Love T.K.O.

by Pamela Yaye

  “It’s all good. See you then, Doc.”

  An hour later, Yasmin was stuck behind a Chrysler minivan in the thick of traffic. Her cell phone hummed. Adjusting her earpiece, she answered the call. “Hello?”

  “This is Ms. Duke’s office returning your call.” The pleasant-sounding man had a slight British accent. “She’s available to speak to you now. One moment please.”

  Seconds later, Morgan’s effervescent voice filled the line. “I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to get back to you, Yasmin, but I’ve been in meetings.”

  “It’s no problem. It sounds like you’ve had a long day.”

  “Girl, you don’t know the half of it! I’ve represented my fair share of athletes, but this NFL quarterback I just signed is manic-depressive with bipolar tendencies and a hint of good ole crazy thrown in!” Morgan laughed. After a few minutes of idle chitchat, she asked, “What can I do for you?”

  Yasmin liked that Morgan was straightforward. She was an entertainment attorney, specializing in celebrity divorces, contract negotiations and the like, but she had a keen legal mind. “It’s a personal matter. Something I wish to keep private.”

  “I can’t say I’m surprised. I expected you to call.”

  “You did?” Yasmin asked, perplexed. She had sworn her friend to secrecy, so how did Morgan know that Cecil had attacked Niobie? “Did you talk to Katherine?”

  “I didn’t have to. Wives, coaches, girlfriends and long-lost family members call my office on a daily basis pleading with me to talk some sense into their loved ones. I’m going to tell you what I tell them.”

  “This isn’t about—”

  Morgan cut in. “I know you want what’s best for Rashawn, but it’s his career, his choice. He’s been boxing for what, ten years? He knows his body better than any doctor. If he wants to disregard the test results and go through with the fight there’s nothing any of us can do to stop him, including you.”

  Yasmin almost lost her grip on the steering wheel.

  “I can’t change his mind. Believe me, I’ve tried. I pulled him aside this morning before he signed the contracts…”

  Yasmin’s vision blurred. Her head throbbed with horror. Behind her, drivers honked. Her legs were numb but she eased her foot off the brake pedal and onto the gas. The car lurched forward, mirroring the hollow feeling in her stomach.

  “The contracts have been signed. It’s a done deal. Now, all you can do is support his decision.”

  “What did the MRI reveal?” she asked, the sound of her own voice sounding foreign in her ears. “Is there inflammation? Is their bleeding in or around the brain?”

  “He didn’t tell you?” Morgan rushed on. “Try not to worry too much, Yasmin. He’ll be fine. Besides, what’s the worst that can happen?”

  Chapter 22

  On Monday nights City Bar Tampa resembled a fraternity house. College students clad in oversize football jerseys gathered in front of the wide-screen TVs, devouring chicken wings and guzzling beer. In the lounge, professional men and women sat in padded armchairs, sipping a slew of colorful cocktails. The room was flanked by pool tables, arcade games and a seventies-style jukebox. Waiters dressed in checkered shirts carried trays, served drinks and squared bills. The dining area brimmed with unruly children and the haggard-looking parents who chased after them.

  “Is there anything else I can get you?”

  Glancing at the ruddy-faced waiter, Rashawn cleaned his mouth with his napkin. “No, I’m straight.” He caught a glimpse of the basketball-themed clock. Hours had passed since he had talked to Yasmin. Normally he wouldn’t trip about her being late, but Imani had called looking for her, too. Tired of waiting, he fished his car keys and wallet out of his pocket. “Can I get the bill now? I’m in a hurry.”

  “What about the vegetarian pizza? Should I put it in a takeout container so you can take it with you?”

  Rashawn stared down at the plate of cold food. “Yeah, sure.”

  “I’ll be right back.” The waiter cleared the table of the dishes and left.

  Yasmin had been late to meet him before, but this was ridiculous. He’d carved time out of his schedule to see her. Why couldn’t she do the same? There were only a handful of places she could be. He knew from talking to Imani that she wasn’t at home or at her parents’ house. That left the office or the community center. Once he settled his tab, he’d swing by the clinic and have a look around.

