Round 24
ROUND TWENTY-FOUR
OLLIE
She shakes all over. Her legs. Her arms. Her chest. Her jaw chatters, and her entire being curls in and wraps around my arm.
Her fingers twine with mine, but it’s not a woman holding a man’s hand, not in any romantic way.
It’s a human being scared out of her fucking mind, approaching a new place filled with uncertainties.
But she walks, at least. I didn’t have to peel her off the door of the truck.
“These are my friends, okay? Every single one of them.”
She doesn’t talk. I’m not sure she actually can. But she clings to my arm and gulps as we cross the parking lot and approach the Love that’s easy to tell.
Teens go from thirteen to nineteen, which is probably closer to where you land.
I doubt you’re thirteen, since you’re not, like…
” He gestures up and down. “You’re not a kid. But maybe you’re nineteen.”
Nineteen?
Panicked, I swing my gaze back around and study her from her top to her toes.
Nineteen?
“She’s not nineteen.” I shake my head. Fuck me, she’s not nineteen, is she? “We estimated she was in her twenties. Mid,” I croak. “Not low.”
“I-I think I’m in my twenties,” Rose rasps. She brings her hand up and gently rubs her temple. “Mid-twenties.”
“Cool. So you bested the statistics,” he concludes. “And by bested, I mean you got cheated. Did you know traumatic brain injury is the leading cause of death and disability, particularly among young adults?”
“And we’re done with Franky time! Molly!” I sling my arm over Rose’s shoulder, pulling her in and turning her around. But I peek over my shoulder at the girl. “Take him somewhere else, please.”
“On it, Doc!” She grabs Franky’s sleeve and tugs the kid along the hall.
Rose freezes under my arm, damn near rigid enough to break, and when I bring my focus back around, I find exactly why.
Chris stares. Tommy stares. Cliff. Fox. Even Alana and Eliza.
“She… you…” Rose shakes violently under my arm, tears swelling in her eyes. “Eliza is…”
Bleeding. Panting. Warrior-esque in her booty shorts, crop top, messy braids, and blood-smeared cheek.
I see now how that could be interpreted.
“She’s fine. She’s a champ. Come on.” I coax her along, her feet digging into the floor, and a desperate whimper crawling along her throat.
I lead her toward Fox and Alana and the baby first, since they’re fractionally less scary-looking.
“You’ve already met Alana. She married Tommy.
” I gesture toward the other. “Chris claimed Fox.”
“Like a common Neanderthal,” Fox quips. She doesn’t reach out for Rose’s hand.
She doesn’t dare touch. But she smiles, big and bright and warm enough to thaw ice.
“Don’t listen to Franky about the mortality thing.
I used to live in New York City. Did you know you have a one in a hundred and eighty chance of being a victim of felony assault?
Or one in eighty-seven chance of being robbed?
” She shakes her head. “Because I didn’t. Not till he told me.”
Alana steps forward and smiles. She’s softer than Fox.
Serene in her motherhood—until someone fucks with her kids.
Then she’s got a baseball bat in hand and zero tolerance for anyone who tries to stop her.
“It’s nice to see you again, Rose.” She holds Hazel on her hip, swaying and bouncing the baby.
“You look fantastic, by the way. It’s amazing what being out of the hospital will do for a woman’s complexion. ”
I wink—thanks—and gesture across the room. “Tommy’s the one inside the octagon. Chris is the one outside. They’re identical at first glance, but it’s easy enough to tell them apart once you know ‘em.”
Cliff, being Cliff, bounces off the cage and saunters this way.
He’s a fuckin’ cowboy, Clint Eastwood in his heyday style, so even without his hat and spurs, he walks with a swagger and carries a playful, infuriating smile.
“Hi there, Rose.” He stops just a foot and a half away, his hand extended and his eyes flashing with charm.
“My friends typically call me Troop. But my momma named me Clifford. Like the big red dog. The more you love me, the larger I get.”
Rose inhales and gasps, a pained sob rocketing along her throat and out to saturate the air we breathe. Then she stumbles back a full six feet, fat tears dropping to her cheeks and down to dangle from her jawbone. “No.”
“Ma’am.” He takes another step forward. “I won’t hurt you—”
“No!” She chokes out, her cry reminiscent of the kind she experienced in the hospital. It takes over her entire body, clawing at her throat and stealing her breath.
“Rose?” I spin and close the six feet she took. “It’s okay.”
“No! It’s not—”
“We’re gonna go to the bathroom.” Fox circles me and scoops Rose’s arm with her own, then Alana goes the other way, clapping Cliff on the back of the head as she passes. “We’ll take a minute, wash our faces, dab on a little lip gloss or something. We’ll be back in a moment.”
“What the fuck?” The second they’re gone, I slam my hand to Cliff’s chest and shove him back. “What did you do?”
“No, I—” Panicked, his eyes jump from one corner of the room to the other. “I didn’t do anything. I’ve never even met her!”
“Seems she’s met you! And what the fuck is that smell?” I wrinkle my nose and lean closer, sniffing his shirt before I pull back with a scowl. “Bathe in eu de stank before you came here?”
“You don’t like it?” He sniffs himself. “It’s new.”
“I told you it was bad.” Eliza pushes the cage door open and skips down the steps, snagging a towel and wrapping it over her shoulders. “New is not always better, Clifford. And that cologne reeks.” She comes to a stop in front of me and meets my eyes. “That went well, don’t you think?”
“It’s the senses, right?” Chris—not sweaty, not bleeding—wanders across in shorts, but no shirt. “Smells can sometimes elicit a remembered emotional response, even if she can’t remember the memory that goes with it, right?”
“Yeah.” I look to the door, then back to Cliff. Frowning, I look to the doorway again. Then back around. “Fuck. That was an emotional response, huh?”
“I’ll go shower it off.” He’s a sensitive soul.
He’s a good fuckin’ guy, even if he pisses me off because he likes to flirt with my sister.
But he dashes toward his bag and tears the zipper open.
“I’m gonna grab all new shorts and a hoodie from the merch cabinet, Tommy.
That way none of it smells like me. I’ll pay you later. ”
Wordless, Tommy only nods.
“That wasn’t a promising start,” Eliza murmurs. “How’s she expect to live a normal life if smelling someone’s shitty aftershave can send her like…” She gestures toward the hallway. “That?”
“She’s trying! She came here, Lize, even when she was really fuckin’ scared.”
“I can’t stand the scent of my father’s aftershave,” Chris rumbles.
“I hate the sound of a branch snapping. Hell, I break out in a cold sweat if it’s dark and a door creaks open.
” He looks down at Eliza, glowering. “These things trigger me. Rose cries, I fight and break someone else’s bones.
Just because my emotional response doesn’t come with tears doesn’t make it any more socially acceptable.
Mine’s worse, ‘cos I’m out here physically assaulting people, but we call it a sport and pretend it’s okay. ”
“I hate the smell of bourbon.” Tommy steps out of the cage and snags a towel, wiping the sweat from his face.
“And if I smell dope in the air ever again, it’ll be too soon.
Last time I had an emotional reaction, I broke a man’s neck, put him back in his car, and told his bitch girlfriend to start driving.
” He stops two feet away and meets my eyes.
“We’re all broken here, Ol. She’s in good company. ”
“I should go find her.” I drag my hand through my hair. “This wasn’t a good start.”
“Give her a minute,” he murmurs. “She’s with Alana and Fox. I swear, there’s nothing those two can’t do once they put their minds to it.