Totaled

by Stacey Grice

  I pulled away, watching a flash of disappointment cross her face, her eyes still closed. It quickly turned into a mischievous smile. She knew exactly what she was doing to me. I stood back up, adjusting myself underneath my jeans, and smiled at her.

  “Hurry back, babe. I. Am. Starving,” she whispered.

  “You’re bad,” I murmured, shaking my finger at her.

  “I just missed you.” She shrugged, sounding sad.

  “I missed you too. I’ll be right back.” I turned and walked away, thinking of anything and everything repulsive to try to get my hard on to disappear.

  Reaching the first floor, I felt my phone vibrating in my back pocket. I didn’t recognize the number, but that wasn’t unusual. I didn’t talk to many people on the phone.

  “Hello?” I answered.

  “Drew? Drew Dougherty?”

  “Yes, who’s calling?”

  “This is Chris Gibson. We met at the weigh-in, but then again, you met a lot of people that day. I’m employed by the UFC and handle PR for many of the fighters. It looks as if you’re in need of a little PR right now.”

  “Yes, Chris. I think I remember. I would like to definitely have a conversation with you, but now isn’t exactly a great time.” I recalled being introduced to him, and I could picture him distinctly because he was all of 5′6″ and completely bald with a bright orange goatee. I felt a little bad at the time for thinking that he reminded me of a leprechaun. But it did get me to remember his name, so maybe the guy had it right.

  “Listen, I understand that you’re tied up with family matters at the hospital right now. I’m more than happy to come to you. Where can I meet you?”

  “I’m at Grady. Call me when you get here and we can walk out to the courtyard or something.”

  “No worries, I’ll handle it. I’ll call you when I get there. Give me thirty or forty minutes, depending on Atlanta traffic.” He hung up abruptly and I shook my head back and forth in disbelief. Hopefully this guy would have some answers or at the very least some advice on how to handle this craziness.

  I got Bree an entire Styrofoam platter of fries and a grilled cheese sandwich. It wasn’t my grilled cheese, but it would have to do. I made her the “special sauce” that she requested, gagging at how disgusting it looked and smelled but telling myself that I was willing to do anything for her, I made it through. I ordered myself two grilled chicken sandwiches, piling spinach leaves and tomatoes on top of each one. The tea was in the middle of brewing and slower than the second coming of God, so I grabbed two bottled waters, shoving them into my pockets after paying so that I could carry everything back up to the room.

  She was so damn beautiful, sitting there reading her book when I walked back in. I paused in the doorway and just stared at her for a minute, dazed.

  “That didn’t take long,” she commented, sniffing the air.

  “They didn’t have any tea, so I got you water instead. And that sauce concoction is repulsive. How do you eat that?”

  “It’s good. Try it!” She held up a fry coated with the weird orangey blob of goo.

  “I’m good.” I rejected the offer and faked throwing up in my mouth.

  “Your loss. Aww, you got me a grilled cheese. You’re the best. This looks awesome.”

  “Well, it’s no Grilled Cheese Master specialty, but in a pinch, it’ll do, I suppose.”

  “Thank you. I didn’t realize how hungry I really was.” She was so cute, talking out of the side of her full-of-food mouth.

  “No problem. So listen, I have to duck out in a few minutes. Some PR guy is coming to meet with me about handling all of this media shit. I’ll keep my phone on if you need anything at all. We’ll just be downstairs.”

  “Oh, okay.” She looked skeptical and almost doubtful, but didn’t say anything further.

  “Don’t worry,” I reassured her. “I met him the other night. He’s legit.”

  “I trust you. Just be careful.”

  “Thank you, baby. I will.” I kissed her cheek, getting away with just that this time, since she had a mouthful of fries at the time, and excused myself from the room.

  My exit was perfectly timed and my phone vibrated before even leaving the unit.

  “Drew here.”

  “Drew. Chris Gibson here. I’m parking now. Meet me in the east wing of the hospital in five. I’ve reserved conference room number four for our meeting.”

