Dream Keeper (28 page)

“And tonight, this young man is ready…”

“More than you know,” Rissa told the announcer.

Over the months leading up to the fight, Jimmy had bulked up, adding more than thirty pounds to his lean frame.
And he wears it well.
Rissa smiled, finishing the hotdog.
No wonder Sierra is so proud of him.
He’d trained intensely, learning to alter his fighting stance and speed to accommodate his increased size, and Rissa watched with interest as he entered the ring.

Tabac, in black shorts, was long-limbed and thick, square and menacing as he prowled the ring. Jimmy, in white shorts with a bright red side stripe, was calm and attentive as he stood in the center of the ring waiting to do the job he’d come for. On the referee’s command, the fighters touched gloves and moved toward each other.

Rissa pulled her knees close and clutched a pillow.

Commanding the ring, Jimmy was fast and as graceful as ever, firing shots from both the left and the right hand with deadly accuracy. He moved in with telling blows and scored easily, but it was evident that he’d learned something that she’d heard Dench tell his defensive linemen—
the best way to avoid a hit is to get out of the way.
And Jimmy had it down to a science.

By the start of the third round, Tabac was sweaty and showing the wear of his effort. Jimmy was points ahead, and his style showed in the refinement of every finished move. Rissa reached for her popcorn, munched and smiled.
Dench was right. My boy is a gentleman boxer.
Moving with a breezy, almost choreographed energy, Jimmy drove strong punches into the body of his bigger opponent. Desperate, Gervais Tabac swatted at his challenger who kept stepping out of range.

“Uh-huh. Can’t lay a glove on him, can you?” Rissa taunted the screen. There had been a lot of ugly talk from Tabac before the match, but watching the fourth round, it was easy to see that the talk had been just that as he swung and failed to connect. “Hey batta, batta, batta, swing!” Rissa crowed.

Jimmy danced close and delivered a series of flawless jabs and a hook to Tabac’s chin as the bell signaled the end of the round. Rissa applauded loudly. “Ha! Training will tell,” she shouted when the instant replay tried to track the speed of Jimmy’s punches. Even slowed down, they were a blur. Tempted to call Sierra, she grabbed her bowl of popcorn and settled in for the remainder of the match.

She didn’t have to watch long. Tabac went down in the seventh round.
Nice of Jimmy not to have embarrassed him
, Rissa thought, spilling popcorn as she clapped and cheered.
He could have finished him in the sixth—the man was definitely outclassed.

Calling the match, the referee moved toward the center of the ring, and all hell suddenly broke loose in the ring. The still-stunned now former champ climbed to his feet, shook his head like an angry bull and lurched toward Jimmy. With his back to Tabac, Jimmy seemed oblivious. Men from both corners seemed to panic and scrambled urgently over each other. As Rissa, twenty-one thousand ticket holders, and millions of viewers watched, the champ lunged forward and slammed a massive fist into the back of Jimmy’s head.

Rissa watched in horror as Jimmy’s eyes rolled back, showing only slits of white, and his knees buckled. The commentator’s voice was lost in the roaring and screaming of the crowd. People were moving, the crowd surging toward the ring, while in the ring, the final swing seemed to have cost the champ everything as he fell forward, his face hitting the canvas.

The moment seemed to replay endlessly as the reality dropped thickly between Rissa and the television screen. The popcorn bowl spilled from her lap and landed on the floor when she started up from her place on the sofa. Greasy nausea slid through her stomach and made her grab for the sofa’s arm. “I know,” she muttered. “And I will take it easy. I promise, but I have to go.”

The thick shove of too much popcorn in her stomach almost forced her to sit. Grabbing her cellphone, she pushed away from the sofa and went to the closet for her coat. “Look, baby, this is not just my job. This is about our friend, and I’m going.”

The unexpected wave of guilt made her stop. “I would never hurt you, Faith. Please trust Mommy. Please.” Catching her breath, she pulled the coat over her arms. Car keys and her purse were on the granite counter in the kitchen and she snatched them like a relay runner taking the baton as she headed for her car. The cellphone rang in her hand as she turned the key in her door. She didn’t bother to look at the caller ID. She already knew who the caller was. “Hey, Sierra, I’m on my way. Which hospital?”

