Beautiful Disaster (41 page)

“Shepley, it wasn't your fault. You pulled him off of me, remember?” I said, reaching around America to pat his arm. I turned to Travis, “When is the fight?”

“Next week sometime,” he shrugged. “I want you there. I need you there.”

I smiled, resting my chin on his shoulder. “Then I'll be there.”

Travis walked me to class, his grip tensing a few times when my feet slipped on the ice. “You should be more careful,” he teased.

“I'm doing it on purpose. You're such a sucker.”

“If you want my arms around you, all you have to do is ask,” he said, pulling me into his chest.

We were oblivious to the students passing and the snowballs flying overhead as he pressed his lips against mine. My feet left the ground and he
continued to kiss me, carrying me with ease across campus. When he finally set me on my feet in front of the door of my classroom, he shook his head.

“When we make our schedules for next semester, it would be more convenient if we had more classes together.”

“I'll work on that,” I said, giving him one last kiss before making my way to my seat.

I looked up, and Travis gave me one last smile before making his way to his class in the next building. The students around me were as used to our shameless displays of affection as his class was used to him being a few minutes late.

I was surprised that the time ticked by so quickly. I turned in my last test of the day and made my way to Morgan Hall. Kara sat in her usual spot on her bed as I rifled through my drawers for a few needed items.

“You going out of town?” Kara asked.

“No, I just needed a few things. I'm headed over to the Science building to pick up Trav, and then I'll be at the apartment all week.”

“I figured,” she said, keeping her eyes on the pages of her book.

“Have a good break, Kara.”

“Mmmhmm.”

The campus was nearly empty, with only a few stragglers left. When I turned the corner, I saw Travis standing outside, finishing a cigarette. He wore a knit cap over his shaved head and one hand was shoved in the pocket of his worn dark-brown leather jacket. Smoke drifted from his nostrils as he looked down to the ground, deep in thought. It wasn't until I was just
a few feet from him that I noticed how distracted he was.

“What's on your mind, baby?” I asked. He didn't look up. “Travis?”

His lashes fluttered when my voice registered and the troubled expression was replaced with a contrived smile. “Hey, Pigeon.”

“Everything okay?”

“It is now,” he said, pulling me against him.

“Okay. What's up?” I said. With a raised eyebrow and a frown, I made a show of my skepticism.

“Just have a lot on my mind,” he sighed. When I waited expectantly, he continued. “This week, the fight, you being there …”

“I told you I would stay home.”

“I need you there, Pidge,” he said, flicking his cigarette to the ground. He watched it disappear into a deep footprint in the snow and then cupped his hand around mine, pulling me toward the parking lot.

“Have you talked to Trent?” I asked.

He shook his head. “I'm waiting for him to call me back.”

America rolled down the window and poked her head out of Shepley's Charger. “Hurry up! It's freaking freezing!”

Travis smiled and picked up the pace, opening the door for me to slide in. Shepley and America repeated the same conversation they'd had since she learned she would be meeting his parents while I watched Travis stare out of the window. Just as we pulled into the parking lot of the apartment, Travis's phone rang.

“What the fuck, Trent?” he answered. “I called you four hours ago. It's not like you're productive at work or anything. Whatever. Listen, I need a favor. I've got a fight next week. I need you to go. I don't know when it is, but when I call you, I need you there within an hour. Can you do that for me? Can you do it or not, douchebag? Because I need you to keep an eye on Pigeon. Some asshole put his hands on her last time and … yeah.” His voice lowered to a frightening tone. “I took care of it. So if I call …? Thanks, Trent.”

Travis clicked his phone shut and leaned his head against the back of the seat.

“Relieved?” Shepley asked, watching Travis in the rearview mirror.

“Yeah. I wasn't sure how I was going to do it without him there.”

“I told you,” I began.

“Pidge, how many times do I have to say it?” he frowned.

I shook my head at his impatient tone. “I don't understand it, though. You didn't need me there before.”

