by Cari Quinn
I came to a halt. No, I didn’t have any right. Luckily Brooklyn Presbyterian didn’t segregate by moral code so I’d still be able to drag my tarnished ass through the white glass gates.
But I also didn’t owe him a response. He’d know I was at the hospital when he saw me there. If he chose to waste valuable emotional energy on poking at me, that was his choice. I wasn’t making the same one.
“What the fuck? Don’t you speak?”
When I started walking again—without speaking—the footsteps behind me sped up in a manner meant to intimidate. Poor guy didn’t realize I didn’t intimidate easily.
I spun around and caught him off-guard, raising my arm near his face. He was taller than me, but not by much. “Get the hell away from me. I’m not your problem.”
His exhales cut through the taut, cold air between us. I’d barely breathed for the last half hour. His glacial expression warmed, just a fraction. “You really did punch him.”
“What?”
“You punched Tray in the jaw. I didn’t believe it. He was still bruised all to shit tonight.”
My eyes stung. Great, more tears. I couldn’t break down here. Not in front of this stranger.
Not in front of anyone who wasn’t Carly…or Tray. The realization that somewhere along the line he’d risen in status in my head made me tighten the jacket around me from my sudden chill. His jacket. It was wet. Maybe from snow—
I glanced down. Dark patches marred the front. Confused, I brought my fingers to them, a sob escaping at the blood that dampened my hand. God. I couldn’t do this. I couldn’t go back to another hospital, even for him. Not again.
“Mia?”
Slater’s voice had gentled and that made me angriest of all. I didn’t deserve his kindness. He should hate me, just like Tray.
I pulled off the coat with the utmost care. Then I pushed it into Slater’s arms and gazed up into his baffled face. “You need to get this dry cleaned. Now. Please. I’ll pay whatever it costs.”
He wasn’t moving. “It’s eleven o’clock.”
“I don’t care. There has to be a twenty-four hour place around here somewhere. Whatever it costs. Goddammit, please.” Another sob escaped as I shoved his chest. “I have to go be with him. I can’t lose this jacket.”
Before he could tell me no, I pressed my hand to my mouth and whirled away. The metallic taste on my lips told me which hand I’d used.
Nausea climbed up my throat. I ran, hoping to hold it back, the snow-covered ground in front of me blurring from the endless siege on my eyes. The cold air rushed over my now bare arms, chilling me so deeply I doubted I’d ever get warm again. But I wouldn’t stop. I’d run all the way there if I had to.
At the end of the next block, I spotted a yellow car idling at the curb. I waved my arms like a lunatic as I approached at a speed that probably scared the cabbie. He’d just exited his vehicle. “You’re picking up riders? Please? God, I need to get to Brooklyn Presbyterian.”
“You are bleeding. You are hurt?” the guy asked in a thick accent I didn’t recognize. “You need an ambulance?”
“No, I’m fine.” But what must I have looked like if I had enough blood on me to make him think I had open wounds? I didn’t have time to worry about it. “It’s my—friend’s blood. I need to go to the hospital. Please.” It was only then that I noticed the Off Duty sign above the cab. I let out another combination sob/dry heave. “Please, it’s an emergency. I’ll pay double, triple the fare.”
He pulled open the door he’d just shut. “I have a daughter your age. Get in. I will take you.”
“Thank you. Oh God, thank you.” I rushed around to the back of the car. Only when I gripped the door handle did I realize that I had no money on me. Absolutely none.
My decision to come to the fight had been spur of the moment. All night I’d paced around the apartment, bored and restless, watching the clock. Carly had gone to the gym and then out with some friends she’d met there. We didn’t have money for fancy gym memberships, but she’d scored a free month, and I didn’t want her to go stir-crazy alone in our place. She’d applied for a couple of jobs in the neighborhood, thinking she could help out until we split town. Hopefully she’d find a position soon. Still, my sister wasn’t antisocial like me. Without daily interaction with someone who wasn’t her sullen, grouchy older sister, she’d go nuts.
