“Wanna stay at my place? I can put you on the Hide-A-Bed in the living room.” Coach had a one bedroom apartment in a fleabag building downtown that should’ve been condemned years ago. I tried plenty of times to get him to move into my place up in the Hollywood Hills, but he refused. Said the Hills didn’t have character.
“You still got those damn hairball cats?”
“Yeah.”
“You feed ‘em today?”
“Shit. Not since morning.”
“Then I’ll take you home.”
There were two men in my life who gave everything they had to make me a better man. One of them, Jose Chavez, gave his life. The other was Coach, a.k.a. Dean Jackson, the man sitting next to me. Neither one was my biological father. The only thing that sperm donor ever gave me was the name Lion. After that, he disappeared.
The death of Jose Chavez was the reason I went off the rails for a while back when I was eighteen. That was a bad time in my life. Full of bad memories. Broke into a bunch of houses and stole a bunch of shit I didn’t need. Ended up getting caught because I didn’t care if I did. Pled guilty to two counts of first degree felony burglary and spent two years in prison because of it. I didn’t care if I lived or died at that point.
I met Dean Jackson when I was in prison. He was part of an outreach program for the inmates. Teaching them to read. I already knew how, but I needed something to do. Dean took a liking to me right away. The first book he made me read was The Greatest: My Own Story by Muhammad Ali. He eventually told me he used to be a boxing coach. We bonded over our mutual appreciation for the art of hand to hand combat, as men do. He told me if I got out of prison before he died (he was seventy then and almost eighty now), he would teach me everything he knew about fighting in the squared circle.
Fourteen months later, I was out on parole for good behavior. Training with Dean gave me purpose. I even lived in his fleabag apartment until I got a job and found my own place. I never went into boxing like he’d hoped, but I did consider it. At the end of the day, I was a martial artist. Good thing Dean liked the idea of doing something different in his golden years. He was my coach and cornerman for every professional fight I’d ever had. He was family.
Twenty minutes later, we pulled to a stop outside the gate for my house. He knew the code and punched it in on the keypad before driving me up to the front steps. He said, “Do you really need that much damn house?”
“It’s a business investment.”
“It’s a boat anchor, is what it is. Me, I can pack up and leave at the drop of a hat if I need to.”
“How long you lived in that rundown building?”
“Fifteen years.”
“Good thing you can pack up and leave any time you want. When you planning to do that?”
He snorted. “Whenever the hell I want. You need help getting out?”
“I’ve got it.” I levered myself out of the car with my crutches. My bad knee was throbbing like crazy and felt swollen to the size of a basketball, like it could pop the knee brace open if it got any bigger.
Dean walked me to the door. “You want me to stay and help out?”
“I think I’ll be okay. You want some water or whatever before you go?”
“Seeing as how SNL is over,” he checked the old Timex on his wrist, “may as well take a load off.”
“You can probably watch it on hulu.”
“What in hell is a hulu? Is that like a hula-hoop?”
I chuckled. “Never mind.”
We walked to the kitchen. Like most of my house, everything in the kitchen was natural woods and stone. Plenty of house plants in every room. Sort of like a jungle. I liked it. So did the cats. There were claw marks all over the place.
The cats trotted into the kitchen, their tails high. They knew Dean well. Aslan circled his legs, wrapping his tail around the man’s slacks. They were all meowing for food. Dean helped set out fresh plates. He could bend down better than I could with my knee throbbing. Then I offered him a water bottle from the fridge.
“I know where the tap is. And the glasses.” He went to one of the beveled glass kitchen cabinets and pulled out a contoured glass. “You want one?”
“I’m good.” I screwed off the top of the water bottle I’d pulled out for myself and took a swallow.
He filled his glass from the sink faucet. “This water is just as good as that. I don’t know why you have to waste the plastic.”
“I refill it. Stays cold in the fridge.”
“Suit yourself.” He sipped from his glass. “What’s on your mind, son? I can tell something’s bothering you.”
