Billie Payne, middle-weight victor of tonight’s underground match, sagged against the ropes as his trainer gently guided him to a wooden stool and pried his mouth guard out. Payne was wasted from the fight, and could barely swallow the water he was given. He let the trainer wipe the blood and sweat off his face and watched the crowd, still going crazy for him, still chanting his name. He barely felt the pain from the bruises blossoming over his ribs and his swollen left eye. Every win got him higher, better than any drug he could’ve picked up on the street. He watched as the crowd seemed to split in two and head out the glass doors, the group taking their winnings to the bar to blow them, the other following a short way behind, hoping to cash in on some free rounds from their friends.
Payne grunted as cold water hit his eye again. Son of a bitch was starting to throb. He shook off his training staff and slowly stood up, feeling every inch of every muscle in his body scream in protest. He climbed down from the ring and headed towards the showers.
She was standing so quietly in the shadows he almost missed her. Almond-shaped brown eyes watched him from a thin, almost elven face. Her full lips were parted in a smile as he noticed her. She wasn’t dressed like most of the gym-bunnies that usually waited for him after fights. Her black hair was pulled back in a tight braid, leaving only a few escaped tendrils to prove her hair was naturally curly. Her suit was well-tailored, but not tight, and her jewelry was conservative, classy, rather than loud.
Billie veered from the doorway to the locker room like a drunk and loped toward the shadowy corner where she stood.
“I know you, don’t I?” Billie made the question sound like a statement. His blood began to heat at the slow, sweet smile she gave him in response. He looked her over from curly blue-black hair to her high-end, yet sensible, heels. “How could I not remember a woman like you?” He muttered. She chuckled and he dropped his eyes, embarrassed. For a guy who women loved to chase, he wasn’t feeling very smooth all of the sudden.
“Billie, it’s me, Joy.” The pretty woman murmured softly. “Joy Driscol. From the neighborhood?” It was her voice that brought back memories of school days and long walks and imaginary plans for their futures. That soft, lilting sound that made him forget for a moment that he was fighter now, and made him feel like the 14-year-old that sat on her bed and listened to classic rhythm and blues music and argued about who was the better artist, Billie Holliday or Aretha Franklin.
“Wow.” Billie finally squeezed the word past the lump in his throat. “Joy Driscol, you’re all grown up.” He held out a hand to her and she slid past it to wrap her arms around him in a hug, laughing. “Oh honey, I’m going to get some guy’s blood on your nice clothes.” He teased as he gingerly backed away from her. “Let me shower, and then I’ll hug you proper.” She blushed prettily and let him hold her hand instead.
“You know,” she remarked, “you’ve grown up too.” She looked up into his swollen and bruised face. He was a good six inches taller than he’d been when they were neighbors. His shoulders had broadened, due as much to weight-lifting and training as to puberty and adulthood. Even all banged up, his rugged features were the fulfillment of teenage promise, and Joy felt her chest get tight at the memory of how much she had wanted him to really see her, once upon a time.
“Naw. Guys like me don’t grow up, we just get bigger and then get old.” Billie chuckled. He shook his head and swung her arm out, as if to get a better look at her. He almost told her the truth, that lately, he felt more like an insecure kid than he had in high school. He squeezed her hand and winked. “I really need that shower, but I don’t want you to go.” He added in a husky voice that suggested dark and sinful things to come.
“I’m not going anywhere.” Joy replied. She grimaced and shrugged her shoulders. “I’m actually here to ask a favor of you.” She blushed again. “I’ve actually come to see you fight before, but this is the first time I’ve stayed.” She pulled her hand out of his and stepped back a couple of paces. “You go shower. I’m going to get off my feet for a few minutes.” She slowly backed away toward the metal folding chairs that encircled the boxing ring, without taking her eyes off of Billie. He waved and turned back towards his waiting training staff and the promise of a hot shower and a cortisone shot.