I’d figured I’d go to see the match and be back before Carly returned. The fight locations weren’t public knowledge, so Kizzy had checked around for me. She knew everyone on the circuit. Not that she’d wanted to help me go see Tray, but I’d convinced her it was in preparation for our bout in a few weeks. I’d promised her I wouldn’t even speak to him.
Did it count if he’d been unconscious for our conversation? One that had consisted mostly of “Oh God, I’m so sorry, you’ll be fine, we’ll get you help,” over and over again?
The cabbie leaned back between the seats. “Coming, miss?”
Nodding, I got in the car. My hand shook as I yanked the door shut. I’d figure out payment once we arrived.
Less than fifteen minutes later, the cabbie stopped at the end of the circular driveway in front of the hospital and put on his emergency lights. I grabbed the door handle and searched for my voice. Once upon a time not that long ago, I’d bartered easily and often with my body. I wasn’t that girl anymore. And Tray would’ve killed me for even considering it.
The words formed on my tongue, but I swallowed them at the last moment. I couldn’t ask this kindly older guy if he wanted a blowjob in exchange for the fare. I just couldn’t.
I opened my mouth, prepared to apologize, to make promises, but he turned toward me and shook his head. “No charge. Go now, see your friend. I hope he will be okay.”
Relief rushed through me, sweet and dizzying. “Thank you so much. I appreciate it more than you’ll ever know.”
He smiled. “Oh, I know.”
Curiosity had me turning back before I hurtled out of the car. “How did you know my friend was a he?”
“Your face,” he said simply, waving me forward. “Go on and help him get well.”
“Thank you again. Thank you.” My throat tightened before I jumped out and ran toward the entrance.
Gasps greeted me as I pushed my way up to the admissions counter. After waiting for several minutes to talk to someone, I then had to explain multiple times that I wasn’t injured. I also had to accept the wipes the nurse kept pushing at me.
Eventually they stopped fussing at me long enough to give me the information I’d requested. Tray was being evaluated, and they would notify me when he had a change in status.
Feeling utterly useless, I took the only available seat in the waiting room between two squabbling kids and glanced around, hoping to see a familiar face. People gazed back at me, probably because of my bloody war paint.
I didn’t care. Let them stare.
Coach Timmins wasn’t in the waiting room. Maybe he’d gone somewhere else to wait for news. Tray’s friend would’ve been there if I hadn’t sent him off on a needless errand, but otherwise, I didn’t recognize anyone. Surely someone had come to see if Tray was okay?
Apparently not.
Hopefully the injury had looked worse than it was—getting knocked out by a punch could happen relatively easily, and a nosebleed made anything seem worse—but we just didn’t know that yet. As young, strong, and fit as Tray was, stuff happened every day. I’d heard of fighters who’d been paralyzed in the ring, and others that had suffered brain damage—
Shuddering, I rose to pace. No, not going there. I would wait to hear. Not think the worst.
I needed to be doing something productive. I tugged out my phone and realized I’d had it off all night. Shit. As I swiped it back on, I noticed the time. Past eleven. Almost eleven-thirty. Much later than I’d thought.
Carly.
Almost on cue, her texts popped up on my screen.
Home now. Where r u?
U didn’t leave a note. R u a
t the store? I need cornflakes, baking powder & coconut flakes.
That one made me smile. That was my sister the chef, with her random food needs.
Y aren’t u answering me?
R u w Fox? I won’t make fun of u, promise, just want to know u’r ok. Pls reply.
The last one had come in five minutes ago. Ame, I’m scared. Pls be ok.
God, we were a pair. Worry first, think later. But in our defense, we both had reason to know that sometimes people were late for reasons that were far from innocent. Sometimes the bogeyman was real. And once you knew that, you never, ever forgot.
She answered my call on the first ring. “Ame, oh, thank God. I was about to call the police.”
I didn’t want to know if she was serious. We both had our neuroses, and acknowledging her very understandable ones would mean I should rightly examine mine.
That wasn’t happening tonight.
“I’m sorry I didn’t call. I turned off my phone, then stuff happened and I forgot to turn it back on. I’d planned to be back home before you got back from the gym but—”
“But what?”