  Rashawn flipped open his cell phone. No missed calls. This wasn’t like her. If she were going to be late, she would call. Another scenario came to mind. Had something happened to her as she left the office? Yasmin was savvy, smart, aware of other people and her surroundings. She couldn’t have been attacked. The morning’s headlines raided his thoughts, confronting him with the shocking reality of their community. Carjackings, drive-bys and kidnappings were a daily occurrence. And inner-city residents were the most helpless, often targeted and rarely reporting the crimes.

  “Can you autograph my T-shirt, please?” a voice asked behind him.

  Rashawn turned around. A pale boy with ocean-blue eyes was staring at him, waiting expectantly. “Sure, kid. What’s your name?”

  Ten minutes later, Rashawn had a large, mostly female crowd at his booth. He was so busy scribbling his signature on shirts, he didn’t notice Yasmin standing off to the side. When he did, his face broke out into a smile. Mesmerized by the sight of her, he licked his lips. She was wearing her hair the way he liked it, gathered off her shoulders, swept up in a loose ponytail. Her navy business suit was smart, yet soft and elegant. Rashawn lifted his gaze past her legs, over her hips and up her chest. His smile evaporated when their eyes met. One look at her face and he knew she was angry. Her lips were a taut line. She stood motionless, watching him, her eyes passing judgment.

  Rashawn swallowed his frustration. She was two hours late but had the nerve to cop an attitude. “Sorry, guys. That’s it,” he announced, handing the pen back to the girl in the blue J-Lo sweat suit. “My girlfriend’s here and we’d like to be alone.”

  Groaning in disappointment, the group meandered back to their respective tables.

  Yasmin sat down at the table, a poisonous look in her eyes. “You didn’t have to send your groupies away on account of me. They look so disappointed, especially the redhead with the fake boobs.”

  “Is your cell phone dead?” he asked, annoyed by her sarcasm.

  “No.”

  “Then why didn’t you call?” Rashawn didn’t give her time to respond. “I’ve been sitting here for hours. Where the hell have you been?”

  “With Dr. Gutierrez, of course.”

  Rashawn closed his eyes as if in prayer. He’d bet his wallet his doctor had told her about his test results. This couldn’t have happened at a worse time. After spending the day with his team, developing a new training regimen and diet, he didn’t have the energy to argue with Yasmin. And that’s exactly where the conversation was headed. He sat in a moody silence as she interrogated him. He wanted to defend himself but decided on the wait-and-see approach. He’d listen to what she had to say, then go from there.

  “I marched into Dr. Gutierrez’s office and asked to see your file. He refused. I understand and respect the importance of the patient-doctor privilege but I wanted answers. I was grilling him when it hit me. He doesn’t have to tell me anything. You’re my boyfriend. You’re the one who lied to me.”

  “I didn’t tell you about the results because I didn’t want you to get on my case. I wanted to decide what to do without you cramming your opinion down my throat.”

  “I can admit that I was a little overbearing in the weeks following your accident, but I had every reason to be! I found you—”

  “Lower your voice,” he ordered, snatching a look around the restaurant. The dinner rush had cleared, but he didn’t want anyone to overhear them. “My decision to go through with the fight is none of your business. I discussed it with my team and we decided what was best for my career.”
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br />   “It’s none of my business?” she repeated, her eyes narrowed like laser beams. She pointed a finger to her chest. “I was the one who held ice packs on your eyes after the Lipenski fight. I ran out to get you extra-strength Tylenol when you were moaning in pain and I was the one who massaged your blistered feet.”

  “And I don’t do shit for you, right, Yasmin?” His tone was loud, harsh, angry. “Didn’t I shell out fourteen hundred dollars for you to come to Miami?”

  “I told you I didn’t want to go but you insisted.” Her voice trembled with feeling. “I didn’t ask for any of those things!”

  “And I didn’t send you to Rite-Aid in the middle of the night, either. You chose to go so don’t put that shit on me.”

  Cheers exploded around the room, pulling his attention to the bar. Uproarious laughter and friendly conversation filled the air. The mood was light and festive but tension hovered above their booth like a thick billow of smoke. They should be at home, relaxing on the couch, not arguing at City Bar. “Let’s get out of here.”

