Two Weeks (28 page)

I run toward the group as fast as I can. My thighs burn with every rapid step. "What happened?" I shout.

"Bar fight, I guess," one of them says, an older guy that appears to be with his wife. "This big feller's bleedin'." He points down and panic floods through me, coating every interior surface of my body until I'm literally sweating it out.

"Oh my God," I say, kneeling down to look at him. "
Jackson.
"

Yeah, it's Jackson, all right. There's glass shattered on the ground all around him, glass that he somehow managed to miss when he fell. The area reeks of whiskey. He's not conscious. He's slumped against the wall, but his chest is still rising and falling.

Okay, so he's not dead.

How can this be the same guy that was dazzling everyone on the stage just a couple hours earlier? The same guy that pummeled Goliath and took home the championship title?

"Is he your—"

"Yeah, he's my boyfriend," I say. "Did you see what happened?"

"Just saw some guys running away. And I don't think they went to go get help."

Frustration replaces my panic. Who the hell would do this to him? Was this like in the movies when someone accidentally saw something they weren't supposed to see and wound up tangled in a murder conspiracy? Had he just been in the wrong place at the wrong time?

"Guys? What kind of guys? What did they look like?" I've got plenty of questions and very little patience.

"Miss, I'm afraid I didn't see anything but shadows runnin' off. I'm terribly sorry."

I start panicking more, but before it goes too far, I remember that Todd is inside.

Todd will know what to do.

I flee the scene and run back into the bar.

"Todd!" I shout. "Something terrible has happened to Jackson."

A look of horror spreads across his face. "Where is he?" he snaps. He slides along the booth so fast that he elbows a glass of water, sending it spilling across the table.

I lead him back outside and he's instantly right there with Jackson, lowered to his level. "Jackson, c'mon, buddy, you all right?"

"Did any of you call an ambulance?" I ask.

"No," one of the voices says. "We thought he'd be all right. Just a bar fight."

"Why the hell are you just standing around then?" I catch some dirty looks, but I'm not in a position to give a damn about them. I'm about to call 911 when Todd starts shouting.

"He's okay!"

"What?" I say, still staring at my phone.

I hear some groaning down below.

"Jackson? Can you hear me?"

"Yeah, Todd, I'm here. Just got a bit of a headache." Jackson rubs his face and takes a deep breath.

There's some more commotion from the people that gathered around. "Okay, folks," Todd says, "you can clear out now. The show is over."

After some grumbling and drawn out shuffling, they finally leave. Now, it's just Todd and me with Jackson.

"What the hell happened out here?" Todd asks.

"I don't know," Jackson says tersely. "I guess someone smashed a bottle of whiskey on my head." He starts to stand up, but Todd stops him.

"Whoa, not yet, tiger. Are you sure you can stand up? Your head is bleeding pretty bad."

Jackson lets out a groan, but this one sounds more like annoyance than pain. "Yes, Todd. Let me stand up." The glass crunches under his shoes as he rises and shifts his weight around.

"Tell me what happened again," Todd demands.

"I told you—I got hit in the head and it knocked me right out. I didn't see who did it. Snuck up on me."

Although Todd's much smaller than Jackson, I'm really shocked at how big his personality inflates when he gets angry. "God dammit, Jackson. If you were anyone else, I'd believe you. But not you. Tell me what really happened here. Did that fucker Vince do this?"

I'm confused by the interaction. Some crucial detail is missing, leaving me with an unfinished understanding of the situation. The silence is deafening.

"I don't know," Jackson says firmly. He's not making eye contact with either of us. He seems quite aloof.

"This isn't fucking prison, Ames. Nobody's gonna shank you because you told the truth.
Tell me.
"

Jackson walks up to Todd and puffs out his chest. "I already told you, Todd—I
don't know
. Now, excuse me, I'd like to wash my hands. They're filthy." He pushes past us and heads back into the bar.

After he's out of sight, I turn to Todd.

"I know it's not really my place, but what the hell is going on here?"

Todd shakes his head disbelievingly. "This guy, Vince, hates Jackson's guts. Jackson beat him fair and square, but he thinks the match was fixed. Everybody knows about it. Vince is just a sore loser, that's all. He won't let it go. And now I think he did this."