  “Uh, okay. See you in a few.” What the hell? Reserved a conference room? The craziness and enormity of this entire situation both excited me and infuriated me. But I did what I was told. I had a brief thought that I should have Pat with me but immediately squashed the possibility. I couldn’t burden him with my shit right now.

  The hospital hallways were a bit like a maze, but I finally found my way to a corridor that looked more like an office building. Coming to a door with a faceplate reading “Conference Room 4,” I entered to see the leprechaun already seated, accompanied by a woman. They both wore suits, his navy with thin, barely noticeable pinstripes and hers a tan pantsuit with a white ruffled top underneath. When I cleared my throat, announcing my arrival, they both stood to approach me.

  “Drew, thanks for meeting with us,” Chris said, shaking my hand. “This is Arlene Hayes, one of our legal representatives. She’ll be sitting in on our meeting today.”

  I shook her hand first and was surprised by how firm and confident it was for a woman that couldn’t have weighed more than a hundred pounds soaking wet.

  “Pleasure to meet you, sir,” she greeted me, her smile lighting up her face. “I saw the fight the other night. Quite impressive for a debut match. Your name is on the tip of everyone’s tongue this morning. At least in the professional MMA world.”

  “Well, thank you. I’m hoping that’s something you both can help me with.”

  We sat down at the table, Chris and Arlene next to each other across from me, and Chris began by opening his briefcase to remove various folders and documents. He cut right to the chase.

  “As Arlene mentioned, your debut performance was quite impressive. No one, including myself, expected that kind of result.” He chuckled, amused at himself, and smirked, flashing his perfectly straight and obnoxiously white teeth. Nobody’s teeth were that perfect. Maybe they were veneers or something.

  “Thanks, I guess.”

  “Since looking into where the hell you came from, I have a much better picture of what we’re dealing with. I’m confident that we can not only manage and regulate this media circus, but, in fact, capitalize on it to your benefit.”

  That pissed me off. “And what exactly do you think you’re dealing with, Mr. Gibson?”

  “Look, I don’t mean to offend you, Drew, but I’m not here to blow smoke up your ass either. This industry is fast and merciless. If you don’t have proper management and representation, you’ll get eaten alive, no matter how good of a fighter you are.”

  “Is that what you’re offering me? Representation?” I couldn’t take my eyes off his flame-colored goatee, soul patch included. His smug expression, suggesting that he knew he had the upper hand in this exchange, was getting under my skin.

  “I’m offering you public relations representation on a temporary basis, to get you through this hurdle,” he explained. “If you should choose to contractually agree to an extension of our relationship, based on our proving ourselves through this current obstacle, we would be pleased to offer you that.”

  “I’m not sure I will need any extension of your representation. After last night’s events, I’m not exactly confident in my longevity within the UFC.” The words tasted horrible coming out of my mouth. All of my hard work, ruined and wasted by a stupid bar fight.

  “I wouldn’t worry about that, Drew. The UFC is willing to overlook this minor altercation being that you’re so new to the game. It didn’t hurt that you and Purifoy collectively handled the statements and events after the fight with absolute perfection. No charges will be pressed. Damages will be covere
d. The footage of your performance in the octagon as well as in the bar has gone viral and the powers that be at the UFC aren’t exactly upset about the publicity.”

  I looked over at Arlene, who returned my glance over her glasses, which I was certain were for aesthetic effect rather than to improve her vision. “And you, Mrs. Hayes? Why are you here?”

  “It is Ms. Hayes, actually. I’m not married. You can call me Arlene. And I’m here, Mr. Dougherty to protect you, legally.” She mispronounced my name. Butchered it. Like Doh-er-tee.

  “It’s pronounced Dock-er-tee. And you both need to share with me exactly how you would advise me to respond to that crowd of vultures outside. I appreciate that you want to help me. It’s obvious that I’m new to the game and, at this very moment, caught between a rock and a hard place, with more important matters to be focusing my attention on. Spell it out for me and we can get down to business.”

