and I’ve been ignoring Jordyn’s calls. I better swing by there and pay mine, too. I’d just send it with you but I have no idea how much it is.”

  “See ya there.”

  CREW

  I haven’t been to Shenanigan’s in a few weeks but it feels like home.

  Everything’s the same: same drooping green lights behind the bar, same people sitting on the same stools, the same salty smell.

  Jordyn is working, talking up a couple of college-aged kids that come in every now and then. They’re wearing Tap Out shirts, which lets me know they’re not fighters. The only guys that wear those shirts are either endorsed or incompetent. By the look of the spare tire wrapping around their waists, it’s the latter.

  Will got here before me and is already sitting in the corner, sipping on his beer. I lean against the end of the bar and watch Jordyn purposefully ignore me.

  “I just need my tab, J,” I say. She pours a shot for an old guy that practically lives at the other end of the bar and then goes to the register. She sorts through the sheets and pulls one out. She brings it to me. “Forget how to smile? Or do you need my cock out for that?”

  “Fuck you,” she says.

  I laugh and whip out enough money to cover the tab. “Keep the rest,” I say, knocking my knuckle against the top.

  I make my way through the building, stopping to chat briefly with a couple of regulars before getting to the back corner table. Will’s watching the television.

  “Hey,” I say, pulling out my chair and sitting down.

  “Hey. How’d it go with Jordyn?”

  “Great. She’s a little pissy, but nothing she won’t get over.”

  “What is it with women and their pissy-ness?”

  “What are ya talking about?”

  “Macie,” he says, almost in disgust. “I think I hate her.”

  I laugh. “If you think you hate her, you don’t.”

  “How’s that? I think I hate her. No, I hate her.”

  “No, you’re pissed at her for not playing the game you play,” I laugh. “Let me guess . . . she doesn’t like being fucked and chucked and then called to fuck again later when you’re bored?”

  “Exactly!” he says, slamming his bottle on the table. “What’s wrong with her?”

  “Sounds like she’s got class, which means it’ll never work between you two. Move along, man.”

  He tips his beer back and finishes it. “Yeah. Fuck her. Who needs a chick with perfect tits, the best ass I’ve ever seen outta clothes, and a pussy that grips my dick like a vise? Not me. Not. Fucking. Me.”

  I laugh, grabbing a tooth pick out of my pocket and sticking it in my mouth. I want a beer pretty fucking bad and I gotta keep my mouth distracted.

  A group of three girls appears at the mouth of the hallway leading to the bathrooms. They’re obviously well on their way to being soused, giggling and trying to balance on their heels. They spot us sitting in the corner and head our way.

  “Remember, you’re with Jules now. You really need to do the right thing here,” Will says, his eyes lighting up at the opportunity that seems to be presenting itself.

  I watch them walk our way. Their perfume gets to our table way before they do.

  “Hey, boys,” the tallest blonde says. Her red lipstick is the color of cherries. “You guys need some company tonight?”

  “He doesn’t,” Will says, nodding at me. “But I am kinda lonely.”

  The shorter blonde bends down, her tits in his face. “Ah, we can fix that, baby.” She sits on his lap, wrapping her arm around his neck.

  Will looks at me incredulously, but not about to argue it. The taller blonde sits in a chair on the other side of him. The brunette looks at me.

  “You need some company, sexy?” she asks me.

  “Nah, I’m good.”

  “Okay.” She walks behind Will and massages his shoulders.

  He looks at me like he’s hit the jackpot and, for him, maybe he has.

  Maybe not.

  His eyes go wide and he fidgets in his seat. His face pales, looking like he’s seen a ghost.

  I follow his line of sight to the front door. Two girls walk in and one is looking directly at Will. She stops mid-step and glares his way.

  Will swallows, ignoring the three girls around him.

  This is going to be interesting.

  She nods to our table and says something to the girl with her. She looks our way and heads towards us. Every step they take our way, Will looks more nervous.

  “Hey, Will,” the redhead says brightly. There’s a layer of irritation just beneath her words and I realize who this is.

  “Hey, Macie,” he says, gritting his teeth.

  I can’t help but laugh. Will flashes me a hateful look and I just laugh harder.

  “Who are your friends?” she asks cheerfully.

  “I . . . Uh . . . I—”

  “I’m Wendy. This is Trista and that’s Maggie.” The blonde on his right flips her hair back off her shoulder. I settle back into my seat and watch the show.

  “Nice to meet you,” Macie says, glaring at Will. “I was going to call you tonight, but I can see you’re busy.”

  “No, I’m not. Not really. I just . . .” He looks on either side of him and realizes just how bad this looks. I almost feel sorry for him because he didn’t pursue these girls and nothing has happened. But Macie isn’t going to believe that.

  “No, I think you really are. Have fun.”

  She turns on her heel, her friend close behind. Will forces a swallow and watches her walk away. She sidles up to the guys at the end of the bar in the Tap Out shirts. She glances at Will over her shoulder and chats them up. One of them touches her shoulder and Will bristles.

  The three girls around him are absorbed in their own conversation, a mix of slurred words and giggles. They’re oblivious to what’s going on.

  “The universe hates me,” he mutters, his eyes glued to Macie. “What are the fucking odds she shows up here?”

  “You asked them to sit down,” I point out. “A few minutes ago and your mind wasn’t on her.” I tip my head towards the
bar.

  He scowls.

  “You wanna come home with us? You can come, too.” Wendy looks me up and down and licks her lips.

  “Nah,” Will says, downing what’s left of his beer. “I’m good.

  “Suit yourself,” Wendy says. “Let’s go. Our DD is here.”

  The girls get up and stumble out the door. I’m not sure Will even notices.

  “You just let three easy pieces of ass walk out without you. I’m shocked,” I point out.

  He doesn’t respond. I’m not sure he even hears me.

  I watch his face completely fall. Macie is looking over her shoulder at Will. She tosses him a wink and places her hand in Tap Out’s. Together, they walk out of the bar.

  “Fuck her.” He leans on the table, his eyes blazing. “I seriously liked that girl and look at what she did.”

  “She walked in here and saw you with three chicks.”

  “Fuck you, too.”

  “You fucked yourself.”

  He laughs. “There’s a lot of fuckin’ going on here tonight and none of it feels good.”

  “That’s true. And on that note, I’m going home.”

  He doesn’t respond, his fingers flying over his phone.

  “I think you just got a taste of your own medicine,” I laugh.

  “I’m fucking allergic to it.”

  JULIA

  It’s a beautiful day. The park is buzzing with people, the smell of grilled hamburgers and hot dogs filling the air. The trees are blooming and laughter floats through the breeze. An auctioneer is standing at a table near the picnic area, drumming up bid for items generously donated by the community for Everleigh.

  “This is unbelievable,” I whisper to Crew. We walk through the events going on to raise money for my daughter in awe. I don’t know most of these people. Some are patrons of the restaurant that I recognize, but most are faces I can’t place.

  I asked Mrs. Ficht what I can do to assist, but she brushed me off. She told us to relax and try to enjoy the day. I love her heart, but there’s no way I can enjoy the day. Not with my daughter in a hospital bed across the city, sick as hell.

  “I wonder how she is?” I look up at Crew.

  His eyes reflect everything I know are in mine. He grabs my hand and squeezes it tight. “She’s sleeping. I just called Olivia. She said she’ll call if anything happens. But she’s gonna be fine and the fresh air will do you some good.”