“Give me fifteen minutes.” Payne called over his shoulder as he disappeared from sight. Joy took the opportunity to close her eyes and slow her racing pulse in the weakly half-light of the now-closed gym. It had been more of a shock to speak to him again than she had thought it would be. Three fights she had come to, and finally tonight had worked up the courage to stay behind. It was certainly easier to do when there weren’t other girls waiting around for him.
Joy pondered the chasm of time and experiences that lay between the boys Billie had been, and the man he was now. Never would her 13-year-old self, have imagined that the quiet, scholarly artist she knew would become a man of self-promotion and violence. But, in her humble opinion as the daughter of a former heavyweight champion, he was nothing if not an amazing fighter.
She’d seen such drive and determination in his eyes as he fought. It was admirable to her that while he was ruthless and unrelenting in the ring, he never had the look of wild rage that she’d seen before in so many fighters. He was detached from his emotions as he fought. Clinical and deliberate in his actions, never wasting an ounce of energy. She smiled to herself. Her dad would’ve been proud of the fighter Billie had become. Joy was sad that he would never have the chance to see it.
It was so quiet in the gym that Joy nearly dozed off waiting for Billie to return. After approximately double the amount of time he said he’d be gone, Billie came and found her sitting quietly with her eyes closed and her head resting on the edge of the ring as she sat on one folding chair, her feet propped up on another. She felt him get close to her and opened her eyes slowly, watching him from under her long mascaraed eyelashes. His wounds were treated and dressed and the bruising in his face had already bloomed to a deep blue and purple. He was probably the most handsome man she’d ever seen.
“Hey,” He whispered to her, gently brushing her bare arm with warm, calloused fingers. “If you’re still awake, I’d like to buy you dinner, or at least a coffee.” He offered. She opened her eyes all the way and her slow, easy smile lit up her face.
“If you don’t mind listening to a proposal, I’m happy to let you feed and caffeinate me.” She held out a hand and let Billie aid her to her feet. “My dad used to fight here.” She murmured as he held open the door to the street. He nodded. He remembered her father, how big he had been. He had seemed impossibly tall and broader than most men across the shoulders, and to Billie’s child-self, he’d been huge and imposing. A lifetime ago, there was nowhere that Billie had felt safe, except in Joy Driscoll’s home away from hands that struck him down simply for existing. These days, Billie made himself safe.
2.
Joy looked across the coffee-stained and food-smudged table at Billie. He lounged in the booth like a well-fed cat, legs stretched out under the table, hands clasped behind his head. He wore a Cheshire grin and sighed in contentment.
“Do you think you could ever be too good for this place?” He mumbled around the toothpick carelessly perched between his teeth. She picked at the chipped laminate of the table top and looked around the room. The waitress wandered between tables, warming up coffee cups along the way. The skirt of her faded yellow uniform swished around her legs as she wove her way through the restaurant. She headed toward their table and Joy knocked back the last of her coffee like it was a shot of whiskey, answering the friendly smile of the middle-aged woman with one of her own.
“Top you off, Sugar?” The waitress asked, as Joy scooted her empty cup closer to her.
“Fill ‘er up.” Joy bubbled, her brain already swimming in caffeine from the three previous cups. She turned to Billie and grinned. “To answer your question, with a question,” she posited, “Is anyone ever really too good for Denny’s?” She
grinned and sighed happily as she doctored her coffee, adding a dollop of cream and a truckload of sugar before proclaiming it perfect. She glanced across the table again. Billie still watched her, one eyebrow raised, his toothpick bouncing as he rolled it between his teeth.
“What’s up, Short stuff?” He asked. He was stunned by the amount of caffeine she’d consumed in the past hour. No wonder she was so tiny. She drank all her meals and then worked off the calories through “caffeine shakes”. He looked at the forlorn piece of apple pie she had finally pushed aside, untouched, after staring at it for twenty minutes, downing cup after cup of coffee.