I take a second to digest the information, but my head remains overloaded with questions. "I still don't get it. Why do you think Jackson is lying?"

"He doesn't want to be seen as a narc because he thinks it will rile Vince up even more. He'll have even more ammo for his conspiracy theories. He never wants me to do anything about it, but this time, I'm not gonna listen. They could have killed him. I'm not about to lose my star prospect to some schoolyard antics. Did you see all the blood?"

I reluctantly nod. "Yeah."

"I don't get him sometimes. I mean, I love the guy, I really do. Underneath that tough exterior is the biggest heart in the world. Sometimes it's a good thing, and sometimes it's not." Todd looks like he really needs another drink. "It's just one thing after another. He's playing hard to get with this contract and now
this
. Who knows what'll happen next time."

I'm just as confused as he is. Although I've only been seeing Jackson for less than a week, I'm already starting to understand Todd's frustration. "I wish I could help you somehow," I say.

Todd gives me a hopeless smile. "Well, thanks for caring. I've really got to figure this out." He paces back and forth in the parking lot while I stand still. I stare down at the shattered glass and spilled whiskey, fighting to relax. "Let me give you my number. In case anything else happens."

He rattles it off quickly and I type it into my phone. "Got it," I say.

"Ally?" I hear suddenly. I instinctively put the phone back in my purse like I've been caught with my hand in the cookie jar. "I should probably go to the hospital. I need stitches. Let's get moving." Jackson is standing at the entrance, motioning to me. He's got a bloody wad of paper towels pressed against his head.

"Jackson!" Todd shouts again. "Tell me who did it!"

"I'm fine, Todd. And again, I don't
know
who did it."

"I'll try to ask him, I guess," I say quietly. "I'll let you know."

Todd doesn't even seem to hear me. "I'm gonna figure this out. Vince is gonna pay this time." He's acting kind of maniacal now, so I decide that getting Jackson to the hospital should probably be my priority.

Jackson and I walk in silence until we're almost to the truck. "Are you okay?" I ask, hoping to change the subject from whatever Todd assumes he's avoiding.

He laughs, and I'm happy to hear the sound of it. "Yeah, Ally. We fighters are remarkably resistant to, well,
fighting
. I'm actually okay. I just need to make sure this cut is nothing serious."

I tell him about my extended bathroom visit on the way to the hospital. He's abnormally amused about the part where I use the men's room. I'm happy to see him laughing and goofing around, especially after seeing him passed out on the ground with blood trickling from his head.

We go the emergency room, and thankfully, we don't have to wait long. He's got a few minor cuts and bruises on his arms and legs, and his head needs three stitches. The doctor takes care of him while I play Angry Birds in the waiting room.

This has been quite the night. I can barely remember much of what went on. So many highs and lows.

Finally, he comes back out and smiles at me. I start to see him as his old, sexy self again. "Sorry for the delay," he says playfully. "I'm back!"

I hug him and wish I never had to let go.

We leave the hospital and drive home. After all the excitement, I'm no longer drunk—but I'm still sleepy. I'm just thankful that Jackson is okay—well, and that he's driving too.

I'm too worn down to ask for any other details about the situation. I figure I'll have time to ask him later.

"This isn't going to affect our trip, y'know," he says, about halfway home. "We're still going."

"What are you talking about?"

"Did you already forget about the trip tomorrow?"

I let out a nervous chuckle. "Oh yeah,
that trip
." I fill with giddy excitement. "But what about the stitches? You can't swim, can you?"

"I can definitely swim. I just can't put my head under the water. Well, I'm not supposed to."

I nod. "But I'm only going if we sleep in tomorrow."

"Fair enough," he says.

We arrive home soon after that. Jackson carefully washes the whiskey out of his hair while I lie in bed.

After he's done, we cuddle up and promptly fall asleep.

Jackson

I
wake to a dull, throbbing headache. It's still early as hell, but I'm awake. The sun is rising over the horizon. I stare over at slumbering Ally and feel a sensation of warmth I can barely comprehend. She's so peaceful, shielded from every bad and unpleasant thing in the world by her unconsciousness.

