Battered Not Broken (20 page)

“It’s basically the after-effects of a concussion,” he said. “My case is considered mild. Traumatic brain injury – it’s not as dramatic as it sounds.”

What it had done to him – crippled him with pain that had sent him stumbling into a fresh injury – had certainly seemed dramatic at the time. And judging by what she’d read, the effects of TBI could definitely interfere with one’s life. But how could she say that without sounding like she was chastising him or downplaying his resiliency? He knew much better than her what it was like to live with it.

“I’m seeing a doctor,” he added, “at the VA Medical Center. The migraines and everything… They’ll most likely go away eventually. I already don’t get them as often as I did at first.”

“I’m glad you’re getting treatment,” she said as the thin ice feeling of earlier that evening descended upon her again. “And I understand that recovery can take a while. But fighting … isn’t that dangerous?”

“Entering a ring and knowing you and the other guy are both going to try your damndest to beat the hell out of each other before you get out – of course it’s dangerous. You’d know. Haven’t you ever been hurt fighting?”

“Yes.” She’d had more bruises than she could count and the occasional black eye or purpled jaw. “But I’m not talking about the standard risks – aren’t you endangering yourself and jeopardizing your recovery by voluntarily risking more head trauma?”

He gave her a look of sheer determination – one she could imagine him aiming across the ring at an opponent if he added a little malice. “It’s been almost a year. I waited that long to get back into competing. I’m not going to wait any longer.”

“What does your doctor say about you fighting?”

He gave her a look that confirmed her suspicions before he even spoke. “I haven’t mentioned it to him. Look…” He squeezed her hand a little more tightly, sending a ripple of surprise through her. “I know Friday night must’ve freaked you out. And it’s nice that you read up on TBI. You’re kind, Ally, and that’s rare. But I’m not going to stop competing. I know what I’m doing.”

His words stung, the feeling of rejection enhanced by the look in his eyes – obviously, nothing she was saying was deterring him the least little bit. “I know you know what you’re doing in the ring. But that doesn’t mean you’re not going to be hit in the head, because you are. And I’m going to think about that every time I watch you fight. Every time you step into the ring I’m going to wonder if you’re going to come out in so much pain you can’t even drive or walk, let alone fight another match.”

He didn’t let go of her hand, but the warmth and passion left his eyes, turning them a cold shade of blue. “I’m sorry I’m putting you through that.”

The discussion was obviously over, and it had gone the way she’d feared, not the way she’d hoped.

* * * * *

“Do you have a date tonight?” Maria raised an eyebrow as the sound of a loud motor rumbled outside, somewhere near the house.

“No.” Ally shot a glimpse toward the front door anyway, imagining the cold Thursday night outside. Picturing Ryan emerging from his mustang and approaching the house flooded her with warmth that quickly cooled. They hadn’t planned anything for that day, and she knew the sound of his car’s motor. Funny how she’d come to know it by heart after only a few rides.

A knock sounded at the door, jolting her out of her thoughts of Ryan, which tended to reduce her mind to a jumbled mess of concern, arousal and a dozen decidedly tender feelings she couldn’t quite identify. “I’ll get it.” She rose from her seat at the table, abandoning a half-empty cup of tea.

They’d been expecting no company, so both doors had been closed against the chilly night – the storm door with its large window and the oaken door with its much smaller one, suitable only for peeking at a visitor’s face. She stood on her tiptoes to peer out the latter window before undoing the lock. She’d expected to see her aunt, or maybe a cousin dropping by on an unexpected visit. It happened occasionally. The last person she’d expected to see was her brother.

She was locked in eye contact with him for several bizarre moments before she managed to tear her gaze away, turning her back halfway to the door. “It’s Manny.” The note of surprise in her voice was audible, even to her. Her heart raced as she stood awaiting her mother’s reaction, terribly aware of the man on the other side of the door – one who shared her eye and nose shape and was just two years older than her.

“Manny?” Her mother rose slowly from her seat in the kitchen, bracing herself with her palms flat against the table top. “Are you sure?”

“Definitely.” This was the closest she’d stood to him in years, but she’d grown up with him and had glimpsed him on numerous occasions since their formal estrangement had begun years ago –a  consequence of living in the same city and knowing so many of the same people.

Maria hurried toward the door with surprising speed, her expression so torn between different emotions that it became an unreadable mask. “I’ll answer the door,” she said, laying a hand on top of Ally’s.

“Mamá, are you sure?”

“He’s here,” she replied, as if those two words left no alternative but to open the door to the son she’d told to leave years ago.

Ally’s mouth went dry as her mother unlocked the door and opened it.

“Mamá.” He said the word like he saw her every day, as if it were a familiar endearment. “Ally.” He used the nickname he knew she preferred as he stepped over the threshold, into the house.

His shoulder just barely brushed Ally’s. No shiver raced down her spine or set her teeth on edge. His presence felt more familiar than it should have, and that was what kindled a spark of anger inside her.

“It’s nice to see you both.” He spoke in Spanish. He’d been born and raised in Baltimore just like Ally, and their mother before them. But when he spoke Spanish, he sounded a little like their father, who’d spent the first eleven years of his life on a farm in rural Mexico and still carried the accent that life had given him, though he’d long since become an American citizen.

