Finding Me (13 page)

By the time Fitz arrives Saturday, I’ve changed my clothes far more times than this causal setting warrants. I’ve shamefully hidden all of the rejected articles of clothing in a giant heap in my closet so he doesn’t see the evidence of my nerves.

“Damn, why haven’t I seen those heels before?” I glance down at my feet as I lock my apartment door behind us.

“If I die tonight because of these shoes, make sure my headstone conveys how great they were.”

Fitz laughs, offering his arm. I thread mine through it as we make our way to his car. Spring has finally started to arrive, promising warmer weather and longer days. Things have continued to improve with each passing week. Classes are going well, and I’m slowly starting to engage myself in discussions, even when it’s not a requirement from my professors. My meetings with Kitty are still every Wednesday, and I’m beginning to become more forthcoming with her, sometimes divulging information that she doesn’t even ask for. I’m learning that although sharing these fears and weaknesses of mine can be immensely draining, I understand why it’s called therapy, because it is very therapeutic to release some of these thoughts that I’ve been holding on to for far too long.

Fitz and I haven’t made significant progress at the lab thus far in diagnosing additional warning signs and symptoms of aortic aneurisms; however, Fitz was able to discover some very valuable information for another team of doctors that’s significantly improved their current study.

We returned to New York last weekend and visited Hosanna and Grandma Alala, who wasn’t nearly as warm and welcoming this time with Danny beside me. Her anger seemed to dissipate and turned into jealousy, aggressively vying for Danny’s attention with little regard to the rest of us the first night.

That too calmed down the following day, and she returned to her previous behavior from Thanksgiving, spending the remainder of the weekend shoving food at me and insisting that I eat every chance she got.

Danny and I are still taking things slow, though he’s already shared with me how he feels. He cares about me, just as I care about him. I’m just not quite ready to take the last step yet. Thankfully, Danny never pushes me to go faster, or to vocalize my feelings for him. He also doesn’t guilt me with his.

We arrive at the arena and I’m shocked to see such a large crowd. I’m learning that I’m in the minority of people that find this sport barbaric. I allow Fitz to lead me as I gaze at the mass of fans, some wearing fewer clothes than what I’d see at a Karli Lincoln party. Others are wearing face paint and masks. Many women have proactive offers painted across their shirts that are difficult to read, but you really don’t need to in order to understand the invitation.

“Come on, Pollyanna, stop gawking. Let’s go get our seats.”

We have attended a small handful of Danny’s matches when they’re close enough for us to drive. I’m starting to become more familiar with the terms and scoring but haven’t managed to grow any more comfortable around it. My heart still thrums too fast, and my muscles ache from the tension after each match. The ones that we don’t attend, Danny calls or Skypes with me beforehand. These times always have me precariously close to telling him things that I’m not sure are fully true. I may just be terrified by the prospect of losing him. I’m never quite sure. Daniel sends mass updates throughout the matches to Diane, who refuses to watch the matches, myself, and a few others, but it’s always Danny that calls to tell me the outcome.

“What are you doing?” Fitz asks as I take my seat. The accusation in his tone makes me immediately think of Kendall.

“It’s freezing, leave me alone.”

“Why are you nervous, H? You know Danny will kick this guy’s ass.”

Danny’s undefeated so far, but the fear that churns in my stomach before each fight never seems to lessen.

Fitz flags down a concession guy carrying a tray of beers and hands me one before paying an obscene amount for the two drinks I still have barely managed to tolerate. He takes one and slings his arm across the back of my seat.

Tonight’s match is at one of the larger arenas we’ve been in and later because it’s being televised. Although Danny likes to have us visit in the locker room before the matches get underway, I feel uneasy and in the way when we are, so we met earlier and had dinner together while Fitz worked on a proposal for a grant he’s applying for.