“Thank you. Grady, they’re taking him to the trauma center at Grady Memorial. Oh, God…” Her voice cracked and a ragged sob escaped. “I…thank you, Rissa…I’ll see you at the hospital.”

She’s so scared, so very scared. I would feel the same way if it was Dench. Worse,
Rissa admitted, realizing that Sierra’s fears were not for herself but for her husband and her son. Biting her lip, Rissa stood where she was, waiting for something from her own baby. When nothing came, she moved her bulky figure down the three stairs to the garage floor.

In her car, she couldn’t stop herself from wondering. W
hat if it was Dench?

But it’s not.
She wasn’t sure whether she was promising herself or Faith.
It’s not.
Staking a claim on calm and purpose, she reached for the car radio and pushed buttons until cool jazz filled the car. She touched the button raising the garage door and backed into the night.

She kept her mind intentionally blank and focused on the road in front of her all the way to Grady Memorial. Turning into the hospital parking deck, Rissa kept her stranglehold on calm as she rolled past the vans of two national news affiliates.

Determined to have nothing to say and refusing to be confronted, she turned the collar up on her jacket. Looping a long scarf over her hair, she took the long way around the building to find the Emergency entrance.

And almost made it.

“Rissa?” José Christopher stepped from the shadows and touched her arm. She jumped and glared. Christopher grinned. “I knew you’d show up. Had a bet on it.” Ben Thomas stepped up beside him and offered a single bill, which Christopher quickly pocketed. “So what’s the word? What can you tell us?”

Fixing his swarthy features, he looked concerned and downright solicitous, but Rissa would have bet Faith’s college fund that he had a recorder in his pocket—so she didn’t call him what she wanted to. Choosing her words carefully, she let the scarf slip from her hair, drawing the attention of two other reporters. “Gentlemen, as you know, the recent turn of events in Mr. Clarence’s life are exactly that—recent. I have no further details. When we know more, I assure you, the information will be released.”

“Aw, come on, Rissa! How are you going to try to play us like that?” José twisted his lips. When Rissa pivoted toward the admissions desk, he moved with her. “You’re here and not at home with your feet up. What’s going on?”

“Neither one of us will ever know anything if you don’t get out of my way, José.” Her eyes narrowed and she might have said more if the tall young man in the security uniform had not cleared her path and ushered her onto the elevator.

Christopher watched her back—and the icy little smile that played across her lips as the elevator doors closed. “Mercenary little…”

“I wouldn’t call her that, if I were you,” Ben Thomas whispered. “Pregnant or not, I think she can take you.”

“Whatever.” Christopher slunk to the bank of gray plastic chairs along the wall and sat down to wait. “Sooner or later, there’ll be some news.”

* * *

“Have you heard any news?” Rissa folded Sierra into a hug and held on.

“Nothing,” Sierra sniffed.

Rissa released her and stepped back, feeling useless in the middle of the hospital corridor. “Where’s the baby? Where’s Mrs. Clarence?”

Sierra wrung her hands and looked up. Her eyes were red and her face was swollen when she licked her lips. “JJ is with his Granny Brenda.” Sierra’s lips trembled, and, for a second, Rissa wondered if she would get the words out. “I called her and she told me that her family is strong, that Jimmy has a hard head—she said he inherited it from her father. She promised me he would be fine. But how can she know? How can anybody know?” Sierra’s composure broke and her face crumpled. “What if he’s not…Rissa, I can’t lose him. JJ needs him too much…”

“And JJ is going to have him.” Rissa felt her baby stir and her hand moved to her stomach, circling without hesitation. “You’ll see. Jimmy fought brilliantly tonight, he’s young and strong, and he’s going to be fine.”

“You have to say that because you care about us.” Sierra’s head dropped to Rissa’s shoulder and she sniffed. Her hand moved to cover Rissa’s and she smiled when the baby moved between them. “They say babies always know…”

“Then I am going to take this as a definite confirmation and you should, too. I am not going to raise my child to tell lies.” The baby moved again. “See? He’ll be fine.”

She was spared from making more conversation when a lovely, fine-boned woman wearing an open white lab coat stepped close. “He’s awake,” she said softly. “Would you like to see him?”

