Chapter 19 #2
A guy walking his dog across the street gives me a strange look but keeps going.
I hear sirens in the distance but they’re way too far away to be responding to the three, downed dickheads.
Without taking my eyes off the street, I prop one foot on a brick planter Emily’s filled with orange and pink flowers and begin unlacing my Docs.
The door cracks open behind me.
“Bren? You can come inside before you take off your shoes.”
“Hon, I got crap all over my Docs. Can you bring me a bucket or something? And ask Mac to come out here?” I don’t want to scare her, but I also don’t want to be on the street alone.
I keep fumbling the knot as I try to undo the laces. I always double knot my Docs, but I don’t usually struggle to get them off. I lift my hand to flex my numb fingers and see it shake.
The door opens behind me again and Mac’s warm hand sweeps up my back. “Step in something nasty, sweetheart?”
I nod.
Mac’s hand settles between my shoulder blades. “Bren? You okay? You’re shaking.”
“Yeah. I—” I have no idea what to say. I was attacked? That makes me sound like a victim. I’m not a fucking victim.
“Sweetheart?” I hear the concern in Mac’s voice before he takes my shoulders and draws me up to face him. He swears. “What happened?”
“Three guys,” I manage.
Mac’s hands run down my arms, squeezing gently.
When he reaches my left hand, I flinch. Damn, that really does hurt.
He lifts my hand into the light and inspects my knuckles.
“We need to get ice on this. I don’t think it’s broken but it sure is swelling,” he says quietly, the concern leaching from his voice.
If he’s not concerned maybe I don’t need to be, either. I look up at him but he’s all blurry.
“It’s okay, Bren. I’ve got you. Do you hurt anywhere?”
I shake my head. “My shoes.”
He quirks his eyebrows. “Your shoes hurt?”
I stutter out a laugh. It makes my ribs ache. Did I get hit in the ribs? I didn’t think any of them managed to land a hit, but the muscles of my shoulders and ribs and back are beginning to ache like I’ve taken a pummeling.
“My shoes, puke.”
“Your shoes puked? Those are some talented shoes. I see why they rank above me.” Mac cradles my face in his hands and strokes my cheeks with his thumbs.
“Come inside. Don’t worry about your shoes.
We’ll take care of it. And this blood. We’ll get you all cleaned up and you can tell me what happened.
Nice and slow. Maybe over a cup of hot chocolate, huh? ”
That sounds good. I nod.
Mac wraps an arm around my shoulders and steers me inside.
I stay off the runner because I really do not want to get puke on Logan’s carpet.
His entrance hallway used to have some really old, really ugly pictures on the walls.
Then Emily began making little changes here and there, and she replaced the old pictures with a couple of mirrors, which make the hallway feel more spacious.
I startle at my reflection in one of the mirrors.
I look like a ghost. My skin’s greenish-white.
My eyes are huge and staring. There’s blood spattered up the right side of my face, smeared and gummy with sweat along my hairline.
I swear none of them hit me. Why am I all bloody?
“Here, here,” Emily says as she rushes back into the hallway with a bucket and a roll of paper towels. She kneels next to me.
“Gross, no,” I object.
“Bren.” She looks up at me and her eyes widen as she sees the blood. “Let me—”
“I’ll take care of this, Em,” Mac interjects. “Could you let your daddy know that Bren’s okay but I’m going to take her upstairs and get her in a bath? If you could make us some hot chocolate with a spoonful of sugar in it, I’d really appreciate it.”
Emily nods and hands the roll of paper towels to Mac. Eyes popping, she scurries back down the hallway.
Mac kneels next to me and guides my right hand to his shoulder.
“Hold on to me, sweetheart. This will only take a second.” I hear a metallic snick and feel a tugging on my Docs, but I can’t see what he’s doing as he bends over my feet.
He balls up a wad of paper towels and presses them against my heel as he eases the Doc off my right foot.
Then he does the same with the left. He swishes each boot in the bucket before he towels them off and sets them in the row of shoes by the coat rack.
“Okay, talented shoes taken care of. Let’s get you upstairs.”
“I love you more than those shoes right now,” I say, hearing my voice as though someone else is speaking. It definitely wasn’t me telling Mac I love him.
Mac chuckles. “Glad I rank above the shit-kickers at last. Let me take your coat.”
He slips it off my shoulders and I have a disoriented moment where I can’t figure out how the jacket got back on me. I’m sure I took it off to fight. Did I put it back on? When? Then Mac’s sliding his arm around my shoulders again and guiding me upstairs and I stop worrying about my jacket.
