“So you think this PT is worth the time it’s taking? I hate to have anything new in the schedule when we’re under six months, but I don’t want you to fall on your ass, either.”
Jesse pressed the bandage to his knee under the table. He’d finished the sprints, forty-five minutes up and down the bleachers, and on the way out of the stadium, he’d taken a tumble, scraped his knee on the tarmac in the parking lot. It had happened so fast, just like before, with no warning. He didn’t know how to prepare when there was no warning.
“Yeah, I think we better keep going. I told Evan to push harder, make the time count.”
“You were invited to be a special guest of the Packers, first game of the season. You want to go?”
“It’s after the match, isn’t it?”
“Yeah. September.”
“What do they want me to do?”
“I think they want you to talk to kids about sports safety. They’ve got a bunch of their players doing it, and they want a boxer, a snowboarder, a swimmer. I think they even asked one of those ice skaters. They don’t want to leave any kids out, even the boys want to be ice skaters.”
“Yeah, okay. Can you send me the info to my email?”
Corry looked pained, but he nodded gamely. “Oh, fine, fine, you and that email. You’re gonna make me carry a cell phone next.”
After lunch Jesse went to the weight room, spent a couple of hours lifting, then he put on his running gear, shorts and a sleeveless tee and ran across town to the hospital. He was a couple of minutes early, and Evan was at his desk with an old man, taking his blood pressure. Jesse went to the water fountain, took a long drink, then leaned back on one of the treatment tables.
“Son, you’re not listening to what I’m saying!”
“Mr. Washington, I am listening. I hear you. But you need to listen to me as well. This is your blood pressure today. 162/92. Too high on the top and the bottom. Maybe it isn’t the bourbon or the salt. Maybe you need to get your medicine adjusted. My point is that ignoring it isn’t going to help it go away.”
“If it kills me, it kills me.”
“But what if it doesn’t kill you? What if it just gives you another stroke?”
The old man stood up, clicked his cane against the floor in a bad-tempered way. Jesse stood up, held the glass door open for him. The old man looked him up and down when he limped through the door, one leg dragging behind him with every step. “And who are you supposed to be?”
“I’m Jesse James Jones,” he said, and watched the old man’s eyes get wide with shock. He closed the door behind him, went to the desk and pulled up a chair. Evan was rubbing his forehead like he had a nagging headache. “So what have you been doing today?”
He gestured toward the old man limping down the hall. “Sitting on my ass and listening to that. Did you smell the bourbon?”
“Yeah, he took a toot in order to get through his physical therapy.”
“And you? What have you been doing today?”
“Boxing, wind sprints at the stadium, weight lifting, and a run. A short one, only a couple of miles.”
“Good God. You sure you’re up for more?”
“This is cake for me. Maybe you better do some Qigong with me before your butt sticks to that chair.”
“Yeah, maybe I will. I’ve got a long routine for you, almost two hours.”
“Good. Let’s push it a bit.”
Evan looked down at Jesse’s knee. The bandage was four inches square, and some blood had seeped through, spotting the gauze. “Was it the balance? Did you fall?”
Jesse nodded. “When I finished the wind sprints at the stadium. I was walking back out to the car, and I fell over in the parking lot. Tilted to the right, just like before, and was down before I could catch myself.”
“Remind me and I’ll put a clean bandage on it when we’re done.” Evan filled a couple of water bottles, set them on the shelf next to the work area, and put a DVD in the big screen TV. “Don’t forget the breathing. Synchronize it with the movements.”
Evan meant business today, Jesse thought, moving through Swimming Dragon. They picked up speed faster than yesterday, and moved quickly into the more complex forms. They were nearly two hours in when he felt the ground tilt a bit, and caught himself with his hands flat on the floor. Evan was right there, an arm around his waist. “Let’s take a break.”
“I’m okay. We can finish.”
“No, let’s sit for a minute. I see what you mean now. It’s just a little bit of drift, but you’re so carefully balanced, just that small bit throws you off. I bet most people wouldn’t be falling. You’re just a fine-tuned machine. You’re more sensitive to something going wrong.”
