Debt, page 18
I’m in the changeroom now. Tonight’s an open-air fight, but the fighters have a makeshift place to change in. Jenny’s in front of me, trying to keep me calm. Doc Vanquort is outside, front row. Jenny convinced him to come over, and she dressed the part, just like she did last night. She looks like she’s having fun with him. I don’t know if it’ll last. I hope it does.
“You told her not to see you before the fight, didn’t you?” Jenny asks.
“Yeah.”
“So? What’s the problem?”
The problem is this terrible feeling I have in the pit of my stomach. “Nerves,” I say. “Just nerves. Happens before every fight.”
“She’ll be here,” she says. “Now go out there and win for her so she can get good and horny for you.”
I look up at Jenny, cock an eyebrow.
“Hey, I’m trying to be cool about this.”
“By using words like horny. It’s so unlike you.”
“Like I said, I’m trying, now don’t embarrass me.”
“Thanks for being here,” I say.
“Oh, Logan, you’re such a heartbreaker.”
Jenny deserves a good man, a better man than the prick of a husband she once had. I decide to keep my eyes open for her. I owe her. And I’ll repay that debt even if she doesn’t want me to.
I step out into the open air. The turnout is not huge, maybe a couple hundred people.
Tyler’s here ‘for old time’s sake.’ I think he wants to check if I still have it, to decide for certain if he’s really willing to bestow the Hard Knocks brand name on me.
I plan on showing him he can.
Hands touch me as I walk through the crowd. A blond screams and pushes up her tits graphically, beer in her left hand. Some overweight dudes look at me suspiciously. I feel the rhythm of the cheers and roars fill into my blood. This is my world. My world. I know this world. It’s the only world I do know.
I take it slow today. The announcer hasn’t called out my name, and I’m jumping the gun. I’m a little distracted. Where is she?
My eyes are darting left and right, dying, dying to see her.
But she’s nowhere, nowhere to be seen, and neither is her blond friend Vera.
Which angers me.
Right now, in this crowd, it angers me.
I realize I’m halfway toward the cage. The announcer still hasn’t called out my name. I stop, jog on the spot. Some chick screams a shrill scream next to me. “Oh Debt Collector I fucking love you! I’ll suck you, baby! I’ll fucking suck you!”
I try and block her words from my mind. A piece of meat. Nothing but a piece of meat to these people.
I’ll show them. When I’m in that cage, I’ll show them I mean something. I’ll bloody show them.
The same images that appear before every fight start making their way into my mind, images I bring up on purpose, to remind me why I do this.
Mom.
Dad.
Morty.
Blood.
ALL DEBTS MUST BE PAID.
“Annnnnnd now. All the way from the SLUMS of Eeeeeeennnnnngland. Ladies love him. Men fear him. His fists are rocks and girls want his—ahem.” The crowd roars. Girls scream. I jog on the spot, getting ready, pumping myself up. Mom. Dad. Morty. “Unloved. Misunderstood. Hated. Despised in the Big Fights, but LOVED by us. He pays his debts. And he expects others to pay them too. And when they don’t...he comes to COLLECT!” Another mad roar, exploding, people stamping their feet, clapping, going insane for blood. “He is the one, the only, the deadly, the lonely...DEBT....COLLECTORRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR.”
I charge.
The crowd explodes.
Mom.
Dad.
Morty.
And then...another thought, one that enrages me more than any thought ever could in the past. It—makes—me—want—to—kill—my—opponent. It dawns on me like thunder, the realization, the truth of it. I know. I know like I knew when I saw her, like I knew when my mother died.
This is what I know: Kyla isn’t here. And she isn’t going to be here.
The dude I’m fighting doesn’t stand a chance.
Never have I felt rage like I do now.
He’s down in ten seconds.
And the fight is over.
The crowd is stunned, stunned, silent—and then they burst, mad, in an uproar as to how I just annihilated The Terminator in a fury of fists and power that I didn’t even know I had inside me.
