Authors: R. K. Ryals
“They did say this was an amateur match for
charity, right?” I asked, glancing back at the man, eyes wide.
“Seems awful hardcore for charity.”
“This is incredible!” Deena gushed, eyes
glazed.
Something told me she’d be
using every version of the word
great
tonight.
We found Eli sitting on a bench, his white
tank top pulled up to keep himself cool in the warm locker room,
his six pack abs on display, Ray standing in front of him, wrapping
his hand.
“This is so cool!” Deena blurted.
Eli’s head lifted, his gaze catching mine
before dropping to hers. My stomach felt funny, filling with
excited butterflies at the sight of him.
“It is pretty cool,” he told her, winking,
“and painful if you don’t play your cards right.”
Ray grunted. “Don’t scare off one of our
motivated students.”
Deena ignored them, her gaze taking it all
in—the crowd yelling beyond the door, the men standing against the
wall in the locker room, Ray’s meticulous wrapping, and Eli’s calm
demeanor.
“Duncan has a mean left hook,” a guy, the
same one Eli had been sparring with the day before, offered.
Eli glanced at him. “I’ll watch for
that.”
Finished wrapping, Ray slid a glove onto
Eli’s hand and started lacing. Silence fell over the room, as if
lacing a glove was a religious practice. The way Deena stared at
them, I didn’t doubt it was for her.
“Give me a minute,” Eli said once Ray was
done.
Everyone backed out of the room, me
included.
“Not you, roof girl,” he called, amused.
Sauntering to the bench, I hooked a thumb
over my shoulder. “They’re kind of making a big deal out this,
huh?”
He laughed. “Not really. Ray just likes to
look big, and Duncan and I are the main event. He wants to get as
much money out of us for the troubled youth program as he can based
on that.”
“Why you? For the main event, I mean.”
Crossing his gloved hands behind my back, he
looked up at me. “Because we’re the only two fighters here who’ve
fought in professional matches. I’ve been in two. Duncan was in
three before he vanished from the scene.”
“Which technically makes him more
experienced,” I pointed out, worried.
“Come here,” he ordered.
Leaning down, I kissed him, our lips parting,
tongues sliding together, my hands framing his face. Pulling back,
I rested my forehead against his.
“This isn’t anything to worry about,” he
promised. “Duncan’s good, and I’ll probably hurt like hell
tomorrow, but this match isn’t anything compared to the ones I’ve
been in. Duncan and I have been out of the scene for too long, and
neither of us have had much time to prepare. Translation: Ray threw
this at us out of nowhere, and we’re both rusty as fuck. We’re also
wearing amateur gear, so technically this is a match, not a
fight.”
My gaze tracing his face, I caressed his jaw,
stubble stabbing my palm. “I love you.”
His arms tightened around me. “I love you,
too.”
The noise outside grew in volume, deafening
even in the locker room.
“That’s your cue,” Ray said, coming into the
room.
I backed away.
Eli stood, rolled his neck, and nodded.
“Let’s do this.” Jonathan and Deena came in behind Ray, and Eli
threw my sister a look. “This shit will pay for great gear for you
guys. Trips to tournaments, too.”
“Guy and girls,” Deena corrected,
grinning.
“Get your ass out there,” Ray admonished,
lips twitching.
I kept meeting new Eli’s. The man was made up
of layers, and even though I knew Eli boxed before his decision to
go to school and before his trouble with the law, seeing him this
way was strangely exhilarating.
“Come on,” Jonathan told me, gesturing, “you
don’t want to miss this.”
I followed him into the gym, my gaze tracking
Eli’s trek through the crowd. Cheers chased him into the ring.
He met Duncan in the middle, their gloves
bumping. The men had similar statures, although Duncan was paler,
his hair a shocking mass of bleached blond. Tattoos crossed his
back.
Eli said something to him, and they smiled at
each other, backing to their respective corners, trainers from the
gym waiting on them.
Someone popped a mouthpiece into Eli’s mouth,
and shoved headgear on his head.
Jonathan leaned toward me. “If this was a
professional match, they wouldn’t take all of these precautions.