  “I’m not going anywhere until you tell me exactly what Dr. Gutierrez said.”

  “It’s my career, my life. I’ll do what I want.”

  “What about all the plans you have for after boxing? What will happen if you get seriously hurt during the match?”

  “Like I said, it’s my life.”

  “You know what, Rashawn. You’re selfish. You didn’t stop for one second and consider how this would affect me.”

  “This argument is stupid,” he mumbled, shaking his head. “Life was so much easier when I was single.” The moment the words left his mouth he wished he could suck them back in. Her face crumpled and her eyes watered. “I didn’t mean anything by it.”

  “Don’t you dare call me names!”

  “I never said you were stupid, I said this argument is stupid.” Rashawn wasn’t going to debate the issue with her any longer. He was fighting Garcia and that was it.

  It killed him inside to see her cry, but he couldn’t back out now. People were counting on him. Two million dollars was at stake. He had to do this. “I’m not going to argue with you about my career, Yasmin. It’s my sweat, my tears and my sacrifice that got me here. And I’m not going to quit boxing because you have a problem with it.”

  Yasmin shook her head. “This is crazy. You’re willing to risk your life for a belt that doesn’t mean anything?”

  “It means something to me. I’ve worked my whole life for this. I’ve been dreaming about being a heavyweight champion since I picked up my first pair of gloves.”

  “B-but you could die.”

  “No one’s going to die,” he snapped, his eyes piercing her flesh. “God, when did you become so preoccupied with death?”

  “When I found you unconscious.”

  “This is not about me. It’s about him.”

  “Leave Eric out of this.”

  “He died and now you have it in your head that I’m going to die, too.”

  “And you will if you disregard your doctor’s advice!”

  Rashawn exhaled. They weren’t getting anywhere. In an attempt to explain away her fears, he took her hands and said, “This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, Doc. I may never have a chance like this again. My team believes in me—they know I’ll win.”

  “Of course they do! They don’t care about you—all they care about is their paycheck. They’re not thinking about what’s best for you in the long term.”

  “My brothers, my cousins and my parents are behind me.”

  “I’m sure they are,” she scoffed, rolling her eyes. “They’re wooed by dollar signs just like everybody else.”

  He ran his teeth along his bottom lip. “Don’t talk about my family.”

  “What if you get hurt? What if things don’t go as planned?”

  “None of that matters. Win or lose, I’m guaranteed almost two million dollars. Do you know what that kind of money can do for us?”

  Yasmin snatched her hands away. “Us? I don’t want anything from you! I’ve never asked you for anything.”

  “But you didn’t say no when I was spending money on you. You like expensive shit, too. First-class tickets, five-star hotels and champagne cost a grip.”

  “I won’t be a part of this.”

  “I’m not asking you to be.”

  Sliding out of the booth, she snatched her purse off the seat and slung it over her shoulder. “I—I guess there’s nothing left to say.”

  “So that’s it? You’re going to leave me because I won’t do what you want?” he asked, standing. “Don’t you think you’re being dramatic? Lots of athletes fight through injuries. I’m no exception.” He waited for her to respond, but she didn’t. She had a heart-broken expression on her face and she couldn’t meet his gaze. “Let’s make a deal. After the Garcia match, I’ll take some time off. How’s that?”

  “What happens when you’re offered more money for the next fight? Your team will talk you into it and you’ll ignore my feelings again.”

  “I’m not ignoring you.”

  “You can’t have it both ways, Rashawn. If we’re going to be together you have to take my feelings into consideration, too.”

  He smoothed a hand over his head. Yasmin was right. He wanted the security and companionship of a relationship, but he also enjoyed the freedom of not having to consult anyone about what he wanted to do. She put his needs above her own, pampered him and made him want more than just a sexual relationship, but Rashawn wasn’t ready to say good-bye to his independence. “I care about you, Doc, more than anyone I’ve ever been with, but I’m not going to ask for your permission regarding my career. I’m going to do what I want to do. Period.”

  “Whatever. It’s your life, do what makes you happy. I have to go.” Yasmin turned away, but Rashawn yanked her to his chest. Embracing her, he nuzzled his face in her hair. He inhaled the fresh, peachy scent, his thoughts drifting back to the last night they had been together.