The announcer doesn’t even know what to say. “My God. My... The Terminator must have owed the Debt Collector more than he could afford.” Someone grabs my wrist, but I snatch it away.
Where is she? Where is she!
My wrist is grabbed again, someone wanting to raise it to show I’m the victor. I let it go, storm around the cage. Kyla, where are you? Where are you, damn it?
“The winner—The Debt...COLLECTORRRRRRRRR!”
Running around the cage, looking, looking, nowhere. She’s nowhere.
I run out of the cage, through the crowd, ignoring the hands reaching out for me.
I slam into the makeshift changeroom, pull out my bag, my phone, fumble to turn it on. Vaguely I hear Jenny’s voice behind me. I don’t know what she says. “Come on!” I shout at the phone, waiting for it to turn on.
It does, finally, endlessly.
I scroll to the messages. Wait. Wait. Wait.
Wait.
The phone feels suddenly heavy in my hands.
No text. No text at all.
I told her to text me if it was over. She hasn’t sent me any text at all. “Something’s wrong,” I say. I stand, and see Jenny behind me. “Something’s wrong,” I repeat. “She would have texted me. That was the deal. She would have texted if she wanted nothing to do with me.”
Jenny’s head tilts to the left sympathetically, and I see in her eyes what she’s seeing as she looks at me: She didn’t text you at all, because she didn’t want to.
She’s right.
Fuck. I clutch the phone, start for the door, realize I forgot my bag, snatch it, and I’m out. In my truck. Screeching, roaring tires. Fuck the damn winnings. Fuck ’em.
I hit the road. Drive. Drive. Drive. No, not the winnings. Jesus Christ, not the damn winnings. I pick up my phone, search for Jenny’s number. She can pick them up. They know her.
I hunt for the number, looking down, not looking at the road... Trying to dial, trying to call.
I hear a loud, honking horn. BAWWWWWWWWW! BAWWWWWWW!
By the time I lift my eyes to the road, it’s too late.
I feel the crash before I hear it.
My truck tumbles, turns, rolls, slides off the road with a screech. The windows shatter. I hear screaming, shouting, howling, a boom as my truck hits something else, upside down now.
I don’t realize I’ve hit my head until I taste blood in my mouth.
And then I pass out.
-2-
I wake up to the sound of beeping. There’s a brunette at my side, and I feel a terrible longing when I realize it isn’t Kyla.
“How long—how long...“
“Three days,” Jenny says.
Every bone in my body aches. “I feel like shit.”
“You should. Broken femur, tibia, three smashed fingers. Concussion. You’re lucky you didn’t die out there, Logan.”
My head hurts, and I struggle to think. Last time I was in a hospital... Kyla. Goddamnit, every time I end up in one of these places that girl is involved.
I knew she was trouble the first time I saw her, and yet I went for her. I went for her like a fool.
“Do you remember what happened?” Jenny asks.
“I was on my phone—”
“You were on your phone?”
“Yeah, I was on my phone and—”
“Logan.”
“—I was trying to—”
“Logan, stop.”
“Huh?”
“Don’t tell anyone you were on your phone.”
“What?”
“The semi that hit you—”
“I got hit by a fricking semi?” (We call them lorries in England.)
“Yeah.”
“Jesus Christ.”
“Logan, he was drunk. The guy was drunk. He drove straight into you, hit you on the side of the car and it tumbled. Don’t mention the goddamn phone or you’ll lose what their company will pay in settlement fees.”
“Settlement fees?”
“You weren’t the only one he hit, Logan. Four car pile-up. But you were the first one. If he hadn’t hit you, he would’ve gone straight into the family of four behind you. You were the buffer, the only reason they’re still alive, which means the driver saves on manslaughter charges because of you, and the company he drives for is willing to pay you big money not to sue.”
“I can’t fucking believe this.”
“Fifty thousand dollars, Logan. Fifty fucking grand for you to let it slide.”
I blink a few times. It’s the drugs. Yes, that’s what it is, the drugs. They gave me powerful, mind-altering drugs in this hospital and I’m dreaming and I need to wake up.
