by Sara Hubbard
I sigh. That familiar pang in my chest returns at the mere mention of his name. Will it ever go away? “I wish I did. That was all my friend Amy and Sawyer’s PR agent.”
“I see.”
“How is…Sawyer?”
He studies me. “Good. Very busy with prepping for his big fight. It’s tomorrow.”
“Oh, right. I didn’t realize it was tomorrow.” I force a smile.
Thomas reaches into the breast pocket of his jacket and pulls out two tickets. He sets them on the table.
“I want to go, but I really can’t. Work is just too busy, but I would hate for the tickets to go to waste…”
“Oh, I don’t think that’s a good idea. If he wanted me there then I’m sure he would have called.”
“Maybe. Or maybe he’s scared.”
“Scared?” Imagining Sawyer scared did strange things to me. It didn’t seem possible, and yet the boy he told me about was just that—scared of a man who hurt him and his mother. And he worked so hard to beat him. A scared, vulnerable little boy, who let me see the real him from time to time.
“Well. I’ll just leave them here. Maybe someone you know could find use for them.”
“I don’t think—"
“It was great seeing you. Good luck with the dog walking. I think you’ll enjoy it.” He takes a closer look at the ad and taps his finger on it before walking away. I stare at the tickets for a long time before picking them up. I can’t go. I just can’t. Front row. No. What if seeing me put him off his game?
Twenty-two
AMY IS IN jeans and a loose cream sweater. Her hair is in a high ponytail and her hoop earrings accentuate her narrow face. She kicks her feet out to get mine off the coffee table.
“Get up.”
“Amy…” My voice takes on a high-pitched whine.
“I’m serious.”
“It’s not a good idea. The last time I saw him fighting, he took an uppercut in the chin.”
“Well, I have a feeling he’ll perform better when he sees you there.”
“I disagree.” I snatch the chips from the coffee table and shovel them into my mouth. Crunch, crunch, crunch.
After a knock, Megan walks through the front door. “Helloooo.” Her gaze falls on me and her smile turns to a frown. “You’re not dressed.”
No. I’m not. I’m in pink flannel pajamas. They are so worn I have a small hole in the knee. I pick at it, plucking the pilling fabric.
Megan wears jeans and a turtleneck. Her hair is in loose curls that frame her face. After Amy found the tickets last night, they decided to stage an intervention. Charlie had two tickets to the event too because he represents Sawyer, so he gave one of his to Amy. Megan claimed my second ticket and they insisted I use the first one. They think I’m going. I’m not.
“Molly, so help me God, if you don’t get off that couch I will kick you out of this apartment!”
What? She wouldn’t.
“Do you want to live with your mother? I’m sure you can have endless conversations about your new job.” Amy props her hands on her hips and scowls at me.
“You don’t understand.”
“I understand better than you think. Sawyer is damaged. He had a fucked up life, just like me. I can relate to him better than any of you. So when I say he needs you there…that he’ll feel stronger for you being there, I know what I’m talking about.”
“I just don’t know. I’m’ not sure he feels the same way, Amy.”
“Then why did he stop into my office three days ago and ask me about you?” Amy says.
“He did? Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because I knew you would torture yourself over it and do nothing about it. I told him you were miserable. I wanted him to know how much you missed him. And I’ve never seen a more pathetic face. He feels the same, trust me.”
I don’t want to let myself hope. It would hurt too much if Amy turns out to be wrong. But she’s right. What if he does need me there and I don’t go? I would do anything for him.
Amy’s nudge is just enough to push me into the shower, to get dressed and walk out the front door.
The fight is at eight o’clock. Charlie picks us up a little after seven and we get there fifteen minutes later. We hoped to avoid the crowds but unfortunately, other people had the same idea. The place is so packed; I practically have to swim my way through the crowds. It’s loud, and the air smells of popcorn and hotdogs as we move through the concessions area to the forum.