There’d be no headgear. That said, because Duncan and Eli have
fought professional before, they’re more knowledgeable than most of
the fighters who’ve been in the ring. Which means they’ll get less
direction from the ref.”
I glanced at him. “So your brother was pretty
serious about this once, huh?”
Jonathan grinned. “Not just serious. Damn
good at it. That’s the thing about Eli, though. He’s always been
good at fighting, but being good at something doesn’t mean you love
it. He liked it, even considered it as a career, but like my
grandfather says, the sea is a seductive mistress. Once the sirens
sing, it’s hard to ignore them. Eli will always box when he gets
the chance. He loves the sport. He just loves the water more.”
The fight had gotten underway while we were
talking, and I inched forward, my eyes on Eli.
His chin was down, his right hand tucked
against the side of his head.
Deena and Jonathan flanked me.
“He’s protecting himself against a left
hook,” Deena explained, smiling up at me. “We’ve been learning that
stuff recently.”
My sister glowed.
The screaming was so loud I couldn’t hear
anything else, but I didn’t care. I didn’t need to know all of the
rules, the stances, or the punches.
Watching Eli was enough. He knew exactly what
he was doing, his feet magic in the ring.
Punches were thrown, each of the men taking
hits.
The fight was so exciting, the noise so loud,
that no one noticed the two uniformed men edging through the
crowd.
Deena’s hand suddenly gripped mine, her face
bleaching of color.
Looking up, I found two police officers
standing before us, their somber gazes on Jonathan.
“Jonathan Blackledge?” they yelled.
The crowd had begun to notice the disruption,
the people around us growing silent.
One of the officers, a balding, portly man
leaned forward, his voice lowering. “It’s about your mother.”
Deena’s fingers dug into my skin. For two
reasons. One, for Jonathan. Two, we’d been the recipient of those
words, the officer giving them to us standing at the door when we
opened it the day our mother died.
My gaze shot to the ring, to Eli.
Eli
Sweat dripped off of me, the yells from the
crowd urging me forward. It was intoxicating, blanketing me in
sensations—in noise, adrenaline, and anticipation.
We danced.
Duncan was a better boxer than I wanted to
admit, his feet fast, his hands up.
Punch after punch, we played the game, barely
listening to the yells from the side of the ring. We knew who was
leading.
Right now, it was me, but he was gaining on
me.
The screams surrounding us started to lessen,
but we barely noticed, too caught up in the match.
“Eli!” my brother yelled.
I froze, hands dropping, leaving myself open.
I knew that yell, and it wasn’t one of encouragement. It was
fear.
Unprepared for my sudden submission, Duncan
threw a punch that knocked me into the side of the ring.
My head flew to the side, turning the crowd
into a blur of color.
The ref called the fight, yelling words I
couldn’t make out.
“Eli!”
My brother was next to the ring, climbing up
to me, his eyes red, his face full of horror. Two uniformed
officers stood behind him, holding back the crowd.
Tansy? Where’s Tansy?
“Eli,” Jonathan repeated, reaching for me.
“It’s Mom! We’ve got to go! She’s been taken to the hospital.”
Ray blurred into the picture, draping a towel
around my shoulders, ushering me out of the ring.
My gaze flew everywhere. “What happened?” I
shouted.
People surrounded me, the bodies pressing too
close, nauseating me. The locker room loomed before us, and I
stumbled into it.
Ray pulled the headgear off, and then moved
frantically to the gloves.
I spit the mouthpiece out.
Jonathan was panicked, his hands
wringing.
The officers stood back, waiting.
“They’re going to take you to the hospital,”
Ray explained.
“What’s going on?” I repeated, anger and
confusion building inside of me.
“Mom …” Jonathan sobbed, scrubbing his hands
over his face. “She tried committing suicide.”
My world came crashing down around me,
becoming a box of white noise.
“Tried?” I whispered.
“Pops had them send for us. The officers,”
Jonathan’s gaze flicked to the two men, “they didn’t say whether
she was alive or not.”
That was a good sign.
“Where’s Tansy?” I asked, desperation
crashing over me. Guilt mixed with anger and fear. Had I pushed Mom
to this?
“Eli,” Tansy said gently, and I glanced up to
find her standing to the side of the room, popping the band on her
wrist, her gaze full of grief and love.