I push my head back. I’m gonna go back to sleep so I can wake up.
“Logan?”
I open my eyes.
“Did you hear me?”
I close my eyes, still dreaming...but when Jenny’s hand clasps my wrist and yanks it—
“This isn’t a fucking dream, is it?”
“No, Logan. Just...” She lowers her voice. “Just don’t mention the goddamn phone.”
“Fine, I won’t.”
“This is it, Logan. You don’t have to fight anymore. You don’t have to fight!”
But she’s wrong. Jenny doesn’t have the full details of what I’ve paid for Ailee. Ailee needs three more years covered. Fifty grand will barely cover two, not after living expenses.
But even if it did cover the whole thing, the thought of not fighting anymore sends a dagger through my heart.
No more fighting. No more.
And the thought paralyzes me.
“Doesn’t that make you excited, Logan?”
The only reason I wanted to give up the cage was to give me and Kyla a fighting chance, because I wanted to take the distance away from whatever I thought we had going.
But without her...all I have are the fights.
Without them, I mean nothing, nothing to no one.
“Logan?”
“Yeah, yeah, uhm, it’s great, yeah. And I won’t...mention the phone. I won’t.”
Jenny’s smiling brightly, relieved, happy, holding on to my wrist.
She must have been by my side for three days.
I see a scene playing out in front of me. Me and Jenny, a house, me teaching little kids how to fight, making a small living, nothing big. She’d be the big bread winner. The sex would be decent. Jenny’s good in bed, she knows how to please a man. We’d go to dinners and I’d dress in a suit. She wouldn’t make me change who I am and she wouldn’t want me to. She wouldn’t care what other people think of me. Maybe sometimes we’d go to a cabin, have some decent, romantic sex out by a lake or maybe even in a lake.
Why do I think there’s something wrong with that picture? It all looks so perfect. It looks so much like it’s Supposed To Be.
What’s missing?
What, damn it?
The fire.
Jenny and I are the heartbreak that can never mend itself, because it doesn’t work. We smile, we’re comfortable, we’re easy.
Too easy.
I care for her, I do. I always have, and I always will. But she’s the easy out for me. I’m the easy out for her as well. She needs to realize this. She’s shy. She’s afraid of getting hurt like she was before. She knows I won’t hurt her, so she clings to me. But she needs to get out there, to fight the good fight and show men what she has to offer (which is a lot, and I’ll break the guy’s jaw who doesn’t treat her right.)
And she needs to not be afraid of losing.
If you take the fight away from me, I need something else that keeps that fire alive inside me. As much as I love Jenny (and love has many meanings), this doesn’t exist between us.
The love between me and Jenny is written in fluffy pink clouds.
I’m not a fluffy guy.
I look over at her, twist my wrist out of her grip and grab hers firmly instead. “Jenny,” I say.
I see in her eyes that she’s already afraid of what I’m about to say.
“I can’t give up fighting.”
~Nineteen~
Kyla
-1-
I’m a zombie for most of the drive. And we make it from Derby to Long Island in just over three days. Very few stops. Very little talking. Vera has my back, and she didn’t push the point of trying to get me to smile when she knew I couldn’t.
I told her we should visit some parks and then we did but when she saw I couldn’t get into it she said, “Hon, you know I’m here for you, don’t you? Then stop thinking I’m not having a good time doing just that. We’re gonna go see your dad. And he’s gonna give you the answers you need. And you can mope and weep and cry and wail as much as you want in the passenger seat. Because I know you’d do the same for me.” We hugged. I wept (again.) And then we drove, non-stop, ending off late at night, and making it into Suffolk County around mid-afternoon.
I was beat, completely broken, and if I saw my dad now I’d probably lose my cool too easily because I was so tired.
Vera and I found a motel and fell asleep before six. We slept until early the next morning. Monday. Dad would be in the middle of his Taking Over The World workaday. I hadn’t bothered to get a new phone yet. I didn’t want to see any of Logan’s lying messages telling me he missed me or some fucking crap because I wasn’t at his goddamn fight.
