Page 26 of Sacrifice
I take another drink. I try to talk sense to myself, remind myself that going ape-shit crazy isn’t going to fix jack shit.
“Really, is there anything I can do to help? Shit, you guys have been through more than one family should have to take.”
“Do you think if there was something we could do that I wouldn’t have already fucking done it?” I grit my teeth, feeling my jaw pulse. “She’s all the family I have, Will,” I say, washing over the fact that we are, by blood, distant cousins. It’s some sort of strange coincidence that our fathers were cousins, but Will’s family are mere acquaintances. “I’ll do whatever I have to do to make her okay.She has to be okay.”
“Maybe it’s something they can just take care of? Can they just, I don’t know, kill it? Get it out of her or something?”
“I don’t know. Jules is taking her Monday, I think.”
“Youthink?”
“Yeah.” I spin the bottle between my fingers, watching the liquid slosh inside. “I left last night before we could discuss the rest.”
“You didn’t call her today?”
“I stayed late. I stayed with Ever for a long time and just let Jules have some time to herself. By the time I left, she was asleep, and I didn’t want to wake her. Today, I . . .” I shrug again. “I called but I guess Ever was there or something because she didn’t seem to want to discuss it.”
“Yeah, well, that’s understandable.”
“I guess. But damn it, Will. I know shit happens in life, but this isn’t fucking fair. I was so busted up when I got hurt. I remember thinking,hell, I remember thinking yesterday,how unfair it was. That I should’ve been fighting.” I bite back a laugh. “But that’s fucking nothing. This, what’s happening to Ever,thisis unfair.”
“I’m sorry, Crew. Really.”
I shrug and turn my sights on the television. I don’t want to think about this if I can help it. I’ve mulled it over a million ways and I feel so fucking helpless.
“Now for the news that’s dominated the Mixed Martial Arts headlines today,” the announcer on the television says. “Raul Reyes defeated Antonio Pampas in the NAFL’s Fight 106 last night. The winner of that fight was slated to take on Hunter Davidson in just three months in Boston. It was announced today, Bruce, that Reyes has pulled out of that fight already.”
“Yes, Mike, it’s a pretty shocking revelation that’s shaken the MMA community. Davidson’s camp is thirsty, wanting to keep their guy fighting while he’s hot. They know the best contenders in his weight class are Reyes and Pampas. With Reyes dropping out, Davidson has effectively cleaned out the division. There’s nobody left to challenge him.”
“That’s true, Bruce. It’s yet to be seen what the Davidson camp will do. They’ve released a statement saying Davidson has nothing to prove against Pampas, since he lost. There’s just no one else without going up a weight class.”
“Absolutely. He’s gone through his opponents like a hot knife to butter. Theonly time he’s been stopped, even as an amateur, was in his last collegiate bout. This is definitely problematic for the Davidson camp.”
“Well, we’ll have to hang tight and see what they do. We’ll be right back after a commercial break.”
A highlight reel of Davidson’s victories flashes in time with their music. He’s flexing, doing backflips off the top of the cage, acting like a complete dumbass.
I turn to look across the table and Will’s eyeing me warily. My blood is boiling hot, burning my veins as it pumps through my tension-filled body.
“Is the world trying to piss me off?” I bark.
Will leans back, giving me space.
“Why can’t that motherfucker die? Why can’t he be sick? He’s a fucking disease to everyone that’s ever fucking met him,” I seethe.
Any attempt at responding by Will is stopped by Adam. He gives me a tight smile, sensing my less-than-stellar mood, and talks to Will. I ignore them both, not in the mood to discuss stupid shit. I hear Adam talking about some chick he’s banging and it incenses me. He’s worried about some piece of pussy and my five-year-old niece is fighting for her life.
Fuck this.
I scoot back from the table, knocking over the drink menu. I turn down the hall and into the restroom. I kick at a closed stall door. It swings open, confirming I’m alone.
I growl into the air, the numbness completely fucking gone. I feel the pain, every fucking ounce of it, rip through me like fire through ice.
I smash the paper towel box on the wall until it hangs by one screw. I hit it again and it falls to the floor. I fill the air with a string of profanities, trying to quell the fury ripping me apart. I kick the box across the floor, watching it burst open as it hits the opposing wall. It spins in a circle before stopping.
My chest heaves, air rushing into my lungs, and I hope when I blow it out, I’ll feel a bit calmer.
No luck.
