Chapter 24
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
The greenroom at Climate Pledge Arena is cold, with disappointing snacks. I pull my sweater tighter around myself. Danny exits the changing room in his fight shorts and a thick black hoodie, a beanie on his head and his hood up.
His eyes fall on me and widen, like he’s surprised to see me. Like he’d convinced himself I wouldn’t come.
“Hi,” he says.
“Hi. You look good,” I say, taking in his form. “Ready.”
He nods. “I feel ready.”
I want to say more. To tell him I’m not angry anymore.
To thank him for our time together. He’s changed me—unlocked me—in a way I never could have anticipated.
Not just in my body, but my heart too. And maybe he’s not capable of having real feelings for someone, but now I am.
Not a quiet crush of unrequited love, but something real.
“Danny, I—”
There’s a knock at the greenroom door. I open it to see Dad in his charcoal suit, like he’s heading to court. It’s the same one from my youth, if ever so slightly tighter at the waist.
“Look at me with a backstage pass. All my old friends at the courthouse will be so jealous,” he says. “Danny is about to make me a ton of money—he’s the big underdog here tonight. Always bet on the underdog, Lulu. Always.”
Danny approaches from behind me, removing his hood.
“I’m glad to see you, Mr. Hart.” He gives my dad a firm handshake.
“Your manager sent me front row tickets. Front row! Couldn’t believe it when they arrived, with a bottle of Johnny Walker Black to boot.
Now, the Emeritus Pro Bono Regulatory Services Department frowns upon accepting gifts, so let’s not mention it.
Besides, the booze is already gone. I disposed of the evidence. ” He pats his tummy.
“We’ll keep it between us.” Danny smiles. “Thank you for everything you did for me at the hearing. It was like watching a master at work.”
“Child’s play,” Dad replies, but his cheeks rose at the compliment.
“We’ll put on a good show for you tonight,” Danny promises. “If you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask my manager, Bill.”
Dad gives me an exaggerated look of approval and a little hidden thumbs-up before heading back to his seat. I turn to thank Danny for being so gracious, but he has already disappeared back into his headphones and oversized hoodie, pacing around the room just feet away but emotionally on Mars.
“Danny,” I say. He turns halfway, but his eyes stay fixed in the ether. “I just wanted to say good luck.”
“Thanks. But you really don’t need to be here.”
I hesitate. “What?”
“You delivered me, ready to fight. Our contract is complete.” He’s calm, businesslike. As if he’s speaking to a car mechanic who’s just changed his oil. It’s like he no longer sees me—or like the person he used to see never existed, even though I’m standing right here.
“Danny.”
We can’t end it like this. We can’t.
If only he would look at me.
I reach into my purse, pulling out my rolled-up life map. I’d grabbed it from my lingerie drawer with the hopes of showing it to Danny tonight, but not knowing if I’d be able to get up the nerve. Now I can feel him slipping away from me, and it’s my last hope to reach him.
With shaking hands, I unroll it, flattening it against my abdomen.
“Danny, wait. You once asked me if I ever drew a life map of my own. And I did, years ago. Only, I never truly believed it could ever become a reality … until I met you.”
Danny’s eyes flick over the paper, his jaw flexing. In my “before” section are sparse gray swirls, an abstract of my industrial loft. A stick figure alone at a table. A folded napkin. An empty room.
In my upper life goal quadrant is an explosion of color, abstract swirls of bright jewel tones that at first appear to be meaningless strokes, but when looked at more closely, reveal humanity: intertwined fingers, lips, legs.
Two forms so connected, you can’t tell where one begins and the other ends.
Danny swallows hard, and his eyes soften. Maybe, maybe I’ve gotten through to him?
But no. When he speaks, his voice is low, graveled with hurt.
“Do you even want me to win?”
“Of course I do.”
“Then you need to leave.” His eyes are red-rimmed, pleading. “Right now. Because every time I see your face, I’m reminded of what winning will do.”
“Danny—”
“It will take you to LA so you can be with Casey. Your soulmate. It’s the only reason you took this job.
” He swallows, his voice cracking. “Gracie told me you’ve been playing a part.
Some elaborate method to get me to behave.
She was impressed with how far you were willing to go to pull the wool over my eyes.
” He motions around the greenroom. “I guess it worked, right?”
“Danny, you don’t understand.”
“You don’t need to explain anything. It makes perfect sense.
Casey is exactly the type of man you should be with.
He’s the good guy, and he deserves you. But please, do me one last favor and go home.