“It’s enough to ruin my career.”
“This career, yeah. But we’re working on it. It’s early days. Let’s just keep with the plan.” Jesse hopped up to sit on one of the treatment tables, and Evan handed him the water bottle, then climbed up to sit next to him. He titled the bottle back, took a long drink.
“I like the way I feel doing this routine,” Jesse said. “It’s smooth, relaxing. I should get a copy of the DVD so I can practice at home.”
“This one’s from Gaiam,” Evan said. “Advanced practice. You picked up the beginner moves so fast, I thought we could go straight into the more difficult moves. Maybe we went too fast.”
“No, it was good.”
“We’ve got hydrotherapy next.”
“Hydrotherapy?”
“Also known as sitting in a big steel tub of hot water.”
“Now you’re talking.”
Evan handed him a pair of swim trunks, put him into a hydrotherapy tank up to his neck, had him go through some of the Qigong positions and hold them. It felt different moving through the water, like he was being forced into slow motion.
“Remember we’re trying to develop alternate pathways in your brain. So we want to give the nerves lots of different experiences. Your brain bundles experiences together, forms new connections.”
Jesse worked for another thirty minutes, then he held up his hands in surrender. “How about you let me soak in the water for a bit? You can come in, keep me company.”
Evan sighed. “I’m tired. Maybe I will.” He disappeared, come back wearing a pair of trunks and dropped some towels on the bench next to the hydrotherapy tank. “I’ll get my ass kicked for this if my boss finds out, but I can’t think of anything I want right now more than a nice hot soak.”
He climbed in, and Jesse enjoyed the view, curly black hair across his ivory chest, down into the waistband of the shorts. He was lean and smooth, and Jesse wanted to run his hand over that ivory skin. Evan leaned back, closed his eyes and sighed. “Oh, man. I needed this. I always feel better after the Qigong, too, but it’s been a bitch of a day. I got called onto the carpet over the YouTube video. Upstairs said I should have “sequestered” you. Though how they think I can work in a closet is beyond me. If anyone asks, we’re sequestered in here, okay?”
“What YouTube video?” Jesse was feeling fine, the aches and tiredness in his muscles drifting away in the hot water, the peace and calm from the Qigong smoothing out his mind.
“Somebody took a video of you doing the routine yesterday. I have my suspicions who the rat-bastard was.”
“Don’t sweat it. It comes with the territory. How did it look?”
“You looked hot, almost like you were doing ballet. I bet those Dancing with the Stars people call you for next season.”
“Who? The what?”
“Do you even own a TV?”
“That’s what sports bars are for.” Jesse rested his arms along the side of the tank, let his legs drift out, and he captured Evan’s legs between his, pulled him over. “Sorry you got in trouble.”
Evan smiled, eyes closed, let Jesse pull him over to his side of the tank. He settled up against Jesse’s chest. “I have never felt a chest like yours before,” he said, running his hands over the smooth skin. “It’s like you’re c
arved out of wood or something. But warmer. Definitely warmer than wood.” He leaned his head back, closed his eyes, and Jesse wrapped an arm around his waist, held him still. “This is nice.”
“Yeah, it is. What have you got going on later?”
“Nothing.”
“You have a cat, don’t you.”
“What, did I have cat hair on my chest? He won’t sleep on the little cat couch I bought him. It’s even made out of fake fur. I don’t know what’s wrong with him.”
“You want to go to a match with me? This kid from my gym, he’s got a match. I was gonna stop by. Moral support.”
“I’ve never been to a boxing match. Yeah, I’ll come. Thanks. We can go to my place after. I’ll play you a song on my guitar.”
Jesse wrapped another arm around his waist, held him close, felt the damp ends of Evan’s hair against his cheek. What was he doing? This was so much more complicated for him than it was for the rest of the world. So many things could go wrong. So many things involving YouTube and reporters with cameras. “Okay.”
CHAPTER FOUR
They grabbed a bite at the café on the corner, a salad for Jesse, since he was back on his regular diet, the pizza fest of the night before a fond memory. “Let’s run by my place, okay? I need to put on some fancy duds for the fight.”