“I don’t know where to begin.”
“The beginning is always a good place,” he smirked over his reading glasses. “I better sit down. My knees aren’t much better than yours.”
I pulled out a chair for him from the table in the breakfast nook.
“I’m not a lady. I can get my own damn chair.” He pulled out the one opposite.
When I sat down, I felt icepicks stabbing my ribs where Curly had kicked them. I’d had broken ribs before. This was that. Nothing you could do about it except grunt away the pain.
“You okay?”
“I’m fine,” I hissed and dug my phone out of my pocket and showed him a picture of me standing with Brigid and Dan at Universal in the Super Silly Fun Land. We all had on our Minions hats and silly grins. Two of the life-size costumed Minions characters stood on either side of us, waving at the camera.
“What the hell are those yellow things?”
“They’re called Minions.”
“Look like bunions to me.”
I snorted a laugh. “Something like that.”
“That you in the silly bunion hat?”
“Yup.”
“You got a wife and kid I don’t know about?” He saw me weekly when I wasn’t training, daily when I was. He knew I didn’t.
“I wish.”
I told him the long version of the entire story of meeting Brigid at the hospital, the whole doctor-patient thing, meeting Dan, all the way through the fight in the parking lot. As I told it, he cleaned up the cut on my scalp and closed it with butterfly bandages and sterile tape. Not only had Dean been my cornerman during my professional fights, he had also been my cutman on occasion, and knew his way around battle wounds. While he worked and I told my story, he said, “Mmm-hmm” and “Hmm” and “Are you crazy?” or “Have you done lost your mind?” numerous times.
“So, what should I do?”
“You in a pickle, son.”
“Tell me about it.”
“Do you have feelings for this woman?”
“Yeah.”
“Strong feelings?”
“I’ve never felt like this for anyone.”
“What about Minka?” Dean had watched me go through the entire relationship with Minka, from perfection in the beginning to disaster at the end. When she left, he helped me get my shit back together so I could keep on fighting in the WMAA. “You have stronger feelings for this new one than you did for Minka?”
“Maybe.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Never thought I’d see the day.”
“Me neither.”
“You love this woman?”
“I just might. But there’s this whole doctor-patient thing. And her son. I don’t want to mess all that up for her. And now? Shit. She knows I’m a felon. Who knows what’ll happen if I get arrested for beating on those guys.”
“Mmm. That is a problem.”
“After tonight, she probably thinks I’m a bad influence for her kid.”
“We both know that ain’t true.”
“Yeah, but does she?”
“You can always ask her.”
“I can’t do that.”
He chuckled. “Kids. You forget how to talk to each other or something? Call her up tomorrow. Tell her how you feel.”
The idea scared me to death. “What if she tells me she doesn’t want to see me again?”
/> “Don’t be a pussy, son. Show her you a man. If she don’t want you, then take your medicine like a grownup.”
“Easy for you to say.”
“Damn right it’s easy for me to say. I had to do exactly that with my Helen, God rest her soul. You think marrying a white woman in 1965 was easy peasy for me? Hell no. Lucky I wasn’t lynched. Or run out of town on a rail. By her own family, no less. They denied my existence for twenty years. But I showed them by standing up for my woman and what I believed in. It wasn’t wrong for me and Helen to be together. No matter what them fools said or did.” He held up his left hand where he still wore his wedding band.
“That’s right.”
“You damn right it’s right. Now it’s your turn to show the world what you’re made of. Show everybody how much heart you have. And I know you got a lot of heart, son.”
Chapter 16
BRIGID
“Mom? What if I have nightmares?”
I stood in his bedroom doorway, my hand hovering over the light switch. “You can sleep with me if you want.”
“No.”
“Do you want me to turn on your Spider-Man light?”
“Maybe.”
I switched on the colorful red and blue lamp on his night table. It projected a moving picture of Spider-Man on the ceiling. “Spidey will protect you all night long.”