Her hair is splayed in every possible direction across the pillow, and she's wrapped tightly in the blanket like it's a cocoon.

I quietly climb out of bed and go into the bathroom. I dump a few aspirin down my throat and chug water directly from the faucet. I feel the stitches—they're tender. Vince and his crew really did a number on me.

I'm lucky, for sure.

Before I even notice, I'm sitting on the closed toilet, thinking rapid, circuitous thoughts. I'm confused about so many things in my life right now.

I've got a beautiful girl in my bed, one that's leaving at the end of the week. I've got stitches on the top of my head, stitches that I'll lose around the same time I lose Ally.

There's a contract, a possibility of going pro. Another victory last night. A renewed rivalry between Vince and me.

Good and bad things, here today and possibly gone tomorrow.

I feel like I don't know who I am. This is pure chaos, no matter how I look at it, no matter how I frame it.

I'm just as confused as Todd was that I wouldn't say anything about Vince. I froze up, just lost the ability to speak of it. I'm not sure why.

Was I actually trying to protect him from punishment? Was I just avoiding the drama?

Can I actually work things out with Vince? Undoubtedly, it feels like a square peg in a round hole. Maybe I'm just a total idiot for thinking that I'd gain something by keeping my mouth shut.

As the aspirin kicks in, the tumult of my thoughts starts to subside. Some peace gently arrives along with the effects of the medicine.

I'm still sleepy, and it's making me overdramatic. I leave the bathroom and climb back into bed, taking a moment to soak up the image of sleeping, sunlight-lit Ally before me. I've never slept with anyone as beautiful as her in my life.

And then she angrily groans in her sleep and turns over to avoid the sunlight.

I laugh and eventually fall asleep again.

***

"J
ackson?"

I slowly open my eyes. Ally's right on top of me, wry smile on her face. She's wearing one of my t-shirts and it's hanging low around her neck and I can see the tops of her breasts. It's a pretty good sight first thing in the morning.

"What's up?" I ask.

"It's nearly noon," she says.

I shake my head in disbelief. "No way." I look over at the window, trying to interpret the position of the sun. "It's probably only like nine."

She laughs and shoves the display of her cell phone in my face. It's four minutes to noon. "See?"

"Jesus," I whine, "what the hell happened last night?"

"I was hoping you'd tell
me
that."

"Aww, c'mon, Ally, I don't want to get into all of this serious stuff already. I just woke up."

"
Already
?" she asks incredulously, mocking my tone. "It's lunchtime, for God's sakes." She starts laughing. "I've been up for two hours."

"Oh, whatever," I say. "You're not the one that got smashed in the head with a bottle last night."

"Poor Jackson," she says, stroking my arm. She leans forward and kisses the top of my head.

I wrap my arms around her back and pull her toward me, giving her a firm, deep kiss. She smells incredible, like lavender and cinnamon and honey. It's an intoxicating blend.

"I think I know how to make you talk," she says devilishly, pulling away from the kiss. She slowly moves away from me. Her hands slide under the elastic of my shorts and it's clear what her plan is.

"We'll see about that," I say. I'm about to say something else, but she's already started and oh God, she's fucking good at this. She's so intense, yet so gentle. I've never had a blowjob this good in my life, and hell, I think it would be an understatement to call her an expert.

As much as I want to prolong the pleasure, she's just too efficient. I finish super quick, and when my climax has subsided, she sits up and curiously stares at me.

"That was way too easy," she says, grinning from ear to ear. "Now I think you owe me an explanation."

I take a deep breath and stare up at the ceiling. I'm in a really good place right now, and I try my damndest to soak it up while she's still got those beautiful prying eyes affixed to me.

"I don't think you asked me nicely enough," I say, staring right back at her. "I'm not
that
easy."

"
Oh?
" she asks.

I nod. "I don't think you're being very sincere—and I've got an idea."

"I'm listening."

I sit up slowly, and then pounce on her, taking her by surprise.

"Jackson!" she shouts playfully. "What the hell are you doing?"