“What, is it formal?”
“No, I just get a lot of cameras shoved at me. I’m going to give this kid a boost, so I might as well do the job right.”
Evan looked around at his condo, his mouth open. “Man, this is wild!” He walked over to the glass windows that looked out on the foothills, and the mountains beyond. “This place is unbelievable!”
“It’s paid for, so I won’t lose it if I lose my title.”
Evan looked shocked for a moment, then he kicked off his sneakers and slid across the bamboo floor in his socks. “This is a serious boy playground.”
“Get a beer if you want one.”
Jesse pulled open the closet door, picked out a pair of black trousers, a white button down shirt and a skinny purple tie. He ducked into the shower, ran a shaver over his chin, then got dressed. Evan gave him a wolf whistle when he came out of his bedroom. “Now I feel like a bum. Shouldn’t I dress up, too?”
“Maybe you better not. You look good in jeans. Besides, you don’t want to look too hot, the camera boys will be all over you.”
“I’m starting to get the idea that you’re a bigger deal than I realized.”
Jesse leaned back against the kitchen counter, took Evan’s beer and tipped it up to his mouth. “I’m a very big deal.”
Evan was looking at him with a quizzical smile, the twinkle back in his blue eyes. “If the paparazzi storm you, I’ll just fade into the background.”
He was so very cute, with the dimples and the blue eyes and the twinkle and the pretty mouth, curving into a smile. Jesse moved across the kitchen, almost against his will, took a handful of Evan’s shirt and pulled him close. What are you doing? Stop it, you’re acting like a fool….
Evan was smiling, and he tasted like beer, with a hint of cinnamon gum. Jesse snuggled him close, felt something warm and sweet in his chest, like his heart was turning to taffy. Evan’s mouth was like a piece of summer fruit. “You have a beautiful face,” he said, running his hands over Evan’s hair, feeling the silk of it slide through his fingers. “I like the way your eyes are always smiling.” He bent over, tasted the damp skin along Evan’s neck, felt the heart beating wildly under his lips. “Me and you, it’s going to be magic, baby.”
They climbed into Jesse’s car, drove downtown to the match. It was a small venue, but the crowd was the typical fight crowd, noisy, jammed in close together, already drinking. The weigh-in was done, and both boxers were in the ring. Bo looked good, he thought, loose, holding it in. The people standing near the ring moved aside when they saw him, and he felt hands on his shoulders, little slaps on the back, Hey, champ, that your boy in the ring?
He let Evan fall back. It wouldn’t do for them to get too much attention together. This was Bo’s night, and he was here for moral support. He swung up to the ring, nodded to the referee, and let the noise wash over him, shouts of Hey, Triple J! He slung an arm around Bo’s shoulder, looked into his eyes. “Be tough, kid. We’re all real proud of you. Now go beat this shit-bird into a bloody pulp.” They punched fists, then he swung down, moved toward their seats. He jerked his head to Evan, showed him where they were going, and Evan followed behind him, staring around at everything like a kid on his first trip to the circus.
It was slow moving through the crowd. Everybody wanted to put a hand on him, rub off a little of his shiny champ mojo. The cameras flashed in his eyes until he had to blink back the stars. The bells had rung for the fight to begin when they found their seats. Evan leaned toward him and shouted in his ear. “Wow, it’s loud in here! How was he? Was he scared?”
Jesse gave him a withering look. “Please. Boxers don’t get scared. And if they do, they swallow it down so deep nobody will ever see it.”
Evan rolled his eyes a bit, and the twinkle was back in full force.
Bo was a little heavier, weight he carried in his shoulders and chest, and the other guy was two inches taller. The reach was gonna be a problem, Jesse thought again, watching the fighters duck away from each other. Bo was fearless, putting his head down and bulling his way in, where the height didn’t matter, but eventually he had to move into the reach of the other fighter’s right hook. Evan winced visibly when Bo took a mean punch to his left cheek, then another blow to the right eye. “Good God, did you see that?”
“Hush.”