“I wish Lion was here instead.”
“Me too, sweetheart.”
“Is Lion going to jail?”
“No, sweetheart. He’s not going to jail.” I was spinning lies but Daniel deserved a good night’s sleep after such a long and slightly traumatic day.
“What if those men come looking for us?”
“They won’t, honey.” I sat down on his bed and smoothed back his hair. “Those men will never bother you again. I promise.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure.” I wished I believed it as much as I hoped my son did. Daniel was too young to have to worry about these things. “Now go to sleep. I’ll leave your door open. Call me if you need anything and I’ll come running. If you change your mind and want to sleep with me, that’s okay. I love you, sweetheart.” I kissed his forehead. “Good night.”
I clicked off the overhead light and Spider-Man cast a red and blue glow over the bedroom.
“Are we going to Disneyland with Lion?”
“Maybe.” And we all know maybe means no. I hoped I was wrong.
“When?”
“I’m not sure. We’ll have to wait and see. Now try and get some sleep, okay?”
“Okay.”
“Sweet dreams.”
I went to my bedroom, changed into my nightgown, washed my face, and brushed my teeth. All I could think about was Lion and what a wonderful day we had with him. I wasn’t going to let those three thugs ruin the rest of it. I was a tiny bit concerned that Daniel might mention the fight to Donald. I wasn’t the sort of mother who told her son to keep things from his father. In this case, I seriously considered it. There was no telling how Donald would react. Today was the first time I had ever gone out on anything resembling a date with a man and my son since the divorce. Would Donald be furious? Would he accuse me of endangering our son? I had no way of knowing. I didn’t really want to think about it. I would cross that bridge when and if I came to it.
Still curious about Lion, and a little bit wound up from the excitement of the day, I grabbed my iPad off my dresser and climbed into bed.
Then I Googled Lion Maxwell. There was an hour long documentary about him on YouTube. I put in my earbuds and watched it from beginning to end, riveted. It had one of those dramatic narrators who made everything seem larger than life.
In Lion’s case, it was.
There was little information about his past. A few photos of him as a boy with his mom Sharon, who raised him on her own and spent all the spare money she had so Lion could study martial arts and stay off the mean streets of East LA. Smart woman. The man who owned Lion’s first dojo was named Jose Chavez. He was a mentor and a father figure to Lion, who credited Jose for instilling in him a love of martial arts and an appreciation for hard work and discipline. Like Sharon had hoped, the martial arts kept Lion out of trouble.
Sadly, both Sharon Maxwell and Jose Chavez’s lives were cut tragically short. Sharon lost her fight against breast cancer at the age of 41. Lion was 16. Two years later, Jose was gunned down in cold blood during a drive by shooting outside the dojo that Lion called home. Jose had thrown himself in front of a spray of machine gun fire to protect Lion and a group of fellow karate students. Jose died in Lion’s arms that night, bleeding out before paramedics could arrive. Law Enforcement speculated that the shooting was related to Jose Chavez’s vocal anti-gang stance in the community.
After losing the two people closest to him, Lion’s life understandably went into a tailspin that landed him in prison for felony burglary.
Tears stung my eyes.
I couldn’t imagine what Lion had gone through. Both my parents and my brother were still alive. And it was one thing for me as a doctor to lose a stranger on the table in the ECU. Losing a loved one was another thing entirely.
There was so much more to Lion than his cocky first impression.
The rest of the movie focused on his astonishing fight career. He held the record for the most career wins in Mixed Martial Arts without a loss: 28-0. Many considered Lion the greatest fighter in the history of the sport. At the age of twenty nine, he was already a legend.
There was a montage of video clips of him knocking out opponents. He was brutal in action, an unstoppable force. I noticed his trademark gold lycra shorts which he wore for every fight had the slogan FEEL THE BEAST in black letters on his ass. I had missed that part at the hospital.