Rissa was left to chase the women down the green-walled corridor as Sierra went to her husband. Standing beside the door, the dusky young woman looked at Rissa and smiled again. “I’m sorry.” She offered her hand and deftly shook Rissa’s. “I should have introduced myself. I am Dr. Jemma Kasmaridan, the neurosurgeon on his case. I was called in when he arrived.” Before Rissa could introduce herself, Kasmaridan continued, “You are the agent, the law lady, and the friend. Mrs. Clarence described you,” her eyes went to Rissa’s belly, “perfectly.”

Across the room, James was propped in bed with an iced pillow. Speaking to his wife, he kept his voice low and looked embarrassed. Rissa knew before she asked that her question was a cliché, but she asked anyway. “How is he?”

Kasmaridan shoved her hands into her pockets and looked thoughtful. “We have diagnosed Mr. Clarence with a mild concussion and plan to hold him overnight for observation.”

“That’s it? I was watching, I saw him go down. He was hit hard.”

“What can I say? He has a hard head.” Kasmaridan smiled and gave Rissa’s arm a pat.

Well, thank goodness for that.
Rissa moved closer to the bed and took a good look for herself. Jimmy’s eyes were red and the right side of his face was puffy from the fall he’d taken. Other than that, he looked fine, though sorely embarrassed.

“Here I whip that dude in front of how many million people, then I go and turn my back on him and get slammed in the head. What was I thinking?”

“Baby…” Sierra’s fingers were tentative when she touched the bandage at the back of his head.

“Every school kid in the world knows better than to turn his back. Any drunken fool in a barroom knows better.” He threw up his hands and frowned when they fell back in his lap.

“On the positive side, you beat him like he stole something. You won.” Rissa rubbed her fingers and thumb together. “That’s bank, brother.”

James looked confused. “For real? I lost consciousness so fast, I don’t remember what happened between the last punch I threw and waking up here.”

“It was a very fine contest,” the petite doctor said. “You fought well, but you should know that it is not uncommon to lose time when you sustain even a mild head injury.”

Soothing, Sierra passed a hand along his cheek. “I’ll show you the DVR, baby. I recorded it.”

Jimmy’s intimate gaze was so grateful when he looked at his wife that both Rissa and the doctor took steps toward the door. When Sierra said she would stay with him, Rissa felt like an intruder. She made an excuse and eased from the room, doubting that they would even notice her absence. Dr. Kasmaridan directed her to a soft drink machine, and Rissa followed the instructions, promising herself that she would leave in an hour and write a press release the second she got home.

When I write the release, I’ll need to say something about Tabac. Wonder if they brought him here, too? It would make sense, since this is the closest medical facility and he looked kind of goofy before and after he hit Jimmy

…Wonder if he was on anything? Wonder if I could find out before José does?

Ignoring her nervous stomach, Rissa looked up and down the corridor and found no sign of ambushing reporters.
Good. At least this will give Jimmy and Sierra a little time to calm down and organize their thoughts before they have to make any kind of public statements.

Jamming a hand in her pocket, she felt for coins and sorted them with her fingers as she approached the drink machine. Deciding on juice and drawing quarters from her pocket, she felt startling heat arc through her chest. She heard the coins hit the floor at the same time she heard the cry escape her lips. The little pain that knifed through her side traveled raggedly upward to settle between her breasts, bringing tears to her eyes. It was sharp enough to make her suck air through her open mouth and lean against the wall.

Hot salty water flooded her mouth and she wanted to howl in protest.
Not again!
Scared to do anything else, Rissa stayed where she was.
I’m in a hospital, Faith. We’re safe.
Waiting, praying that the pain wouldn’t come again, Rissa was afraid to move even her head when she heard her name.

“Is that you, Rissa?” Brenda Clarence came close enough to put an arm around Rissa and push her face close. “Lord, child, you don’t look so good.”

Like a portly angel decked out in a floral sweater and brown corduroy jeans, and smelling like fresh baked cookies, Brenda was determined to stand by Rissa’s side. Looking around, seeing no one, she pushed her shoulder under the taller woman’s arm and invited her to lean. “You look sick, and you need some help. Right now.”

Ever efficient, Brenda managed to move both of them away from the wall, and hooked a foot around a wheelchair waiting beside the door where Rissa had stopped. Pulling the chair close, she helped the younger woman to sit. With her heavy brown jacket draped over the handle of the wheelchair, she hooked her purse over the other handle and began to push.