I pressed my finger to my ear to block out the drone of voices and walked toward a relatively quiet corner. Yet again my voice failed me when I attempted to speak, so I changed tracks entirely to avoid what I couldn’t say. “Car, I need you to look something up for me online.”
“My laptop’s not turned on.”
“Since when? You’re on that thing day and night. Watching movies at all hours, playing games when you should be reading up on colleges.”
I waited for her to light into me about the whole college thing again, but she only sighed. Evidently her worry had subdued some of her usual spitfire.
“Yeah, yeah, Mama Bear. What’s up? I can tell something is going on.”
“I need you to find the number for Tray’s parents.”
“Tray?” She paused. “You mean Fox? You never call him that.”
“Yes, Fox. I have no idea what their names are, but I know he comes from Long Island. I’d guess they’d be named something fancy. His dad’s middle name begins with a T and he’s a lawyer. What’s the abbreviation for that?” I bit my lip and answered my own question. “Esquire.”
“Who actually uses Esquire after their name?”
From what Tray had said, his dad would, I was almost sure. “Just look it up.” When she hesitated, I gripped the phone tighter. “Please. Hurry. It’s important.”
“Ame, where are you? What’s going on? I’d thought maybe you were embarrassed to be bump-and-grinding it with Fox so you didn’t call, but that’s obviously not it. And you’re not with him if you’re calling his parents.” She gasped. “Was there a fight tonight? Is he all right?”
“I’m with him at the hospital.” It was all I could say before the ever-present lump in my throat grew to maximum density once more. “Find some numbers for me to call. I’ll go crazy waiting around to hear something. At least I can keep busy.”
“Okay, okay.” Rustling noises sounded over the line before a spate of furious typing. “His last name is Knox?”
“Yes.” I didn’t question how she knew that. She paid more attention than I gave her credit for.
I made the mistake of glancing down the hallway and sucked in a breath. A pair of doctors in scrubs walked toward the waiting room and the image brought back a flood of memories, none of them good. The walls seemed to swell and contract right along with my head.
“Do you have paper and a pen?”
Dizzily, I looked around and saw a woman writing a check. I didn’t hesitate. I snatched the pen out of her hand, mumbled “sorry, emergency,” and flipped over my arm. And I absolutely did not think of Tray writing his number in the very same spot. “Go ahead.”
“So far I have four—no, five contenders. Start with these and I’ll keep looking. If none of them are right, I’ll give you more names.”
“I’m ready.”
She rattled them off and I wrote as fast as I could. Then I handed the pen back to the frowning check-writer.
“Got them all?” Carly asked.
“Yeah. I’ll be in touch. Thanks, Sis.” I hung up and started dialing.
Three misses later, I blew out a breath and returned to my list. My spine locked as I read the fourth pair of names, Elliott and Sarabeth Knox.
I called and waited through five rings before an answering machine picked up. The voice sounded eerily like Tray and my heart squeezed like a fist. Halfway through the message, the voice clicked off and the real live Tray-imitator appeared on the line. “Yes?”
My voice deserted me. Flat-out left the building.
“Hello?” he boomed again. And boomed was truly the only appropriate word. The phone wires were probably quivering.
I know I was, and that pissed me off.
“Hello. My name is Ame—” No. Dammit. That wasn’t my name anymore. “Mia. I’m with your son. At least I think he may be your son? Tray—”
“If Tray knocked you up, that’s not our problem.”
The cool, emotionless reply had me sinking to the floor right where I stood. My knees simply folded out from under me. Whose parents said something like that when they got a late night phone call? Tray’s, evidently. No wonder he hated them.
A couple people rushed forward to help me, but I waved them off. Delayed shock had dulled my reflexes until I couldn’t do more than wiggle my fingers to show I was okay. I had bigger problems at the moment then nonfunctional body parts and rusty senses.
“No. I’m not…knocked up.” Breathe in. Breathe out. Just say it. “Your son was hurt in a fight tonight.”
A long, empty pause. I didn’t even hear his father breathing. Then, “How bad is it?”