His fingers lightly grazed my cheek. “I didn't know you before. When you're not there, I can't concentrate. I'm wondering where you are, what you're doing … if you're there and I can see you, I can focus. I know it's crazy, but that's how it is.”

“And crazy is exactly the way I like it,” I said, leaning up to kiss his lips.

“Obviously,” America muttered under breath.

In the shadows of Keaton Hall, Travis held me tight against his side. The steam from my breath entangled with his in the cold night air, and I could hear the low conversations of those filtering in a side door a few feet away, oblivious to our presence.

Keaton was the oldest building at Eastern, and although the Circle had been held there before, I was uneasy about the venue. Adam expected a full house, and Keaton wasn't the most spacious of basements on campus. Beams formed a grid along the aging brick walls, just one sign of the renovations taking place inside.

“This is one of the worst ideas Adam has had yet,” Travis grumbled.

“It's too late to change it, now,” I said, looking up at the scaffolds.

Travis's cell phone lit up and he popped it open. His face was tinged with blue against the display, and I could finally see the two worry lines between his eyebrows I already knew were there. He clicked buttons and then snapped the phone shut, gripping me tighter.

“You seem nervous tonight,” I whispered.

“I'll feel better when Trent gets his punk ass here.”

“I'm here, you whiny little girl,” Trent said in a hushed voice. I could barely see his outline in the darkness, but his smile gleamed in the moonlight.

“How ya been, sis?” he said. He hugged me with one arm, and then playfully shoved Travis with the other.

“I'm good, Trent.”

Travis immediately relaxed, and then he led me by the hand to the back of the building.

“If the cops show and we get separated, meet me at Morgan Hall, okay?” Travis said to his brother. We stopped at an open window low to the ground, the signal that Adam was inside and waiting.

“You're fuckin' with me,” Trent said, staring down at the window. “Abby's barely gonna fit through there.”

“You'll fit,” Travis assured him, crawling down into the blackness inside. Like so many times before, I leaned down and pushed myself backward, knowing Travis would catch me.

We waited for a few moments, and then Trent grunted as he pushed off the ledge and landed on the floor, nearly losing his balance as his feet hit the concrete.

“You're lucky I love Abby. I wouldn't do this shit for just anyone,” Trent grumbled, brushing off his shirt.

Travis jumped up, pulling the window closed with one quick movement. “This way,” he said, leading us through the dark.

Hallway after hallway, I gripped Travis's hand in mine, feeling Trent pinching the fabric of my shirt. I could hear small pieces of gravel scrape the concrete as I shuffled along the floor. I felt my eyes widen, trying to adjust to the blackness of the basement, but there was no light to help them focus.

Trent sighed after the third turn. “We're never gonna find our way out of here.”

“Just follow me out. It'll be fine,” Travis said, irritated with Trent's complaining.

When the hallway grew lighter, I knew we were close. When the low roar of the crowd came to a feverish pitch of numbers and names, I knew we had arrived. The room where Travis waited to be called usually had only one lantern and one chair, but with the renovations, it was full of desks and chairs and random equipment covered in white sheets.

Travis and Trent discussed strategy for the fight as I peeked outside. It was as packed and chaotic as the last fight, but with less room. Furniture covered in dusty sheets lined the edges of the walls, pushed aside to make room for the spectators.

The room was darker than usual, and I guessed that Adam wanted to be careful not to draw attention to our whereabouts. Lanterns hung from the ceilings, creating a dingy glow on the cash being held high as bets were still being called.

“Pigeon, did you hear me?” Travis said, touching my arm.

“What?” I said, blinking.

“I want you to stand by this doorway, okay? Keep hold of Trent's arm at all times.”

“I won't move. I promise.”

Travis smiled, his perfect dimple sinking into his cheek. “Now you look nervous.”

I glanced to the doorway and then back to him. “I don't have a good feeling about this, Trav. Not about the fight, but … something. This place gives me the creeps.”