The emcee heads to the center of the ring, microphone in hand, and the crowd goes crazy, screaming and cheering. He eats it up and encourages it by waving his arms. I’m so distracted watching the crowd react to every word he shouts—as though they’ve been starved and each word is a rich morsel of food—that I miss most of what he’s actually saying.

A few women to our right are literally tearing up, and I’m not positive if it’s because they’re so emotionally overloaded or they have genuine fear for Danny, whose name is written across their chests. The men are just as worked up, yelling vulgar statements that occasionally make me feel extremely prudish, and jeering at one another.

Fitz’s elbow in my side pulls my attention from the crowd, and I look up to see Danny entering the ring.

Danny wears a loose pair of royal blue shorts, his ring shoes, boxing gloves, and a smile as he scans the arena. He starts at the top, raking over the numerous fans that are on their feet screaming his name. I know he savors their energy, like a rare and strong drug that he absorbs while dealing out smiles and waves as compensation. When he reaches his fill, his eyes narrow, telling me he’s looking for me. I know the moment that he finds me because his eyes widen again, and his lips pull up into a smile that’s reserved just for me.

His opponent tonight, Vanilla Thunder, is a mammoth of a man, standing both taller and wider than Danny.

“Is that real?” I ask, looking to Fitz after Vanilla Thunder flexes for the crowd, earning a chorus of cheers and insults. The muscles on his biceps alone look larger than my waist. It doesn’t seem possible.

“They test them before each match, but who knows? That guy’s yoked.”

I still can’t manage to watch Danny fight, but my initial curiosity gets the better of me and I watch the two engage in a series of punches and kicks that has Danny dancing effortlessly across the mat, landing several hits to Vanilla Thunder. Although he’s smaller than the impossibly large man, he’s faster and moves with a practiced grace that’s mesmerizing.

When he receives his first blow, I have to turn away. Fitz calls the hit a haymaker, but I really couldn’t care less what it’s called. It breaks the skin on Danny’s eyebrow and reminds me why I loathe fighting so much. It’s vicious and ruthless.

The crowd shifts from cheers to boos as the fight progresses, and Fitz quietly fills me in as I keep my attention on the crowd surrounding us, which gives me a pretty good indication of what’s going on.

The noise level rises to one that I’ve never heard before, and rather than being a cheer that I’ve been desperately waiting for, it’s chorus of boos, dotted by shouts about something being illegal. Fitz’s hand clamps around my wrist, mirroring my fears. I know not to look. I know that I should wait until Fitz gives me some sort of indication as to what’s occurring. I also know that I can’t wait. Although emotions have been warring in me for the last couple of months about what Danny is to me, there’s no doubt that I care about him.

My eyes snap to the large mat and focus on Danny, laid out near the center, completely still. My body disentangles from something that’s holding me, briefly realizing that it’s Fitz as I race down toward the stage, only to be stopped a few paces in by a tall, bald-headed man in a black shirt.

I fish in my pockets and grasp the VIP pass, knowing full well it’s not supposed to grant me access until the ring is cleared. He looks ready to tell me so, when Frank, Danny’s security detail, appears behind the man, filling me with hope.

“She’s his lady, man. Don’t you read the tabloids?”

A train of objections rise in my head that I shake off as the bald man moves aside. Frank grabs my elbow and nods to Fitz, who’s managed to catch up.

A trainer that I’ve been introduced to in passing repeats Danny’s name a few times and then waves his hand in Danny’s face. Danny slowly moves and ignoring someone’s objections, I climb up onto the mat and quickly make it over to him.

“Hey, babe, how’d you get down here?”

“She’s fast. Maybe she can teach you a thing or two,” Frank teases from beside me.

Danny’s lips slide into a smile, but his eyes close and I see the grimace he’s working to fight.

“The son of a bitch better be banned after pulling that stunt. The degenerate asswipe.” The trainer’s voice is a growl.

“What’s the call, Vin?” A heavy arm slides across my shoulders as Danny’s father, Daniel, stands beside me, reminding me of the trainer’s name: Vinny.