Once the gloves were off, Jonathan pulled me
away, forcing me toward the door. “We need to go!” he shouted.
I was too numb to fight him.
Again, the crowd swallowed me, a blur of
strangers’ voices and faces. Lights blinded me, hot night air
stabbing my skin as we staggered from the building, blue lights
from a patrol car streaking our faces.
One of the officers opened the back door.
“Tansy,” I breathed.
“Come on, Eli!” Jonathan urged, ducking into
the patrol car.
I climbed in after him, my gaze searching the
night, my heart pounding.
“Eli!” Tansy yelled.
My head shot up, my gaze finding her in the
gathering crowd outside.
‘I’ll
follow
,’ she mouthed.
“God, if she dies, it’s our fault!” Jonathan
howled. “The things we said …”
The roar in my head drowned out his words, my
brows furrowed, the sweat from the fight drying on my skin.
“Breathe, son,” one of the officers told me
gently.
We sped through the night, sirens wailing.
The small, local hospital loomed into view, and the car careened to
a stop outside of it.
Pops waited on us, his face a mass of grief,
disbelief, and terror.
“They’re medivaccing her to Atlanta,” Pops
said as soon we met him in front of the building, the medical
center sign throwing a red hue over his skin, turning his wrinkles
into rivers of blood.
Quietly and urgently, we were ushered to
Pops’ car. “They would only let one person get on the helicopter
with her, and I couldn’t leave until I knew you …” A sob escaped
him, the sound more disturbing than anything I’d ever heard. My
grandfather didn’t cry.
“I’ll drive,” Jonathan said, calming
himself.
Pops got into the passenger seat. I took the
back.
Safety lights flashing, we flew toward
Atlanta.
“Has anyone called Heather?” Jonathan
asked.
“I talked to her at the hospital,” Pops
answered. “She’s catching a flight from California.” He choked. “I
thought she was taking the pills. I didn’t know she was hiding
them, saving them up.”
My head shot up. “She overdosed?”
“Among other things,” he told us.
“Pops.” Jonathan glanced at him, and then
shut his mouth, his gaze going to the road.
My stomach hurt, the bruises nothing compared
to the crushing pain filling me.
Tansy
.
Oh God, Tansy.
“I need your phone, Jon. Please,” I said. My
phone was in my gym bag along with the sweet pea seeds she’d given
me, and the gym bag was at the gym.
Digging in his pocket, one hand on the
steering wheel, Jonathan yanked the phone out and threw it at
me.
I caught it, and then froze.
Two weeks calling her every night, and I didn’t know her number.
I’d had it saved in my contacts list under
roof girl
.
“Do you know Tansy’s cell?” I asked.
Jonathan glanced in the rearview mirror,
turned off an exit, and sped up. “I never got it.”
Dropping his phone, I let my head fall back
against the seat, the darkness swallowing me, Pops’ sobs tearing my
heart out.
All of those times I’d wished my mother was
dead … I cringed.
Don’t you dare die, Mom! Don’t you dare
fucking die!
Tansy
Deena and I rushed into the hospital holding
hands, because suddenly she was really young again, and I was way
too old. The night’s events felt like three years ago only it
wasn’t us. It was someone else, people we cared about.
“The Lockston family?” I asked frantically
when we reached the information desk. “Is there an Ivy Lockston
here?”
The woman behind the computer glanced up,
staring at me, confused.
“Lockston!” I yelled. “Is there an Ivy
Lockston here?”
Pulling an earbud out of her ear, the woman
typed furiously at the keyboard. “Calm down,” she soothed. “Let me
just see …” She scanned the screen, and I fumed, my gaze on the
earbud, anger building.
“This is a hospital,” I said suddenly, heart
pounding, “and you’re listening to music?”
“Tansy.” Deena tugged on my hand. “Tansy,
it’s fine. Look at me.”
I ignored her. “People die here! Don’t you
know that? People need help here! People—”
“Tansy, it’s not her fault,” Deena said
firmly.
I sagged against the counter, years of grief
and anger overwhelming me. This wasn’t about me or my hang-ups.
This was about Eli and his family.