“We won't be here long,” Travis assured me. Adam's voice came over the horn, and then a pair of warm, familiar hands were on each side of my face. “I love you,” he said. He wrapped his arms around me
and lifted me off the floor, squeezing me to him as he kissed me. He lowered me to the ground and then hooked my arm around Trent's. “Don't take your eyes off of her,” he said to his brother. “Even for a second. This place'll get crazy once the fight starts.”

“ … so let's welcome tonight's contender — JOHN SAVAGE!”

“I'll guard her with my life, little brother,” Trent said, tugging on my arm. “Now go kick this guy's ass and let's get out of here.”

“ … TRAVIS “MAD DOG” MADDOX!” Adam yelled through the horn.

The volume was deafening as Travis made his way through the crowd. I looked up to Trent, who had the tiniest crook of a smile on his face. Anyone else might not have noticed, but I could see the pride in his eyes.

When Travis reached the center of The Circle, I swallowed. John wasn't much bigger, but he looked different from anyone Travis had fought before, including the man he fought in Vegas. He wasn't trying to intimidate Travis with a severe stare like the others; he was studying him, preparing the fight in his mind. As analytical as his eyes were, they were also absent of reason. I knew before the fight began that Travis had more than a fight on his hands; he was standing in front of a demon.

Travis seemed to notice the difference as well. His usual smirk was gone, an intense stare in its place. When the horn sounded, John attacked.

“Jesus,” I said, gripping Trent's arm.

Trent moved as Travis did, as if they were one. I tensed with each swing John threw, fighting the urge
to shut my eyes. There were no wasted movements; John was cunning and precise. All of Travis's other fights seemed sloppy in comparison. The raw strength behind the punches alone was awe-inspiring, as if the whole thing had been choreographed and practiced to perfection.

The air in the room was heavy and stagnant; the dust from the sheets had been disturbed and caught in my throat each time I gasped. The longer the fight lasted, the worse the ominous feeling became. I couldn't shake it, and yet I forced myself to stay in place so Travis could concentrate.

In one moment, I was hypnotized by the spectacle in the middle of the basement; in the next, I was shoved from behind. My head jerked back with the blow, but I tightened my grip, refusing to budge from my promised spot. Trent turned and grabbed the shirts of two men behind us and tossed them to the ground as though they were rag dolls.

“Back the fuck up, or I'll kill you!” he yelled to those staring at the fallen men. I gripped his arm tighter and he patted my hand. “I got ya, Abby. Just watch the fight.”

Travis was doing well, and I sighed when he drew first blood. The crowd grew louder, but Trent's warning kept those around us at a safe distance. Travis landed a solid punch and then glanced at me, quickly returning his attention to John. His movements were lithe, almost calculating, seeming to predict John's attacks before he made them.

Noticeably impatient, John wrapped his arms around Travis, pulling him to the ground. As one unit, the crowd surrounding the makeshift ring
tightened around them, leaning in as the action fell to the floor.

“I can't see him, Trent!” I cried as I bounced on my tiptoes.

Trent looked around, finding Adam's wooden chair. In a dancelike motion, he passed me from one arm to the other, helping me as I climbed above the mob. “Can you see him?”

“Yeah!” I said, holding Trent's arm for balance. “He's on top, but John's legs are around his neck!”

Trent leaned forward on his toes, cupping his free hand around his mouth, “SLAM HIS ASS, TRAVIS!”

I glanced down to Trent and then leaned forward to get a better look at the men on the floor. Suddenly Travis was on his feet, John holding tight around Travis's neck with his legs. Travis fell on his knees, slamming John's back and head against the concrete in a devastating blow. John's legs went limp, releasing Travis's neck, and then Travis reared back his elbow, pummeling John over and over with his clenched fist until Adam pulled him away, throwing the red square on John's flaccid body.

The room erupted, cheering as Adam lifted Travis's hand into the air. Trent hugged my legs, calling out victory to his brother. Travis looked up at me with a broad, bloody smile; his right eye had already begun to swell.

As the money passed hands and the crowd began to meander about, preparing to leave, my eyes drifted to a wildly flickering lantern swaying back and forth in the corner of the room behind Travis. Liquid was dripping from its base, soaking the sheet below it. My stomach sank.