19. Ari
Chapter 19
Ari
F or all of Frankie’s training, he forgot the most important lesson: how bad your head rings when you take a punch to the fucking temple.
Luckily, his other training was much better: if you ever fall to the mat, get your ass up before you get curb stomped.
I rolled out of the way just as Joanne tried to kick my head. I pushed to my feet, wiping the sweat from my forehead with my wrists. Lotto told me all about her when we signed and weighed in. She’d taken up boxing to protect herself from an abusive, shitbag of a husband. Pretty Christian girls didn’t fight back. They smiled, cleaned the house, and tended to the kids while their preacher husbands were off banging underaged mistresses. But in Joanne’s case, after everything was done, she taped up her hands and took out her anger in the ring.
Her newest target? Me.
She had a damn good punch. My head still rang even as we danced back and forth, waiting for the next person to throw a punch. When she swung, I ducked. When I spun and kicked, she blocked. My muscles ached, and my head pounded, but I kept going. Hit after hit, block after block. The crowd around us roared with cheers of our names and a few choice expletives that made me want to fight some balding sexist pricks instead.
I lost myself in the rhythm of our sweaty, adrenaline-fueled dance. Block, hook, jab, kick, block. Grapple, shake off, elbow, reset. Frankie’s ghost screamed in my ear every time I moved. Look for an opening. Keep your hands up. Don’t let your head droop. Go for the throat.
Joanne grabbed my shoulders, and we went tumbling on the mat. I kicked and fought to get free, my elbow clipping her shoulder. She pulled back slightly, and I jumped at the chance. I got to my knees and grabbed her leg, starting to roll to put her in a leg lock.
I realized too late I’d broken Dad’s first cardinal rule: the best offense is a defense.
I didn’t see Joanne’s flailing roundhouse kick until it was too late.
“I fucking knew this would happen, I shouldn’t?—”
“Don’t give us that bullshit, Frankie. It was her choice?—”
“And none of us could change her mind. We all know that. So calm the fuck down?—”
“Don’t tell me to calm down, Bones, unless you want to be six feet under. Get your fucking?—”
I groaned. The fluorescent lights above me carved daggers into my skull. My head was throbbing, and when I tried to sit up, the world spun. A gentle hand on my shoulder pushed me back down. Lotto. I could tell that grip from anywhere. I cracked open my eyes and came face-first with three profoundly worried, pissed-off men.
“What happened?” I croaked. My entire body felt like I had been run over by a truck.
“Took a kick to the head,” Bones answered.
“And how long was I out?”
“Long enough,” Frankie growled. He pushed Lotto out of the way and grabbed my elbow, helping me sit. “We need to take you to the hospital. Concussion protocol.”
“We don’t even know if she has a concussion.” Lotto didn’t look thrilled at being pushed aside, his muscles straining when he crossed his arms over his chest.
“She took a fucking roundhouse kick to the head. She needs to see a doctor.”
“I don’t feel sick,” I lied and pushed Frankie away to stand on my own. We were back in the locker room. My back hurt from however many minutes I was unconscious on the old locker room bench, and I felt like I was going to puke—not that I’d admit to that. “My ears aren’t ringing, and I don’t have double vision. I’m fine.”
“You’re clearly not fine!” Frankie’s voice echoed off of the broken rafters. It was so loud, it made me jump back. “Bones had to drag you out of the ring because you were fucking unconscious!”
I glanced over at Bones, the simple move making my head pound even worse. Bones ran a hand along his forehead, his entire face wrinkled in worry.
“It’s not exactly a memory I want to keep,” he said. “You scared the shit out of us.”
“I just… made a mistake,” I admitted. “I got too cocky. Next time?—”
“There won’t be a next time,” Frankie said. I turned to him, betrayal stabbing my heart and making it throb worse than my head. “Don’t fucking look at me like that. You’re not going back out there.”
“You don’t get to decide that,” I argued and put my hands on my hips. “I held my own out there for how long?”
“Eleven minutes.” Lotto’s lips thinned into a line. “You won the organizers a lot of money, angel. People bet you’d lose in five.”
“I heard Guppy talking about inviting you back,” Bones admitted.
“See!” I cried and threw up my hands. “Everyone is underestimating me. Even you.” I glared at Frankie, but he didn’t back down. If anything, my resistance pissed him off even more. “Eleven minutes in my first match is something to be proud of.”
“Joanne looked pretty banged up,” Lotto agreed. “And she’s been training a lot longer than Ari.”