You have got to be kidding me.
I couldn’t decide if those shorts were laughable or a complete turn on. Probably a little of both. He sure looked good in them.
I squeezed my thighs together thinking about it.
The last five minutes of the documentary focused on his philanthropy and how he gave back to the East LA community where he grew up. He still owned a dojo there, the same one he trained at with the late Jose Chavez. It was a haven for kids who wanted an escape from the streets. Thanks to the small fortune Lion had made from his WMAA winnings, the dojo was free if you lived in the neighborhood.
I clicked off my iPad and sighed.
Why did Lion have to be my patient?
I was about to turn off the lights and go to bed when I remembered to charge my phone. I took it out of my purse and found the framed souvenir 8x10 photo of Lion, Daniel, and me on the Harry Potter ride. The one Lion had bought. He’d asked me to carry it because of his crutches. I’d forgotten to give it back when I dropped him off on Cahuenga like a lonely stranger.
In the photo, I was holding his hand and I looked happier than I could remember. That moment had been electric. So natural. I wished he was holding my hand right now.
Or doing other things.
A flood of emotions washed over me. I was extremely attracted to Lion. Who wouldn’t be? He had the body of a world class athlete. And, after seeing the way he nurtured Daniel and protected me, I had feelings for the man. What kind, I wasn’t sure. But they were very strong feelings. After that documentary I was ready to… I didn’t know what. Whatever it was, I knew I wanted a man like him in my life.
Like him.
It just couldn’t be him.
Frustrated, I hugged the picture to my chest and closed my eyes. True, I couldn’t have the real Lion. But I could have the fantasy Lion all night long.
I set the picture on my nightstand and turned the lights off. Then I listened for a few minutes to make sure Daniel was asleep. He was.
The second I closed my eyes, images of Lion poured into my brain: his nearly naked hard body in his tight gold shorts at the hospital. That night, he looked every inch the legend.
Every.
Inch.
&nb
sp; I shivered thinking about it.
It.
His python.
Every writhing inch of it.
The residual chemistry still in my body from today, and from our first meeting, flowed through my fingers. It didn’t take long for me to shiver my way to orgasm.
After, as I lay in bed breathless, I couldn’t get Lion’s gorgeous naked body out of my mind. It was like a fever dream and I had it bad.
One orgasm wasn’t going to cut it.
But I felt guilty with Daniel in the next room. Maybe I should wait for next week, when he was at his father’s. I tried sleeping for nearly an hour, but I kept flopping around in bed. I really needed a release. A good one. Fingers wouldn’t get this job done. I slipped out of bed and quietly closed the door until it was only open a crack, then went to my ensuite bathroom.
I wasn’t one for clunky vibrators or dildos. Daniel was at that age when he went snooping around the house and was likely to find such things. That’s why I preferred discreet vibrators. The kind that weren’t veiny pink penises bedazzled with pearls and bunny rabbits and LED lights.
I stifled a laugh as I pictured Daniel running into the living room with just such a vibrator and swinging it around like a sword as he cheered, Mom! Look at the light saber I found! Him making light saber noises, Zzh! Zzh! Zzh! Me, horrified and shouting, Put that away! It’s not a light saber! Him, confused, It sure looks like one.
Like I said, discreet.
Inside the bathroom vanity drawer next to my hair dryer was my EroTouch Glove Fingertip Vibrator. It wasn’t so much a glove as it was a stylish low-profile wristband battery pack with wires leading to the two vibrating pods. I strapped it on my wrist and put the pods on my first two fingers. Something about the design made me feel like I was an electric sex wizard who could shoot orgasms out of her fingertips.
Actually, that was exactly what it did.
The first time I’d used it, I’d timidly pulled it out of the nondescript shipping box, blushing even though I was alone in the house. The second I touched it to my nipples, I knew I needed a second glove. Sure, I waited until after enjoying several clitoral orgasms before ordering another one online.
Broken Lion Page 12