“I told you I had a proposal for you.” Joy began, setting the cup down and tracing the top of the cup with her finger. Billie sat forward and nodded. “Well, we’ve been catching up all night.” Joy continued. “I told you that I’m a school counselor. What I didn’t mention is that I showed up at your fight tonight to ask a favor for the kids I’m responsible for.” Joy shrugged her shoulders. “I was hoping, because you are becoming something of a celebrity…” Her voice petered off as Billie nodded again and took the toothpick out of his mouth.
“You want money for your school?” He offered, pointing at her with the little chewed up piece of wood.
“No!” she gasped. “I just wanted you to come talk to them about staying in school!” She looked at him in askance. “So, I’m guessing you have a lot of people asking you for money, and I’m not going to take it personally that you thought I was another scrub.” Joy shook her head. “You thought I was asking you for money, and you took me out to a midnight breakfast and let me talk you ear off for…” She glanced at her watch, “two hours?”
Billie reached across the table and held one of her hands between his. He looked into her eyes and exulted at the blush that rose into her cheeks at his perusal. Joy saw his thoughts slide past his eyes and her blush deepened at the heat that began to build low in her belly at his utterly male, carnal stare. She felt her chest hitch and realized she’d been holding her breath.
“For that look,” Billie finally mused, “It was worth a thousand midnight breakfasts, if that’s what you wanted.” He rubbed his finger across her knuckles, sending sparks up her hand and shivers down her spine. “But, since you just want me to be a hero…” He chuckled, a deeply masculine sound that did nothing to help her regain her equilibrium.
“You were such a good student.” Joy uttered breathlessly. “I just wanted for my kids to see that they could be like you, strong, successful, and educated.” He dropped his eyes and stopped playing with her hands. Joy stopped speaking. Unhappiness radiated from his body. He finally raised his eyes to look her in the face, his shoulders slumped, hands clasped in his lap.
“I’m nothing special, Shorty.” He responded gamely. “I’m just a reformed nerd who found out he was even better at fighting than math.” He shook his head. “I’m not telling you no, I just don’t know what you expect me to say.” He sighed with a wry smile. “I’m not actually a hero. But, for you, I’ll wear the cape for a day or two.” He chuckled to himself as he watched her wiggle in excitement (and probably caffeine poisoning, he thought to himself).
“Well, you might just be a fighter who’s good at math in your own eyes, but to me, you are a hero and you’ll just have to get used to it.” Billie slipped two twenty-dollar bills out of his money clip and set it on the table.
“You ready to let me escort you home?” Billie asked, holding out his crooked arm in invitation.
“Of course,” she replied, drawing her purse up over her shoulder and taking his proffered arm. She leaned into his warmth as they exited the warmth of the diner for the outside chill of the witching hour. They shared a taxi uptown to her tiny, but comfortable apartment. They rode the elevator up in silence, as Joy wondered what, exactly, would happen when they reached her floor. The elevator doors opened and Joy stepped out, giving Billie a sidelong look as they walked down the hall to her door.
“Six-oh-four.” She pointed to the door. “This is me.” She pulled her keys out of her pocket and smiled shyly at Billie. “Thanks for getting me home safely, I’m glad we got to catch up.” She stumbled over her words as he smirked down at her. “I’ll, uh, call you, or text, or something, tomorrow.” He nodded at her and closed the distance between them. She inhaled sharply and froze, her heart racing in anticipation.
Billie leaned over her and rested one arm against her doorframe. He placed a hand on her face and tilted her chin up, forcing her to meet his eyes. He could see the pulse racing in her throat and her eyes widened at his nearness. He was close enough to smell her perfume, a sweet, floral scent that enhanced the musk of her skin, making him fight for control over the impulse he felt surging up in him to carry her inside and completely consume her.
He grazed his lips over her cheek and stepped back until he felt cool air flood the space between them. He stroked her face with the tips of his fingers.
“I’ll call you in the morning, and set up a time when I can come talk to your kids.” He murmured, his voice dark and silky. “I’m glad you came and found me.” He stepped back further, and felt more in control of himself with each step he took toward the elevator. “I’ll see you later, short stuff.” He teased, as he finally forced himself to turn around.
