Page 39 of Kissin Irish by Morgan
Riff grumbled, “No gas in the tank.”
“What does that mean?”
“Your man’s getting tired. Pagan’s going to take him down.”
As I worried the smoke smell grew stronger, like a campfire, but more like someone was burning trash. There was a slight breeze as well.
“Are the doors open? I smell a bonfire?”
“I don’t think so,” Riff said.
Jass returned, pressing a cold bottle into my hands. Taking a swig of beer, I couldn’t shake the smell.
“Riff, what kind of cigarette was that?” I asked him.
Into the match, he ignored me. If Irish was losing, I didn’t know if I wanted to hear a thing. I put my air pods back in my ears and grabbed a mouthful of popcorn.
Soon the bell rang. I could hear it through my headphones, but it didn’t stop. I removed the plugs. It wasn’t the bell signaling the end of round two at all. The fire alarm blared overhead. A commotion commenced as everyone panicked at once. Jass took ahold of my wrist and led me down the bleachers.
Horror came over the loudspeaker, “Who’s going to forfeit this match?”
Holy fuck. The place was on fire. Were they still in the cage fighting?
Jass let go of me. I reached out, but she was just gone. I turned around. My ears rang. Heat rose all around me. The crackle grew louder. I tiptoed toward the cooler air. I turned when the heat or smoke became unbearable in any direction. Something popped loudly overhead, scaring me. Thinking of falling rafters, I crouched to the ground and covered my head.
“Jass,” I called out over and over for what seemed like ages. Then all I could do was cough.
“I’ve got you,” Riff’s voice came as he touched my shoulder. He scooped me up, throwing me over his.
Safe outside. He sat me down in the grass. I caught my breath. The cool air stung my hot skin. It wasn’t any less noisy out here. The crowd had made it out and were in a tizzy. Someone complained that the firefighters hadn’t made it there yet.
I asked Riff about Irish and my brother, “Are they still in there, in the ring?”
“Oh, no. I saw Irish forfeit the match. He’s coming our way, right now.”
Irish caught me in his arms. Everything smelled like smoke, including him.
“Thank Jaysus, you got her out of there, Riff.”
“My brother?” I asked Irish.
Irish said, “He wouldn’t let us leave the cage. Made me forfeit. I assumed he left after I did. I went looking for ya.”
Riff answered, “Pagan’s not made it out, yet, as far as I can tell.”
“I’ll go after him,” Irish said. Before I could protest, he kissed my forehead and was gone.
Riff called after him about firemen being here soon, just as I heard the trucks coming down the road.
“Ah, he’s gone in,” Riff announced.
It was too late.
“It’ll be alright. I just saw Horror go in after him, too. He won’t let anything happen to either one of them,” Riff soothed me. He reached for my elbow and led me away from the burning building. Apparently, paramedics wanted to have a look at me. My sightless eyes burned so much that I had to close them. They talked about first degree burns on my arms and the back of my neck. I tasted thick smoke every time I swallowed, but I was breathing okay for now.
Unexpectedly, Riff left me in the ambulance. When he returned, I heard my brother’s name. Pagan was badly burned, they said, third degree burns all over his arm and one side of his face. Smoke inhalation, they said. He’d be going to the hospital right away. I heard Jass show up. She fussed over Pagan before coming my way.
“I lost you. I’m sorry.”