He undresses me while the bath fills. There’s more blood on my baby blue sweater, which pisses me off. I love that sweater. If there’s blood on my yoga pants, I can’t see it against the black fabric. “Am I bleeding?” I ask Mac stupidly.
He strokes my cheek as he helps me take off my bra. “Not that I can see, sweetheart. Did you make the motherfuckers bleed?”
I nod. “I think I tore his ear. It was a good kick. Kru would have been happy with me. And I never let my guard down.”
“Good job, girl. Do you want to call him and tell him what happened?”
Do I? Somehow that seems better than telling Mac. Kru won’t ever think I’m a victim. “Yes, Sir.”
“Okay, let’s get you in the bath and then you can give him a call. Do you have his number in your phone?”
I nod. It’s respectful to let him know when I’m coming to class and I always text him first.
“Good girl.” Mac takes my hand and helps me step into Logan’s huge, claw-footed tub.
Like so much of Logan’s house, the thing is dated but not really an antique.
Although I’d never tell Logan, his house makes me feel comfortable.
Being around antiques gives me an attack of the clumsies.
I stay clear of the library and smoking lounge at Blunts because they’re full of vases and spindly little tables and glass cases that look like they’ll flinch and shatter all by themselves at the first loud noise.
Nothing at Logan’s house looks or feels breakable. It’s all old but sturdy.
“I like it here,” I tell Mac.
“I do, too, sweetheart,” Mac says, kneeling next to the tub. He strips off his T-shirt in that hot guy, over the head motion, and I drool dazedly over his shoulders and chest while he lathers up a sponge and begins drizzling hot, soapy water over my throat and chest.
I slump back against the end of the tub. It’s padded. Comfortable, just like the rest of Logan’s house.
Mac cleans my face then rinses out the sponge before running it down my arms. He cleans off both hands and I see the first and second knuckles of my left hand are dark red and puffy.
While I’m staring at my bruised knuckles, there’s a knock on the door. “Mac, it’s me.” Logan’s voice.
“C’mon in.”
Logan walks in, carrying two steaming mugs and with a huge, blue terrycloth robe folded over his arm. He sets everything down on the counter around the sink and leans a hip against it.
“Need any help?” he asks softly.
“Nope,” Mac says. “She’s coming around slowly. Just shock and an adrenaline crash, I think. None of the blood’s hers but she needs an ice pack for her hand when you have a minute.”
“No problem. Who d’you think I should be calling?”
“Not sure yet. Bren wants to call her kickboxing Kru and tell him what happened. Might have a better idea after that.”
“Okay. Anything else you need?”
“I think we’re good here. Maybe another hot chocolate with a shot of whiskey in it if she doesn’t perk up, but let’s get the first one in her. The sugar alone might bring her around.”
“Right-o,” Logan says. “Shout if you need me.”
“Thank you, son. Appreciate it.”
Logan lets himself out quietly while Mac searches my pants until he comes up with my phone. He towels my hands off before he passes the phone to me.
It takes me three tries to open the phone but when I finally do and dial Kru’s number, he immediately picks up. “Brenna?”
“Hi, Kru.”
“Everything okay?”
“I just got in a fight. Three men tried to jump me.”
“Are you hurt?”
“No, Kru. My knuckles are bruised, and I got puke on my boots but I’m okay.”
“Brenna, are you alone?”
“No, Kru. Mac’s here.”
“Do you mind if I speak to him for a minute?”
I offer the phone to Mac who takes it and puts it to his ear while stroking my cheek with his free hand. Mac listens for a long moment and although I can hear Kru’s deep murmur, I can’t make out what he’s saying.
“I’ve got her in a warm bath and I’m going to give her hot chocolate in a minute,” Mac says. “The sugar should help.”
Kru’s deep murmur starts up again and Mac nods to whatever Kru’s saying. “She wanted to tell you first. Should I put her back on?”
Kru speaks again and then Mac passes me the phone.
“Brenna, thank you for calling me. Tell me about the fight.”
I do, recounting each attack. When I get to the part where Black Mask One hurled all over the pavement, both Mac and Kru chuckle.
“Bet you rearranged that fella’s guts for him but good,” Mac says, grinning at me. I grin back. He wouldn’t smile like that at a victim.
“Other than your hand, how are you feeling now?” Kru asks.
“Okay.” I’d say cold but I’m sitting in a warm bath. How can I be cold? But I am, down in my core, and I give a little shiver.
“I want you to ice that hand until the swelling goes down. Take some painkillers if you need them and I will see you in class. Thursday at the latest. Street fights are not a substitute for training. Understood?”
“Yes, Kru. Understood.”