The similarity grated on Ally. She liked her father’s voice and accent. She missed hearing it every day. “What are you doing here?” She spoke in English, refusing to adjust to Manny’s preferences, even in that small matter.

He showed no reaction as he strolled through the entry area and into the kitchen, his movements slow and deliberate. The edges of tattoos peeked from above the collar of his leather jacket, but he wasn’t dripping with gold chains or flashing cash like a gangster in a movie. There wasn’t even a visible outline of a handgun tucked into the back of his jeans, though he more than likely had one concealed somewhere on his person.

His arrogance and corrupt nature were instead manifested in his stride, in the way he walked through the house he’d been kicked out of. He looked at everything as if it were all his – belongings he’d put down long ago and was now returning to pick up again, unsurprised that they had remained untouched and unchanged while he’d ignored them.

“I’m getting married this summer.” He paused by the kitchen table, one hand resting on the back of a chair. “Inés said she wasn’t sure if you two would attend the ceremony. I came to invite you personally.”

“Manny, you know we can’t attend.” Maria spoke in Spanish too.

Manny shook his head – a sparse movement, as if he couldn’t be bothered to waste any more energy than was strictly necessary on refuting her. “You
can
attend. You don’t
want
to
attend.” He reached for the fridge door, opening it and peering inside. “It’s your son’s wedding. You
should
attend.” He pulled out a baking dish and peeled back the foil cover.

Rage simmered inside Ally’s stomach as he eyed the contents of the dish with a tiny nod of approval. “Speaking of things people in this room should do, you should leave, Manny. If you wanted us to come to your wedding you should’ve thought of that before you betrayed this family.”

He didn’t even bother to shake his head as he placed the dish in the microwave. “I’m like you, Ally – I love my family. I work with my family every day. I’m the only person in this room who’s been betrayed, and I’m willing to forgive.”

Ally didn’t bother to conceal a sneer. “You don’t work with family. You work with a bunch of criminals.”

Manny removed the dish from the microwave, took a fork from the drawer next to the sink and began to eat the leftover casserole he hadn’t bothered to ask if he could have. As he chewed, all Ally could think about was her father in his prison uniform and how sick with worry and anger he’d be if he knew Manny was walking around the house like he owned the place.

“At least no woman of mine will ever have to fight to keep the lights on.” His eyes were a shade of chocolate brown that should have appeared warm, but they looked cold as he surveyed Ally over his dish. “You wouldn’t have to either if you weren’t so stubborn.”

“I don’t
have
to fight.”

“Don’t you? I know how much the salon is bringing in and how much you pay every month on this house’s mortgage. I know you sold papá’s car just a few months after he went to prison so that you could afford to put food on the table.”

“I was only seventeen then. Things are different now.”

“The only thing that’s different is that you’re fighting every other Saturday for a chance at a few hundred bucks.” His tone was sickeningly pragmatic as he looked down at his dish as if he’d just won an argument. He frowned faintly as he set it down, as if surprised and disappointed that it was empty.

In that moment, it was impossible to imagine anything more satisfying than the hard point of her elbow colliding with his smug jaw. It was easy to imagine marching around the table and laying a hard strike into his face – one that would cut it open. Elbows did that. They weren’t like punches. They were often stronger and could lay open skin in a way fists just didn’t.

Manny rose from the seat he’d taken at the table, leaving the dirty dish there. His head had been so cleanly shaven that it reflected the overhead light. He’d had a full head of dark hair when he’d been younger – it had curled and done the same crazy frizz thing Ally’s was prone to on humid days. He’d looked better that way. It was like he’d lost his soul along with his hair, becoming so wrapped up in his own arrogance that he thought he could manipulate anyone like he manipulated the group of men he controlled.

“See you soon, mamá. Ally.” He crossed the kitchen and entry area, pausing at the door. “Inés is having a bridal shower in a couple months. You’re both invited to that too.”

Ally locked the deadbolt behind him as soon as he was out the door. “If he shows up again, we’ll ignore him. This isn’t his house. It’s not even his neighborhood. Papá will be furious.”

“Maybe we shouldn’t mention it to your father.” There was a note of anxiety in Maria’s voice. “It will only worry him, and he already has enough troubles.”

Ally’s insides heated in protest. “He’d want to know. Not telling him would be like lying.”

Maria frowned, little lines that weren’t usually visible appearing around her mouth.

“Caring about someone means worrying about them sometimes. That’s just how it is.” Ally didn’t turn away from the door until Manny’s car roared down the street with an audible whine, heading in the direction of the neighborhood that had been his home for the past several years.

* * * * *

Ally faced Friday night with a stomach full of knots and butterflies. Ryan didn’t seem to share her worry. Instead, anticipation of the fight seemed to fill him, making his spine straighter, shoulders broader and eyes brighter. The sheer force of his focus made him seem six inches taller.

She knew what it was like to get worked-up before a fight. But his excitement was missing an element that was always crucial to hers – nervousness. Even if she was confident, she always felt a little anxious going into the ring, knowing a few minutes or less of clashing wills and bodies would end in her being either the winner or the loser. He seemed impervious to anxiety, like someone who’d faced every demon in the world and relished the thought of annihilating a lesser challenge.