  Chris smiled with a look of victory and slid a paper-clipped set of papers across the table. “First of all, this is a written statement that you will read to the crowd of media outside this afternoon.”

  I glanced over the document. Wording like “unfortunate misunderstanding” and “no comment on the specifics of the altercation” stood out to me first. It was well put together and professional. I never could have articulated a statement like this on my own.

  “Secondly, I will secure an interview between you and a notorious sports journalist, Vince Johns, where you will respond to questioning about your upbringing, your parents, how the tragedy of their deaths shaped you into the person you are today, your training, your goals, your future in the UFC, everything. Nothing will be off the table. It’ll be raw. That’s what people want from you.”

  “Out of the question!” I exploded, shoving away from the table and rising from my chair. “I don’t know what the fuck you think you know about my parents, but I’m not talking about them.”

  Ms. Hayes looked alarmed and taken aback by my reaction while Gibson, calm as a cucumber, folded his hands together in front of him on the desk and calmly looked up at me to speak.

  “If you choose not to address this, people will form their own conclusions and you’ll be painted a murderer, a monster. You did nothing wrong. Own it.”

  “How do you know anything about any of this?” I felt like a volcano about to absolutely erupt.

  “Drew, you would be surprised at what you can find out on the internet and by knowing the right people to expose the details that you can’t find on your own. It took a two minute phone call to find out that Liam Murphy is currently in a coma in room 514 of CCU, despite you trying to make his location confidential. HIPAA is a fucking joke. If it was easy for me, it will be just as easy for others.”

  I suddenly became aware that my t-shirt was soaked with sweat, my heartbeat pulsing in my ears, and my clammy hands slightly shaking. I was furious and scared. I felt violated and vulnerable. This was all spinning out of control. “What is this going to cost me? Your help?”

  He slid another set of paper towards me. “Take a few minutes to review this contract. Arlene can clarify anything that isn’t clear and we can start taking care of this today.”

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  BREE

  “Water.”

  I thought that I had heard the faint sound of his voice through the sounds of chewing as I devoured my lunch like I hadn’t eaten in days. But when I glanced over at his face, his eyes were still closed, his face peaceful and still, the same as it had been since I had arrived at the hospital.

  “Water. P-p-please. I w-w-want s-s-some…”

  “Oh my God, Liam!” I cried.

  He was awake. He was talking. He was alive. My to-go container of food fell from my lap, the food spilling all over the hospital floor as I rose to touch him, to let him know that I was there.

  I grabbed his right hand, which was resting on top of the blanket, holding it in mine, and felt a weak squeeze coming from him. My resolve burst and the tears flooded my face. Overjoyed. Allayed. Appreciative. I felt so much all at once.

  “Water.” His voice was raspy and rough, sounding as if he had daggers lining his throat. His eyes were still closed, his face almost grimacing at the brightness behind his lids.

  “Of course. Do you want me to turn the lights off?”

  “Yes. M-m-my h-h-head h-h-hurts.”

  I shut the lights off, leaving only a small utility light over the nurse’s computer station in the corner and grabbed the cup of ice chips and a plastic spoon that were on the bedside table.

  “Here, this is a piece of ice, to wet your mouth.” I offered him the spoon of ice right above his lips. He slowly opened his eyes, acclimating to the lighting of the room, and opened his mouth to receive the ice. The moan that came from deep in his throat startled me.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Yes. F-f-feels good. I’m s-s-so th-th-thirsty.”

  I pressed the call button on the side of his bed to summon a nurse. It was only a minute before she came rushing in.

  “Can I help you?” She moved toward the light switch.

  “No! Please leave the lights off. He’s awake. The bright light is bothering him.”

  She came over to his bedside, smiling when she saw that his eyes were open. “Mr. Murphy? Hello. Do you know where you are?”

  “No. I’m th-th-thirsty.” He closed his eyes again, as if it were taking too much energy to keep them open.

  “Can he drink something?” I asked her, just wanting to give him anything and everything that he asked for.