He was almost to the elevator doors when he finally heard her key catch the lock and the apartment door squeak as it was opened. He punched the down button and risked a quick glance over his shoulder towards Joy’s apartment. He pretended not to care that the hall was behind him. He stepped inside as the doors slid open and leaned against the mirrored back wall of the elevator car, grateful that no one was there to notice his disappointed descent.
Joy picked up her phone and looked at the lock screen for the hundredth time since 9:00. No messages, no texts. She turned back to her computer screen and tried to focus on the file she was reviewing. Caleb Jackson, she read. In and out of foster care, three new homes and four new schools in the last 18 months. Joy sighed. In their meetings, Caleb was thoughtful, quiet and introspective. He didn’t complain about his home life and as she scrolled down the screen, she saw he was a decent student. However, in the schoolyard, Caleb had proven himself to be dangerous to other kids.
“Not that they didn’t have it coming.” Joy thought to herself. Caleb’s last fight had put a kid in the hospital. It didn’t matter that the kid was twice his size, or that Caleb had interrupted him sexually assaulting a younger girl. No, the pervert had two parents, was white, and wasn’t bussed in from the projects. Even though the girl had stood by Caleb, it didn’t change the fact that he guilty for being a brown-skinned foster kid. In this neighborhood, that was proof enough that he was trouble. Of course, it hadn’t helped that he had nothing to show for the fight but a small bruise over his cheekbone. Joy shook her head and snickered to the empty chair in front of her desk, recalling the look of chagrin on his face. One hit, she muttered out loud, the big fat bully got in one. Freaking. Hit.
Kids like Caleb were why Joy wanted Billie to speak in the school. They were decent kids with trouble in their lives no kid their ages should be dealing with. Joy pulled the Maalox out of her top desk drawer and spun the lid off, tipping her head back and draining the last of the bottle down her throat. Stress and a weak digestive system were only two of the side-effects of being a counselor in a high school split nearly 50/50 between white middle class kids and poor brown ones.
School uniforms were not nearly enough to hide the disparities between the groups, and her ulcer seemed some days to be the only return on her investment. She picked up her phone again, and dropped it in her lap as its sudden chirping startled her. She juggled it for a moment and managed to swipe the unlock feature.
“Uh, hello?” she asked breathlessly.
“I told you I’d call.” Billie’s smooth baritone vibrated through her ear and straight to her gut. Joy’s mouth went dry and she licked her lips before answering.
“I know what a busy guy you are
,” she answered with feigned nonchalance. “I wasn’t sure you’d be able to find time in your butt-kicking schedule just for little old me.” She blushed, and was immediately grateful she was alone in her little breadbox of an office. He was quiet for a few seconds, and Joy swallowed nervously. What if she’d offended him? What if he’d hung up? She looked down at the screen of her iPhone. No, he was still there. Before she could raise the phone back to her ear, she heard him yell to his trainer.
“Yo, Marcus, I’m on the phone here, gimme a second, Jesus!” He huffed and continued in a normal tone “Hey, Sugar, you still there?” She cautiously moved the phone closer to the side of her head, ready to pull away if he yelled again.
“Yeah, I’m still here.” She answered, stifling a giggle. I may be deaf, but I’m here.
“Ah shiz, no, I’m sorry, I thought I had the mic covered. My bad. Are you okay?” He sounded so chagrined she couldn’t bear to keep teasing.
“Oh, I’m fine, I just had to give you a hard time.” She murmured sweetly. He shook his head; glad she couldn’t see his reaction to her voice. She had no idea how hard a time he was having because of her. He remembered how good she smelled the night before. No way he wasn’t getting another chance at that.
“So, you still want me to come talk to the future felons of America, even though I’m not smart enough to know how to mute my own phone?” He laughed. A towel hit him in the back of the head and he spun around to scowl at his trainer. Marcus glared right back at him and tapped his watch. On the other end of the phone, Joy sighed.
The Thanksgiving Day Bride: Mail Order Bride Novels Page 97