Evan gave him a look that Jesse thought meant he would have more to say about this later.
Bo lasted two and a half rounds before the referee called the match. Corry walked him back to the treatment room, both eyes swollen nearly shut, purple on his jaw, blood dripping from the cut on his cheek. “Let me go check in with them. You want to meet me at the car?”
“Yeah, sure. Is he gonna be okay?”
“We’ll see.”
Jesse was worried, but he wasn’t gonna say anything to Evan, who looked like he was about to start a letter-writing campaign to get boxing banned as cruel and unusual sport. He walked down the hall to the treatment room. Bo was leaning back on a table, a couple of ice packs on his face. “Hey, kid. You doing okay?”
“Yeah.” His voice was dispirited. “Thanks for showing up. It meant a lot to me.”
“No problem.”
The worry was sitting a little heavier on Corry’s old face , but he just waved him off, opened up the first aid box. “Ready for a stitch, kid? You’re gonna look like a boxer now, not a pretty girl with big eyes.”
Jesse reached down and squeezed Bo’s thigh, felt his skin flushed and sweaty. “I’ll see you tomorrow at the gym.”
“Okay.”
He made his way outside, found Evan leaning up against his car, arms crossed. The night was so quiet after the noise inside it felt like bliss on his ears. “It’s always loud like that,” he said. “It’s something you can use in the ring, the power of it. Like the Qi energy.”
“Have you ever beat somebody in the face like that?”
“Excuse me?”
“I said have you ever hit somebody in the face and head so many times they looked like your friend Bo?”
“Yes. Many times. Oh, I guess I forgot to tell you. I’m a boxer.”
“I know you’re a boxer. I didn’t understand….”
“Maybe you didn’t.”
“And I’m helping you get your balance back, so you can go into the ring and do that to somebody else?”
“No, you’re helping me get my balance back because I’m paying you for physical therapy services.”
They stared at each other for a long moment. Evan’s face looked helpless, pale and sick, but Jesse was Zen-calm, his mind still. He knew what he did. He knew the consequences. And this was the life he had chosen. “I’ll drive you home.�
��
Evan shook his head. “No, I’ll walk, Jesse. I need a walk, clear my head a bit. Look, I’m sorry, I’m not… I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”
Jesse didn’t answer, watched him turn and walk away, head down, hands in his pockets.
He stayed mad for the time it took him to find his car and drive home, eat some scrambled eggs and get into bed. What the hell was wrong with that guy? Jesse couldn’t get his head around the idea that Evan seemed less than impressed with him. Even disapproved of him, or what he did. What the hell was wrong with that guy? Who did he think he was?
His feelings were hurt, he decided. He was used to people liking him, admiring him, lusting after his big muscles, power, flash. He was a world champion, for Christ’s sake! He couldn’t remember the last time somebody had looked at him with disappointment in their pretty blue eyes, turned away from the hand he was holding out.
Maybe he could show Evan his belt? He’d liked the condo. He wasn’t a fool, he could see the life that boxing had bought. But none of it seemed to impress Evan much. Not enough to ignore how Jesse had earned this money. He disapproved of boxing. Not because of some bullshit abstract notion of brutality, but because he worked with people with damaged brains every day. He didn’t approve of guys on blood pressure medicine getting into the bourbon or eating Mickey D’s fries. He didn’t approve of boxers being hit on the head until they had brain damage. He wasn’t being an asshole. He was just being himself. He probably hadn’t thought about it much until Jesse had stood right in front of him, shoved his face in the reality of what he did.
He thought about Bo’s face, both eyes purple and so swollen he could barely see, his cheek cut open, swaying on his feet. What would the MRI of his brain look like? Was there a tear? Was something bleeding in his head, something that would steal his balance, steal his eyesight? Jesse could see their faces, a line of boxers, with bruised, cut faces, spinning away from his fists, the fat thump of a vicious right hook connecting with a chin, or an eye. He’d had nine KO’s in his career. How many of those men could walk straight today? Was this his gift to the world? Would he be willing to give another man brain damage? For the title? For money?
Don't Read in the Closet volume one Page 8