  Yasmin had ordered him to lie down on the bed and close his eyes. She had run a light, fuzzy item over his shaft and when he had guessed that it was a feather, he had been treated to a sensuous massage. He had gone along with her game, enjoying the waves of pleasure radiating through him every time a silk scarf had skimmed his nipples. His body was a hotbed of erogenous zones and Yasmin knew exactly which buttons to push. By the time they had made love, his head was spinning and he was sweating down to his toes.

  Rashawn stared down at her, his heart overcome with love. Having her in his arms like this reminded him how special she was. They had an honest relationship, the sex was off the charts and he trusted her completely. How many men could say they had the love of a good woman? Moved by his feelings, he lifted her chin and bent down until their lips met. Her mouth lacked its usual warmth and her arms hung firmly at her side. “Doc, don’t do this to us,” he said, when she pulled away. “I need you.”

  A sad smile touched her lips. “I can’t stand by and watch you get hurt. I love you too much.” She kissed him softly, tenderly, underlying her feelings for him with her lips. Pulling away abruptly, she turned and walked away.

  Rashawn watched her leave. Maybe things were better this way. That afternoon, he’d sat down with his team and they’d opened his eyes to the truth. According to the guys, he’d lost his focus ever since he had started dating her.

  “Training is everything. You’ve gotta respect it,” Brody had preached. “Love’s made you soft. Get your mind off that therapist woman and back into boxing. Millions are on the line, champ.”

  The fight was only weeks away. He had to get his mind right if he was going to beat Garcia. He respected Yasmin for being strong-willed and opinionated but he was tired of feeling like everything was a struggle. They weren’t on the same page, but it had nothing to do with his boxing career. It had everything to do with her need for control. Rashawn already had a mother; he didn’t need another one. He was a grown man. He didn’t want Yasmin babying him or telling
him what to do or handing out orders. He wanted her in his life, but he wasn’t going to abandon his dreams for anybody. Not even for the woman he loved.

  Chapter 23

  The carefree days of summer gave way to the shortened, breezy days of autumn. Yasmin loved the sound of leaves crunching under her feet, the invigorating morning air and the vibrancy of the season.

  Yasmin arched her back, swung her arms and increased her pace. Nothing like a brisk walk to help clear the mind. Her eyes twinkled in the sunshine and her hair flapped restlessly in the wind. The sky was alight with color, subtle shades of orange, pink and red.

  Her chest heaved and sweat trickled down her back, but she felt good. After weeks of finding solace in potato chips and gummy bears she had flabby arms and thunder thighs. Eliminating junk food from her diet would be more challenging than running the Boston Marathon, but it had to be done. Her business suits were tight and when she sat down the skirts rode up her hips. The number on the scale had pushed her to action, but walking was a great stress reliever and gave her some much-needed time alone.

  As she thought over the day, she made a mental note to call Niobie. The bruises on her arm and neck had turned black a couple of days after the assault, forcing her to come clean to her mom. Not only had Ms. Slade encouraged her to press charges against her attacker, she had called Yasmin asking for help. Despite the support of her friends and family, Niobie was vehemently against going to the police. Yasmin felt she was making a mistake, but supported her decision. Cecil Manning wouldn’t face a judge or a jury of his peers, but once Morgan met with the councilman’s attorney, he’d be punished where it hurt the most: his wallet.

  In the weeks since the assault, Niobie had attended individual counseling as well as group sessions and had found comfort in speaking with other assault victims. Aware of the single mother’s financial situation, Yasmin had arranged for her to take a four-week leave of absence with pay. Her replacement, Ms. O’Grady, was proficient, hard-working and completed tasks on time, but the woman had no personality. She rarely smiled, smelled like Ben-Gay and her unsolicited advice put people off. Yasmin missed Niobie and so did her clients. Everyone from the cleaning staff to the UPS courier asked when she was coming back and gave Yasmin messages to pass on to her. Bothered by the way Niobie dressed and her carefree, life’s-a-party attitude, she had never noticed how comfortable she made clients feel or the little things she did to brighten up the office.