Charlie leads us to our seats. The noise is unbelievable. People chanting and screaming. I hear Sawyer’s name bellowed over and over again. People are wearing his name on their shirts. Sawyer “The Damned” Davis. The Damned Davis? How had I never heard that before? I hope it has nothing to do with his past. He doesn’t need to think that about himself. I don’t care what he or the police say. It was self-defense and after years of abuse, he lost it. Who’s to say I wouldn’t do the same thing if I faced what he did?
“This is insane,” I say to Amy.
“I know, right? I don’t come to these things often, but they get pretty intense. There’s underground betting too if you want to get in on it. I know a guy.”
“I’m good.” I put my hands up to stop her.
We take our seats and I chew my fingernails. Amy elbows me to stop but I make a face. The beginning of the show is a blur. There are two fights before Sawyer’s, but he’s the main event. I don’t know if I can stand waiting to see him. And now I’m here I’m not sure I can stand to see someone hit him. What if he gets bruised and bloody? The thought makes my chest hurt, like someone is stabbing me over and over.
The first fight is quick. At least I think it is. Before the end of the first round, this guy, Ricky the Riot, is on the floor, bleeding from the nose and mouth. A stretcher removes him from the ring and the crowd explodes. They shout for the winner, they shout for the loser. People throw their tickets at the ring. Someone throws a shoe. Security comes quickly and drags him out.
“Get up, you loser! Get up!” His voice seems to echo through the arena.
“This is fun, isn’t it?” says Megan.
Mechanically, I turn to face her. “No, Meg. This isn’t fun. See that?” I point to the ring. “The guy is bleeding from his face.”
She makes a face. “This is what they sign up for. I’m sure it’s not his first rodeo.”
Sigh. Yeah. It’s not Sawyer’s either.
The second fight takes place after a short intermission. Amy and Charlie get us all beer in plastic cups. I’m not a huge beer drinker but it goes down easy and helps me to relax.
The fight is between Greg ‘The Hammer’ Johnston and Mikey Fists. Fists is apparently his last name. Good thing for him he doesn’t have to make up some nickname. Why do they make up nicknames, anyway? Is it really necessary?
I take a sip of my beer as Hammer uppercuts Fists. Fists teeters and wobbles until his legs give out and he goes down on his knees. Hammer dives in with a wicked cross that send blood flying across the ring. I hear the crack on impact. I cover my eyes with my free hand.
Oohs sound in the crowd, followed by some yeahs and "get up, Fists, get up!”
He doesn’t get up, at least not right away. A handful of smelling salts and he makes his way to his feet. The match is called and the referee holds up Hammer’s hand. His smile is huge. The crowd goes mad. I just feel sick.
“I don’t know if I can do this,” I tell Meg.
“What do you mean? Sawyer's up next.”
“I know, that’s why. If he gets hurt…I don’t think I can watch.”
“No, I think Amy’s right. Stay. Be here for him whether he wants it or not.”
“It would be a lot easier to stay if I knew he wanted me to.”
“Have faith, Molly. If you leave, you’ll only torture yourself wondering what happened.”
She’s right. I would eventually watch it on ESPN later or on YouTube.
After a short intermission, the lights dim and t
he music starts. The microphone lowers from the ceiling, into the hands of the announcer. He wears a black suit and looks way too professional for a sport like this.
“…Weighing in at 205 pounds, Neil ‘Knockout’ Timmons!” He puts emphasis on the out, his voice gaining volume.”
Images of the fighter appear on the big jumbotron above, starting with an image of him and Sawyer, face to face, knuckles to knuckles. He’s smiling. Happy.
“Look! There’s Sawyer!” Megan screams, clapping.
I sigh. I hadn’t missed the image. “Yeah.”
Knockout comes out with his entourage, the crowd cheering. “Give ‘em hell, Timmons! Yah! Yeah!” He gets into the ring and dances on the spot, bouncing his way around the perimeter.
The announcer starts talking again. “…And weighing in at 208 pounds, we have Sawyer ‘The Damned’ Davis!”
The images flash and a different song blares, this one heavy metal. I steeple my hands under my chin and take a breath. I can do this. I can do this. Oh God. I don’t know if I can!
I don’t look back as Sawyer makes his long walk to the ring. The crowd is wild and louder than they were for Knockout. They like Sawyer. There's just something about him that people are drawn to, a kind of mystery no one can crack, including me.