“And so has Misty Perk. The person you’re supposed to face in a fucking month.” Frankie took a step closer to me. I tensed but didn’t back down. “She’ll wipe the floor with you, Ari. The little housewife is nothing compared to a gold medalist.”
“The little housewife has a mean right hook and plenty more muscle than me.” I pushed a finger into his chest. “So why don’t you back the fuck up and actually give me a chance?”
The locker room went silent. People screaming outside, however. Fights in the ring had gone on even while I was blacked out here. That was just how life in the ring was. It chewed you up and spat you out, and now I was another half-baked snack left to rot in the corner.
I refused to let this be the end of my career.
Frankie exhaled through his nose, then pushed my hand away from his chest. “Do you know how shitty you look right now?”
“Whoa,” Bones whistled. “That’s fucking low, Frankie.”
“And it’s the fucking truth.” He took a step forward, his firm chest pressing up against me. I steeled my jaw as I stared into his burning eyes. “Your entire face is battered and bruised. Your shirt is stained with blood.”
“And whose is it?” I challenged. “Mine or Joanne’s?”
“It doesn’t fucking matter. Blood is blood, and it’s on your hands, either way.” He grabbed my shoulders so tightly I winced. “You’re not doing Heathens Hollow. Misty is going to fuck you up as soon as you step into the ring.”
“Not if you shut your damn mouth and train me.” I narrowed my eyes and shrugged him off. “You can’t punish me for a mistake. I know what’s on the line.”
“Your fucking head, Ari. These people are practically asking for your death.”
“Will you both knock it off?” Lotto demanded and grabbed onto my arm. He gently tugged me back and gazed into my eyes. “Pupils aren’t dilated. Any nausea?”
“Other than listening to Frankie tell me what a piece of shit I am?” I glared at him again. “No. Nothing. I don’t have a concussion.” I hated lying, but if I so much as hinted that I felt like I had a concussion… yeah, a little lie needed to happen.
Frankie stalked forward to try and grab me. “You don’t know that.”
Bones intercepted by putting a hand on his chest to push him back. “Back off, Frankie. She’s fine.”
“If anyone knows about head injuries, it’s me, you fuckers!”
Frankie’s shout rendered us all quiet. My mind flashed with shitty memories. Frankie’s first seizure. His retirement from the scene. His fight with Bones. The second seizure. The warning from the doctor. Tests, pills, wires, beeps. So many fucking beeps. He was still struggling with his diagnosis and forced retirement, and my sudden blackout must have triggered him.
For as much as I empathized, it didn’t mean he got to order me around like a beefed-up Kim Jong Eun.
“Frankie, we know that,” Bones said. “Out of all of us, I probably know it best since I put you in the hospital the last time.”
“And puts his ass on the line every night for us.” Lotto didn’t look as willing to buy into Frankie’s bullshit.
“It was one fight, Frankie. And I almost won. I just made a stupid mistake.” I exhaled and pushed some sweaty hair out of my eyes. “We have a month before Heathens Hollow. We can make a comeback. Being the underdogs means no one will expect me to win.”
“And we’ll make a shit ton more than Troy Godwin offered.” Bones nodded at me. “She can train with me and Teo now. No more one on one. We won’t go easy on her. Now that she knows what a real fight is like, we can adjust her training.”
Frankie looked from Bones to Lotto to me. He hadn’t moved an inch since his outburst. He looked like a hydrant ready to blow, so his even, collected tone surprised me.
“I’m not going to win if all three of you are against me. Isn’t that right?”
We didn’t nod or answer, but our silence was enough.
“Fine.” Frankie relaxed his shoulders. “Then let’s go.”
Now that the tension in the room was gone, my body relaxed.
Which meant, for the second time that night, I’d let my guard down.
Frankie stepped forward and grabbed me by the waist. I yelped when he threw me over his shoulder like a sack of rice, kicking my legs and smacking his back.
“What the fuck? Let me go!” I screamed as I fought against his strong grip. No dice. Frankie dug his hands even deeper, his hold so strong, I had nowhere to move, even if I tried.
“Get a ride home,” Frankie hissed to Bones and Lotto. One second later, we were back out in the sweaty, riled-up crowd, weaving through people screaming at the last match of the night.