  “Yes. I’ll be happy to get him some water in just a minute. I just need to assess him first. Mr. Murphy? Can you open your eyes for me again? Can you tell me where you are?”

  Liam opened his eyes, slowly moving them side to side to try to take in his surroundings. He spoke slowly, but he answered her. “I’m n-n-not h-h-home. Is it a h-h-hos-p-p-pi-t-t-tal?”

  “Very good. Yes, you are in the hospital. You were struck in the head and you’ve been unconscious for a few days. What is the last thing you remember?” She attached a blood pressure cuff to his arm while questioning him and pushed some buttons on his monitors.

  “I r-r-remem-b-b-ber the f-f-fight. I h-h-had a b-b-beer.” He looked at me with an apologetic expression on his face. “Am I in t-t-trou-b-b-ble? Where’s D-d-dad? He’s g-g-going to be m-m-mad.”

  I reached out to touch his face. “No,” I assured him through my tears. “You aren’t in trouble. You did nothing wrong. I’ll call Dad and tell him you’re awake now. He isn’t far away.”

  “M-m-my h-h-head h-h-hurts.”

  Another nurse came into the room and was given instructions to call Dr. Snyder to notify him that his patient was awake. She smiled and left the room.

  “Liam, I’m going to sit you up a little bit so we can give you some water, okay?” the nurse said, reaching for the bed remote.

  He nodded his head slightly and she pressed a button on the side of his bed, inclining the bed into a more upright position. She brought a cup of ice water over and put the straw right up to his lips. He sipped the water completely gone in a matter of seconds, slurping sounds indicating that he was done.

  “M-m-more. P-p-please more.”

  “Slow down. I have more for you here, but I want you to sip it slowly, okay?” He nodded. “I can get you some pain medication for your headache, but I want Dr. Snyder to come assess you first.”

  “Who?” Liam asked, confused.

  “Dr. Snyder is your neurologist. He’s taking care of you here at the hospital and is on his way now. Sit tight.”

  “I’m n-n-not g-g-going anywh-wh-where.” He smiled and looked over at me. “D-d-don’t cry, Bree. I’m ok-k-kay.”

  I was trying not to, but it was no use. Just hearing Liam say my name and knowing that he remembered me was enough to make me scream out in joy, but I held it together. “I’m just so happy to see you awake. You scared me. Just rest.” I placed the palm of my hand over his forehead, c
areful not to press up against his stitches. He closed his eyes at the touch. A few minutes passed and I texted Dad that he was awake. I didn’t text Drew, knowing that he was tied up with that PR rep.

  It was about fifteen minutes before Dr. Snyder strolled in with a nurse in tow. He smiled at me upon entering the room and came over to the opposite side of the bed, looking down at Liam, who had dozed back off only minutes prior.

  “Ms. Murphy,” he greeted me with a warm smile. “Nice to see you again. I heard we have our Liam back.”

  “Yes, sir. He woke up a few minutes ago, asking for water.”

  He gently touched his shoulder and said softly, “Liam? Can you hear me? Can you open your eyes for me?”

  Liam opened his eyes. “Yes. Are y-y-you the d-d-doctor?”

  Dr. Snyder looked genuinely pleased. “Yes. My name is Norman, or Dr. Snyder. I’m a neurologist. I take care of people’s brains when they’re hurt. Your head was hurt pretty badly, so I’ve been taking care of you.” I started crying again at the kind way that he spoke to my brother, obviously remembering what I told him the other day. “Does your head hurt right now?”

  “Yes, s-s-sir. A b-b-bad h-h-headache. The l-l-light was too b-b-bright.”

  “I can tell the nurse to give you some medicine that will help in just a few minutes. Does it feel like your head is throbbing? Like a beating drum inside your head?”

  “Yes,” Liam responded immediately. “J-j-just l-l-like th-th-that.”

  “Is your vision blurry or fuzzy?”

  “No. I d-d-don’t think s-s-so.”