His coach separates the rings and he steps through. He bounces back and forth between his left and right feet, holding his hands up, encouraging the crowd.
I slink down in my seat. He doesn’t see me, or at least I don’t think he does, but there's so much noise and chaos here that it must be hard for him to notice anything outside of the ring.
When the music stops and the crowd settles, Sawyer and Knockout come together in the centre of the ring. The referee gives the rules. “I want a clean fight…”
Everything he says is background noise. I focus on Sawyer, the gleam in his eye, and the stubbornness in his chin. He’s here to win. His body is out of control, ripped even tighter than the last time I saw him, and even then he looked amazing. He’s bulked up a bit and it looks good on him. I feel like if I reach out to touch him, it would be like touching stone.
The bell rings and stirs me from my thoughts. I grip Megan’s hand as Sawyer and Knockout bump fists.
Now I really feel like I’m going to be sick.
They dance around the ring for a bit, each punching but not really hitting hard. It’s like they’re trying to feel each other out. Then it begins. Sawyer steps in with a jab and cross. Knockout blocks it and jabs Sawyer in the stomach. I bite my lip until I taste blood.
Sawyer takes advantage of Knockout’s arms aiming down and he jabs and crosses him to the face. Knockout steps back and shakes his head. Blood pools at his brow and drips down his face.
The round is called and they return to their sides of the ring. While Knockout is getting his eye looked at, Sawyer is shouting across the ring. I can’t hear what he’s saying, but it looks like he’s taunting him. He and his coach laugh and Sawyer chugs water through a straw.
Has he seen me yet?
Charlie waves and Sawyer smiles at him. That’s when our eyes meet. The smile drops from his face, his eyes…they look hollow. I can’t read them. I don’t know if he’s angry, or what. I swallow hard. My whole body tingles with electricity, as if him looking at me makes me feel even more for him than I did before seeing him here tonight. How is that possible?
I avert my eyes and tuck my hair behind my ear. “He’s seen me.”
“I know,” Megan says with a frown.
“I don’t know if that’s a good thing.”
“He sure looks intimidating when his face is serious.”
I nod.
“Of course, it doesn’t help that he’s in a boxing ring and has an eight pack.”
The bell rings again.
Sawyer comes in hard, swinging and landing punch after punch. I don’t know if this sudden burst of rage is because of me, but the look on his face is like none I’ve ever seen. It’s frenzied, like he wants to kill the other guy and it scares me. Blow after blow, he pounds on the guy until he topples over, lifeless.
The referee leans over him, counting. “One, two, three.”
The guy lifts his head and shakes it off.
“Four, five.”
He plants his fisted gloves on the ring and pushes himself up. The referee checks to make sure he’s okay. His face is bloodied and his nose is definitely broken. But he nods when the referee asks if he can continue.
Sawyer is relentless, coming at him again without holding back, but he must be overconfident because when he punches, Knockout follows through with an uppercut, landing square in Sawyer’s jaw. Sawyer stumbles and falls to the ground, looking much like Knockout did moments before.
I spring to my feet. “Sawyer!” I call out. I try to get to the ring but security stops me. I swat at their hands but they tell me to get to my seat. “Let me go. You don’t understand.”
“Get to your seat or we walk you out the door, Ma’am.”
Amy puts her arm around me and walks me back.
The referee is counting and Sawyer attempts to stand again. Tears are streaming down my face. My hands cover my open mouth. I can’t process what I’m seeing. I feel like my heart has been ripped from my chest.
He’s on all fours when our eyes meet. His gaze is unfocused. When he reaches his feet, the bell rings and they’re back in their corners.
“I can’t do this,” I choke out. “I just can’t.”
Megan holds my hand. “Don’t you dare. It’s almost over. Stay and watch him win. You'll regret leaving, Molly. I know it.”
I close my eyes when the bell goes off again. But I can’t stand the sound of flesh hitting flesh and the crowd oohing and awwing and booing. When I open my eyes, Sawyer is pounding on Knockout like he’s a meat tenderizer and Knockout is a package of hamburger. Then finally, Sawyer lands one right between Knockout’s eyes and he falls back like a tree. Timber!
