Page 18 of This Life and All the Rest
I haven’t been able to go hard at this in months.
I couldn’t, and then I wasn’t allowed. Technically, I’m still not.
But fuck does it feel good to be back here without restrictions.
For a while, I pretend that my body is whole, that the aches and sharp pains are a result of the sparring match and not something entirely different. I forget about Lennon. I forget about my failures. I forget about the betrayals and disappointments.
Everything goes blank. It’s just me, my opponent, and the ring.
Until, in the heat of the fight, Casper lands a blow to my left thigh and my vision goes black. I yell in agony and hit the mat with a fucking thud, clutching my leg to my chest.
“Shit.” Casper drops to his knees next to me. “Fuck, shit, man. I’m sorry. What can I do? Shit.”
I breathe through my nose and shake my head with my eyes clamped shut and my teeth gritted. The pain sets up a series of memories that I’d rather not see, and the sweat coating my skin from the workout turns ice cold.
Smoke and heat. Sand and blood. Fire. Gunshots.
Casper puts his hand on my shoulder, and I jump. I remind myself at the last second that it’s him. I’m not in danger. I’m just an idiot.
The pain changes from stabbing to throbbing. It fucking hurts, but it’s manageable. I open my eyes slowly and bring myself to a sitting position. I’m about to pull myself to standing when the gym doors open behind me.
Casper’s eyes jump over my shoulder, then he drops his head back and whispersfuckat the ceiling.
I drop my chin to my chest. Fuck is right.
“What the hell are you idiots doing?” Nicolette shouts from beside the ring. I can hear the anger in her voice. “Have you lost your ever-loving mind?”
I hear the ropes shake and feel her approach, then she drops down on my other side. I hear a sharp smack and Casper grunts, then I feel her hands on my leg.
I open my eyes and watch as she gently prods and massages the muscles in my thigh, feeling along the scar that runs up the side. I breathe through my nose, anticipating the pain.
“You let him do this?” she scolds Casper. “What the fuck, Chris?”
“Sorry.” He sighs and shoots me a glare.
“It’s not his fault,” I tell Nic, and she punches me in the arm.
“No shit.” She narrows her eyes at me, scolding. “You’re not ready for this yet, Macon. You’re only cleared for stationary activities. Controlled exercises. You know MMA is too unpredictable. You’re lucky you didn’t reinjure yourself.”
I drop myself down on the mat and bring my hands to my head, tugging a bit on my hair. I need to cut it. It’s getting too long.
“Just give me some ibuprofen,” I say, defeated. “I’ll ice it and be fine.”
Nic maneuvers my leg, so it’s straight, then she lifts it and bends it at the knee, gently pushing it side to side. It hurts, but not in areinjuredkind of way. Just in anI made a fucking dumb decisionkind of way. I got something out of this, at least. Pain.
“Up,” Nic commands, and I roll to my side and slowly push myself to standing. “Walk.”
I do as she says, walking from one end of the ring and back. I grit my teeth against the soreness, the ache more pronounced but not new. When she’s satisfied that I didn’t re-fuck my femur, she nods and stands.
“You’re an idiot.” She points at me, then swings her finger to point at Casper. “You’re an enabler. You’re both on my shit list.”
She folds her arms across her chest, glaring at us with dark brown, angry eyes. Nic’s eyes are so brown that sometimes they look black, and right now, under the gym fluorescents, with her light blonde hair and intimidating scowl, she could definitely pass as some sort of vengeful fallen angel.
I lean back on the ropes, fold my arms across my chest to mirror her stance, and flash her a grin.
“You still love me,” I say smugly, and she rolls her eyes, completely unamused.
“Quit doing dumb shit, Macon,” she says on a sigh. “Go throw a bowl or something, and I’ll see you tonight.”