But I needed it now to call my dad, and before calling him I needed to know what his answer to my text was (if there was an answer.)
There was. And when I saw his name pop up on the incoming messages, I was almost too afraid to look at it.
But all it said was OK.
OK.
OK?
Well, it could have been worse. He could have said, No. Or Fuck off. Or, I’ve disinherited you, didn’t you get the memo?
But it said OK, which I guess was...OK.
I called him to tell him that I was in town, and asked him when he’d have time to see me. “You’re in town? Damn it, Kyla, you should have let me know first. I... I’m totally unprepared.”
Right.
“Well, I’m here, dad. I mean, I’m your daughter, remember?” Fine, that was too mean. Gotta keep him cool if I’m gonna get the answers I need.
“No need to get snide, Kyla. I’m busy. Money doesn’t grow on trees. Look, could you come over on the weekend. Things will be freer then.”
“The weekend?”
“Yes.”
“I guess.”
“Saturday morning. Hold on.” I hear some papers being shuffled. “No, not Saturday, I’m meeting with LT Systems then. Damn it. Sunday, Sunday, Sunday... Yeah, Sunday, between ten and eleven.”
Glad you could squeeze me in, Mr. Hensley. Shall I bring those contracts you requested? If I wasn’t so desperate to get the answers I needed I’d tell him to fuck off. “Fine. Sunday.”
I hang on the phone for a bit, just to hear those three words from him, those three words I rarely heard growing up.
“Is that all?” he asks. Three words.
“Yeah.”
-2-
Vera and I hit the malls, and then we hit the bars. What else is there to do?
She’s checking out the talent and I couldn’t be less interested.
The bar we’re in reminds me too much of when I was growing up, the innocent girl I used to be. It even brings back memories of Madelyn. She and I had been friends since middle school. She got into guys before I did, way before. But before that, we were just two young girls who read a lot of books and rode our bicycles. I even played the guitar a bit. Not a lot. I sucked. But it was a dream, a hopeless dream.
Mads cheated on her first real boyfriend. I think she was fifteen then. And I’m pretty sure she was deflowered already at that young age. I should have taken that as a warning sign, but she always denied it when I asked her.
Vera doesn’t look too excited about the talent either, surprisingly. She clutches to her beer and lets her eyes roam around. A guy on the other side of the bar bought us drinks thirty minutes ago and we drank them, but Vera has completely avoided his gaze. He’s good looking. Tall with black hair and wearing a sports coat. By this time, Vera would be blinking her eyes at him and looking up bashfully and playing the scene just right so the dude would have nothing on his mind but getting under her skirt within twenty minutes.
She isn’t even trying.
“Don’t hold back because of me,” I say.
“Hmm?”
“Mr. Good Looking. Go for him.”
Vera flicks her hand in the air aimlessly, looks down at her beer.
“C’mon. That I’m heartbroken doesn’t mean you should be, too. You haven’t been with someone since Nashville.”
“So?” Her eyes are still looking down. She extracts her gaze from the beer, looks up at me with such a sad face I think I might melt.
I understand. No need to mention it. Jake. It’s only then that I remember I texted him, and that I realize he didn’t text me back. Best not to tell her. “What are you gonna do?”
She shrugs weakly.
“You gonna call him?”
“Nah,” she clucks, waving her hand again.
“You think he doesn’t love you.”
She looks down at the half-empty beer glass. (Yes, half-empty.) “It’s not that,” she says.
“But?”
She sighs, reluctant to speak.
“Vera, talk to me.”
She looks up at me with her brilliant green eyes.
“I—”
But she doesn’t have time to finish. Mr. Good Looking from earlier appears out of nowhere next to her, a dashing smile on his face, super confident. “Ladies?” he says, expecting us to melt and drop our panties right here for him. On another night, he’d have a chance. Nothing outwardly bad about this guy. Professional, tall, slightly tanned skin.
“I hope you enjoyed your drinks.”