The referee lifts the guy’s arm and it falls to the ground. He starts counting but even I can tell this guy isn’t getting up.
The bell ding, ding, dings. The microphone falls and the medics rush the ring to look after Knockout.
“And the winner is...!” He holds up Sawyer’s hand.
Our eyes meet and I smile and nod, tears streaming from my face. I mouth congratulations. His nose is bent, his face is swollen and bloodied, and I can’t stand to see him this way. I stand and quietly walk down the aisle and out of the arena. I did it. I was there for him, and now it's over, I need to leave. Before he sees me fall apart.
Twenty-three
TWO WEEKS LATER…
I find the key in the mailbox and open the front door. Misty greets me. He’s a Great Dane and when I come to take him for walks, he gets a touch too excited. He jumps up, putting his paws on my shoulders. I can barely keep up his weight.
“Down, boy,” I say as he gives me kisses.
I fuss him, giving him hugs and kisses back. I’ve been walking Misty for two weeks now and we’ve become good friends. I top up his food bowl and give him treats. We play ball in the backyard. The people who own Misty are both professionals without children, and Misty is their baby. He’s only home by himself for six hours a day and I come smack dab in the middle of that to make sure he’s not lonely.
I’m still new at this job but I think I’m going to stick with it for a while. I barely know these dogs, but they give me more love and affection than most of the people in my life. And they listen…sort of.
My phone rings, and I pull it from my sweatshirt pocket. “Hello, Molly Denton.”
“Hi Molly, it’s Paula.” Paula is my new boss, and she’s amazing. Funny and considerate. She brings me coffee in the mornings, just because. When I finish my appointments for the day I usually try and return the favor.
“Hi.”
“I have a favor to ask…”
“Shoot.” I toss the ball for Misty and he bounds across the fenced yard.
“
I have a doggy emergency. The owner has a new dog and is worried about him being left home alone. He asked for us to send someone over this afternoon. Can you do it?”
“Um…yeah, I think so. I’m at the Clarks' right now, but I should be done in another half-hour.” If he’s so worried, why did he wait until the last minute? Good thing Paula can’t see me roll my eyes at the piss-poor planner.
“I really appreciate it. You’ve been working so much these past two weeks and I know it’s after hours. I tried to call Pam, but I can’t get a hold of her. Ally too.”
“Don’t worry about it. What about the key, though?”
“It’s in a gated community. He left the key with security.”
“Okay. Just need the address.” I run in the house and find a pad and paper on the breakfast nook.”
“145 Rosemont.”
I swallow hard. “Um…” Fuck. Sawyer. I’m doing okay, but the mere mention of his address has my tear ducts primed.
Sawyer has a dog and of all the places he has to call, he calls my new employer. Coincidence? I don’t know. But he’s in for a rude surprise if he’s unaware. “He’s not home?”
“No. That would kind of defeat the purpose of you checking up on his dog, right?” She chuckles.
“Of course.”
“Oh, and Molly. His name is House.”
“House. He named his dog House.”
I can almost hear Paula shrug through the phone.
“Okay, Sawyer,” I say to myself after I hang up. "You named your dog House.”
***
The security guard steps out of his booth when I approach. He has a clipboard in hand.
“Molly Denton. I’m with Friendly Pets for Sawyer Davis.”
“One minute.” He steps inside the booth and returns with the key. “I’ll need this back when you leave.” He tips his head down and looks at me from beneath hooded brows.
I smile at him. What does he think I’m going to do with it?
I pull into Sawyer’s driveway. His car isn’t here and I let out a sigh of relief. After a deep breath, I find the courage to go to his front door. He’s not home, but I knock anyway before entering. Shit. I never even asked what kind of dog he has. It might not seem important, but it really is when you think about me going into a house with a pet who’s never met me before. If the dog is territorial, chances are he’ll bark at me, maybe even bite, and if he’s super protective, he’ll probably chase me back to my car. A crazy Saint Bernard did that to me last week.