“He needs to go to the hospital. His chest needs X-rayed from that elbow, and I wouldn’t doubt if he has a mild concussion.”

Daniel nods once and pulls out his phone and strides back to the sidelines.

“You should go home, H,” Danny says, wrapping a hand around my exposed ankle.

I shake my head in response and kneel down beside where he still lies on the mat.

“I’ve got to find Dom. I need to get that tape submitted to get that bastard kicked out,” Vinny states, looking around anxiously. “You stay put, kid. Otherwise, I’ll knock you back on your ass.”

“You’re too slow, old man.”

Vinny smiles slyly at him before he takes a few steps back.

“So this was all I had to do? Let some chump give me a few cheap shots, and you’ll come backstage again, huh?”

“I don’t think you
let
him land that cheap shot. I think your squirrely ass pissed him off till next Sunday, and he didn’t know how else to beat you.” Frank chuckles, looking far less stressed than I currently feel.

“Hey, hey.” Danny reaches his hand forward and grasps mine. “I’m okay. I promise.”

I want to cry, but I want to cry in front of all of these people even less, so I stop trying to think, and with doing so, bend over and kiss Danny. It’s a hard and demanding kiss, a plea from me that evolves to a lighter, gentler promise from him.

When I sit up, Danny’s fingers that are still linked with mine squeeze. “You just made getting my ass kicked on national television worth it.”

I shake my head, but can’t help but smile at him.

After some deliberation, Fitz and I agree to follow the ambulance to the hospital, along with a small crew of people that I’ve periodically seen around Danny.

After an hour, the hospital staff wheels him away to get X-rays, and tell us he’ll be gone for about thirty minutes.

Fitz crosses his ankle over his knee and looks at me with a warm smile. “Don’t worry, sweetheart, he’ll be fine.”

I nod a few times to convince him that I’m okay and stand and turn toward the hallway. “I’m going to take a walk and find a bathroom. Do you want anything to drink?”

“I’ll come with you.”

I shake my head as he begins to stand. “I just need a few minutes. Being in a hospital again makes me uneasy. I haven’t been in one since I visited my dad at his office shortly before he died.”

Fitz’s face is marred with indecision as I see his desire to comfort me wage against my wish for him to stay. “I’ll be fine. I just need a moment.” I give him a small smile and then depart before he can talk himself out of staying put.

I wander through a few empty hallways before going through a corridor comprised of windows. The darkness seeping through delivers an eerie chill to the air that I’m happy to leave as I step into another well-lit foyer. My eyes land on the first person that I’ve seen since I stepped out of the waiting room.

“Kitty?” The name leaves my mouth before I can stop the question. This can’t be her. She looks nothing like Kitty, mainly because she’s completely bald and wears no makeup on her older, paler, and gaunt face. Yet her head turns so that she’s fully facing me, and Kitty’s familiar bright green eyes lock with mine. They’re filled with panic.

A wave of chills runs over me, filling me with dread, and my head shakes in confusion.

She’s sick.

Not flu sick.

Sick, sick.

My head shakes swifter, moving from confusion to denial, refusing to allow the obvious to infiltrate my mind in droves, like it’s working to do.
This can’t be happening.

“Harper.” The authority in her voice as she rises from her chair makes me realize that I’m moving backward.

I stop and she takes a few hesitant steps closer to me. I do what feels like the most selfish act imaginable—I begin to cry.

She opens her arms and holds me as I hang my head against her shoulder. Kitty, my strong, feisty, bossy therapist, who has helped me to see the world again, and who is sick, holds
me
, as I cry.

After leaving Kitty, it takes me fifteen minutes from the time I reach where I’d left the then smaller group to find Danny was moved and has to stay in the hospital for at least tonight. The room is swimming with people. Voices and movements stop as I step into the room. I’m certain it’s because my face is blotchy and tear-stained. Though no one actually says anything, they all quietly file out into the hall.