Get out of here and don’t come back. Because I’m going into that ring to win, and I’d rather not be reminded of what I’m losing when I do. ”
Tears fall down my cheeks, but Danny doesn’t see them. He’s already replaced his headphones and pulled up his hood, turning away again.
I rush out of the greenroom to the main concourse, which is now filled with people.
Music throbs all around me. Everywhere there are bodies, pressing into me, oblivious to my need to get the fuck out of here.
Finally, I spy the main exit. I force my way through small cracks in the crowd until I reach the bracing cold outside.
The International Fountain is dancing its nightly show, lit up incandescently and swaying to the music. At least all eyes will be on the fountain while I recover my composure. The only thing worse than being this emotional is being this emotional in public.
I slump against the low concrete wall, my purse on my lap. Now what do I do? I can’t leave. Every fiber of my being wants to be here, still magnetized to Danny. But he told me to leave. And to never come back.
The water swishes to the beat, entangling with itself and shooting skyward in perfect choreographed synchronicity. If only I were programmed, too. No decisions to make, and no errors either.
“Lauren?” a voice says behind me.
“Casey?” The incongruousness of him being here in City Center and not the suburbs short-circuits my brain. “What are you doing here?”
“Trying to scalp a ticket.” He holds up a hundred-dollar bill.
“Turns out, I gravely underestimated what people charge to watch some guys beat the shit out of each other.” He must see the confusion still painted on my face, because he adds, “I wanted to show up for you. The way you always show up for me. It’s a big deal, you coaching this MMA guy.
It should be celebrated. You should be celebrated. ”
“Thank you.”
He holds his arms wide, and I walk into them, safety and familiarity welcoming me home.
“Hey, it’s OK,” he says, smoothing my hair when he notices I’m holding on too tight. “Whatever’s going on, Lauren, we’ll get through it together. We always have. And we always will.”
“You’ve got to be shitting me,” Maya mutters as I lead Casey into our front row seats in the arena.
“You’re looking well, Maya,” Casey says. “Not tempted to jump in the cage for a fight yourself?”
“The night is young,” she says, shooting me a look. I ignore her. She never approves when I bring Casey places, but tonight I don’t have the energy to care. I’m exhausted, mentally and emotionally. Casey being here is comforting … which is probably why she doesn’t approve.
“Here comes my man Danny,” Dad says, clapping.
The screen over the octagonal ring flashes and the crowd cheers.
Danny Kekoa, the Lothario of Lahaina, enters the arena to the haunting opening of IZ singing “Hawai’i ’78.
” He removes his sweatshirt and hands it to Gracie, who places a mouthguard in his mouth and wipes a thin layer of Vaseline on his cheeks and shoulders while speaking calmly. Danny nods, absorbing her words.
“Why do they do that?” Casey says.
“It’s so the gloves don’t break the skin during a punch. A bad laceration could cause a forfeit,” I say, straining in my seat to see Danny. The ref checks his gloves and signals him to enter the octagon. Danny bows deeply in respect before crossing the threshold.
“You’re like an encyclopedia of fight knowledge now,” Dad says proudly.
The lights go out as jarring dark electronica music grips the space.
Then they flash on again, strobing and pulsing to the harsh beat.
Adrien DeLuca strolls into the arena wearing a gold robe, and a smirk on his exaggerated features.
He lets the ref check his gloves, and hops into the octagon, a look of murder in his eyes.
“That one looks scary,” Dad says.
“He is,” I say under my breath, my hands squeezing tightly together in my lap.
“If you want to cover your eyes, I can give you the play by play so you don’t have to watch,” Casey offers, his voice discreet. “I know how you feel about violence.”
“Thanks, but I’m fine. It doesn’t feel all that violent once you understand the sport. It feels more like art.”
The referee gives the signal and the fighters circle each other, Danny’s face calm and focused, DeLuca’s with a sickly smile, made deranged by his mouthguard.
DeLuca rushes Danny with a flurry of punches, all of which Danny ducks. DeLuca falls forward after a failed right hook, and Danny spins, landing a kick to his head.
“Yeah!” I shout. “Kick him in the face!”
Casey holds a beer inches from his open mouth, the sip he was about to take forgotten, watching me in surprise.
They go back to their dance, bouncing lightly on their feet, fists guarding their faces. Then DeLuca drops his fists, his arms low in a show of overconfidence. The crowd goes insane.
“What a jerk,” I say.
“It looks like he’s trying to get the crowd riled up,” Casey says.
“It’s disrespectful. He’s saying he doesn’t need to be careful around Danny.”