This was so fucking embarrassing—even worse than being knocked on my ass. When I locked eyes with a middle-aged, suit-wearing man, who smirked at my helplessness and made a vulgar gesture, I decided on a new course of action. I played fucking dead. I slumped against Frankie’s back, closing my eyes so I didn’t have to see anyone else ogle me. Frankie wasn’t taking me to get fucked. Or was he? I couldn’t read him. The yells of the crowd disappeared, and Frankie’s footsteps echoed in the school’s abandoned hallways. Eventually, I heard the beep of his car, and I was thrown into the passenger’s seat like a ragdoll.
I tried to open the door and step out, but Frankie hissed at me even louder than the starting car engine.
“Sit back and keep your fucking mouth shut,” he demanded. “If you want me to let you back into the ring, you’ll do as I say.”
“As if—” I started to argue. One look at the murder on his face and I went silent. Frankie was more than pissed—he was nuclear. If I challenged him anymore, I wouldn’t be surprised if he walked out of Smiley’s altogether.
I sank back into my seat and stayed silent the entire ride. Eventually, Frankie pulled into the hospital’s parking lot—the same one he’d gone to after his seizures. I gritted my teeth. Was he really going to make me go through with this?
I trailed behind him as he led us inside and signed me into the ER. Lucky for me, after waiting a goddamn hour, out walked the same fucking doctor Frankie had during his stay a few months ago. They exchanged handshakes and pleasantries like I wasn’t sitting on some stiff bed, ready for an even stiffer drink.
“What seems to be the problem?” Dr. Stizer asked.
“She has a concussion,” Frankie answered.
I groaned. “For the last time, no I don’t.” Now that my body wasn’t in fight-or-flight mode, fatigue from training and my fight was settling in and my face and head were aching. A nice bath and about three shots of whiskey sounded really fucking great right now. “The nurses checked me and said I don’t either. Can you do the same so I can get the hell out of here and make Daddy feel better?”
Frankie’s lips thinned, but he stayed silent. Dr. Stizer clicked his pen closed and stuffed it back in his coat. “I’ll run through the protocol myself and see.”
He did all the normal tests as I stared at the stained blue curtain blocking us off from the sleeping woman a bed over. When he was done, he grabbed the clipboard at the end of my bed and clicked that stupid pen. He wrote some things down, but before I could ask again to leave, Frankie poked his head into the curtain.
“Can I talk to you for a sec, Doc?”
“Frankie,” I groaned. I was more than ready to get the fuck out of here.
“Just one second.” He smiled at me. “Lie back and relax. I’ll be right back.”
I lay back on the stiff hospital pillow with a frown. Try as I might to hear what they were saying, Frankie and Dr. Stizer’s voices were too hushed for me to make out anything. I was sure that was on purpose. Frankie barely gave me a glimpse into his emotions. Why would he give me a ticket to his mind now?
When the voices stopped, Dr. Stizer returned, clipboard in hand. “It doesn’t look like you have a concussion, but I want to keep you overnight for observation just in case.”
“That doesn’t make any sense.” I frowned and started to sit up. “If I don’t have a concussion, I’m free to go.”
Frankie slipped behind the doctor and shook his head. “You took a pretty big fall, Ari. It’s for the best.”
I glared at him. A fall? Really? What was next, running into a table?
“But I feel fine.”
“Do it for me, Ari. It’ll make me feel better.”
I bit my lower lip. He was making this so fucking difficult. If I said no, I’d never hear the end of it. He’d probably go through with his threat from way back and stop training me. I couldn’t come back from tonight’s defeat at Heathens Hollow without him. But at the same time, I had a date with Dr. Jack Daniels back at my apartment, and I wasn’t exactly ready to spend the night in some comfy hospital bed when I had the perfect cloud of a mattress back home.
One glance at Frankie’s worried frown and I caved.
Sorry, Jack. Gotta take a raincheck.
“Fine. But bring me the essentials,” I ordered Frankie. “You know where I keep my overnight bag.”
Frankie nodded a few times. I didn’t care how ridiculous I looked. If I was going to stay the night in the ER at his request, I needed my fuzzy socks and mineral face wash.
“Your wish is my command.” Frankie clapped a hand on the doctor’s shoulder before slipping out of our curtained off cubicle.
Dr. Stizer nodded at me. “I’ll have a nurse hook you up to a drip and knock you out for the night. Get some sleep.” He eyed the bruises on my face, clearly not buying Frankie’s cover story. “You look like you need it.”
I sank into the hospital bed as soon as I was alone. Being in the hospital fucking sucked. But Frankie was right. I could get some sleep tonight and wake up refreshed tomorrow, ready to take on the world.
And take down Misty Perk.