Finally, something resembling a human response. “I don’t know yet. We’re at the hospital. He was unconscious and there was a lot of blood…” I couldn’t say any more.
“Which hospital?” He bit off the words.
“Brooklyn Presbyterian. If you want, I could—”
The dial tone sounded in my ear.
I lowered the phone to my lap and tried to force out air through the constriction in my lungs. What had I just done? Had I made a huge fucking mistake?
“Mia?”
I dredged up the energy to look upward. Slater stared down at me, much like someone studying an exotic—and possibly poisonous—plant.
All of a sudden I couldn’t sit there in Tray’s blood one second longer.
I slapped a hand on the wall and jerked to my feet, staying still until the dizziness receded. I didn’t do well in hospitals. Didn’t do well anywhere, obviously.
“Any news?” He steadied me with a casual hand on my elbow.
“No. Nothing.” As subtly as possible, I shook him off. I’d always stood on my own two feet. Tonight wouldn’t be any different. “Maybe they’ll tell you something.”
Slater nodded and turned away to head toward the admissions desk, but I reached forward and grabbed his arm.
He stopped and slanted me a wary look. “Yeah?”
“Do you have a key to Tray’s place?”
“Huh?” Shaking his head, he started walking again. I didn’t blame him. He probably figured I wanted to send him on another errand.
In this case, he was wrong. I wanted to go. Had to, in fact. I wasn’t doing Tray any favors by hanging out in this waiting room, getting dizzier and sicker and less able to deal with the reality of our lives in the cage. Professional fights were one thing, the unsanctioned ones quite another. I’d been lucky so far and had never been seriously hurt.
I couldn’t stick around to see if Tray’s luck had run out.
“Slater.”
“Jesus, Mia, let me find out if he’s okay, would you?”
“His parents are coming. I called them.” I clutched my phone to my chest, not even loosening my grip when the case buckled in my grip. “Someone needs to feed his dog. If you can get me a key—”
Without another w
ord, he dug in his pocket and produced a key ring with enough keys to classify it as a deadly weapon. He pried off one and pushed it into my palm without meeting my gaze. “Go take care of Vey. I’ll deal with the parents of doom.”
Running away would be cowardly. I wasn’t a coward. At least on the outside.
So why did I find myself nodding while I stumbled backward? That horrible hospital smell of antiseptic and pervasive sickness would give me nightmares for weeks.
“You’ll call me when you hear?”
“Yeah.” He tossed me his phone.
I caught it easily and programmed my number before throwing it back. He grabbed it above his head, his eyes finally connecting with mine. The shadows in them made me want to weep.
He was truly frightened for his best friend. And that scared me even more.
“I’ll call, Mia.”
Nodding, I turned. And ran, just like two weeks before when I’d met Tray. Except this time I didn’t have his coat to keep me warm.
I also still didn’t have any money to hail a cab.
Biting my lip, I jogged back into the hospital waiting room. The same faces peered at me with puzzlement and suspicion. I had always been popular at parties.
Slater rose halfway out of his seat as I approached. “Now what?” His weariness might’ve made me laugh if I hadn’t been worn so thin.
“I need money for a cab. I’ll pay you back, with interest. For the jacket too.”
He’d already pried out his wallet and bent his head. The streaks of blond in his brown hair caught the light and reminded me of caramel ice cream.
That fro yo stand I’d passed with Carly last weekend at the mall seemed like a memory from a million years ago.
“Here’s thirty-five. All I got on me.” He gave me a smile full of perfect white teeth that bumped up his looks from attractive to lethal. “I’ll hit up Pops Knox. He’s always down for spotting some green.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah.” He gave me a gentle shove. “Now get lost, fighter girl.”
Fighter girl. God. His using the name Tray had given me poured more kerosene in the wound.
“Thank you.” I made it to the street before the tears started again.
They lasted for the few blocks I walked before trying to hail another cab. By then a plan had begun to form. I couldn’t be a normal friend or…girlfriend to anyone. I couldn’t sit calmly in waiting rooms with my neat, non-bloody face and hands and wait patiently for news. I definitely couldn’t act like a regular woman regarding clothes or relationships or sex.