Текст книги "Finding Me "
Автор книги: Mariah Dietz
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Текущая страница: 5 (всего у книги 19 страниц)
“Your turn to save me,” Danny says, grinning.
I look up to see the blonde waitress approaching with a look of determination.
“Wait until the food comes. I don’t want her spitting in it,” Fitz hisses, nodding to Danny’s empty chair.
Danny laughs and turns to return to his seat. As she arrives, her face gives way to her relief as she wedges herself between Danny and Fitz, so that I can barely see her. “Hey, Danny! Your order is in. I just wanted to see if there was anything else that you guys need?”
Danny quickly glances over to Fitz and me, and I try to discreetly gesture to Fitz’s water glass. He turns back to the waitress and smiles but leans back on his stool.
“Could we get some more water?”
The crowd drowns out her reply as they yell and cheer in unison, but I catch the hint of her smile before she turns and wades through the crowds. Fitz leans forward and says something to Danny that I’m not able to make out over the residual noise, and my eyes scan over the back of the bar where a group of men are acting like cajoling monkeys.
As the noise begins to recede to a loud hum that allows me to make out the sounds of Fitz’s and Danny’s voices, a curtain of screams and squeals erupt. I turn in my seat to see several women shoving through the tables, followed by a chorus of objections from the patrons.
“Shit,” Danny groans. I look over to see his eyes scan over the bar.
“Alright, H, help him out,” Fitz says, tipping his water glass back to empty it in one gulp as though it’s something stronger.
“What am I missing?”
“Harper, please don’t slap me. We’re only friends. I know that, and I’m sorry to use you.” The words flow quickly from Danny’s mouth as he rounds the table.
“Danny, I love you!” The screaming declaration breaks my attention for a moment as I look up to realize the intention of these women.
Danny’s hands slide along my jaw on either side, and before I can stop it, or question if I want to stop it, he kisses me.
The bar erupts in catcalls and whistles as Danny’s arm slinks to my back, and he dips me slightly as his lips move over mine for several moments.
“Thanks,” Danny whispers in my ear as he rights me. His hand brushes along my hair, tucking it behind one ear, as he somehow seems to manage to smile even broader.
Danny moves his stool beside mine as we watch a few men and some officers that have appeared to escort the women out of the bar. Thoughts and emotions work to break through the tiled façade I’ve buried them under. I keep them at bay by finishing my beer as our food arrives with a man that apologizes for the inconvenience, offering us more drinks that we decline.
When we finally stand up to leave, Danny accompanies us. It takes an exorbitant amount of time for us to cross the small bar with people approaching Danny, pleading for autographs and pictures.
“Alright, handsome, I think much more and you’re going to lose your friends.” A large, bald black man appears, his voice deep and husky as he creates a human barrier between Danny and another group of fans.
Danny places a hand on the small of my back that had I not seen in the reflection of the window we just passed, I wouldn’t have known was there due to my many layers. The cold air hits me like a wall as it usually does here, causing my muscles to constrict painfully.
“What are you guys doing Saturday?” Danny asks, undeterred by the freezing temperatures.
“I’ll text you her number, but her California blood is too thin for this weather,” Fitz says, wrapping an arm around my shoulders.
“Okay, where’s your phone, friend?” Danny asks, taking a step closer to us.
My muscles protest as I move my arm from around my middle to retrieve my phone from my purse.
Danny takes it from my grasp with a smile. His fingers move quickly over the screen before retrieving his own phone and looking at it with a satisfied expression, then hands me back my own phone.
“Don’t trust me?” Fitz teases.
“Some things you can’t leave in the hands of others,” Danny replies, wrapping an arm around Fitz. He pulls back with a laugh and then engulfs me in his arms.
“I’ll see you Saturday.”
“I didn’t say yes.”
“You will.” He winks, squeezing my hand for a brief second. Then he slowly releases my fingers, allowing the cold to assault my skin with vengeance against the warmth he left behind. I hear him laugh as he follows the large black man that’s clearly giving him a hard time down the road.
“Best. Friend. Ever.” Fitz tugs me closer, and we walk with me under his arm to the car. “I should wear a badge. No, no, a medal!” he cries, patting a spot on his chest as we make it back to his car. “I bet you can find one online.”
When I get home, the silence swallows me. The threat of impending thoughts has me deliberately drawing out the process of getting ready for bed in an attempt to avoid them. I watch several episodes of a sitcom that I manage to laugh at a few times with only slight force as my mind quietly buzzes.
Eventually, I turn it off and let out a deep breath as I close my eyes and lie back. The night begins unraveling, one thread at a time. The kiss had been so sudden and such a surprise it hadn’t fully registered until just now. I press my fingers to my lips at the memory of feeling Danny’s, soft and warm, against mine, his chin slightly rough. My eyes fill with tears, and I get up and go back to the bathroom and begin brushing my teeth, though I had just moments ago. I scrub until my gums burn and my eyes release a new stream of tears.
I lie in bed again, feeling like my chest has been stuffed with cotton. I can’t breathe. I can hear the condescending tone of my heart as images fly through my mind—images of Max smiling and laughing, looking at me with adoration and love. I can feel his skin warm against me, taste his lips as they touch mine. My breath hitches as a sharp, gut-wrenching ache forces me to curl into myself and grasp my chest to make sure I haven’t somehow been physically ripped open.
I need comfort. I need to hear him, to feel him, to smell him. But I can’t, and the fact causes my pain to intensify. I reach for my phone and hit a couple of buttons, fighting the guilt for calling so late.
“Hey!” her chipper voice is so clear, it sounds like it could be beside me, rather than across the country.
I take a deep breath and close my eyes.
“Ace? Are you okay?”
The sound of concern in Kendall’s voice only makes it worse. A strangled cry emits from my throat as I picture the expression that I know accompanies her current tone.
“Oh, Ace, what happened? Are you alright?” I hear a few quiet murmurs in the background, but can’t distinguish any of it over my gasps of breath.
“I can’t get over him,” I choke out. “I don’t know how to make it go away.”
“Oh, Ace.”
“I got kissed tonight,” I whisper, wiping at my cheeks that are wet from tears.
She doesn’t reply. I can imagine her trying to figure out what to say to encourage me that everything will be alright. It’s horrible that I need to hear her tell me that I should come back, and that Max and I will get back together, because after all, I’m not sure that I can go back.
“Maybe it’s because it was the first time? Maybe this had to happen for it to get easier.” Her words cripple me. Kendall’s my only sister that doesn’t ask about boys or dating, like she understands that my heart won’t stop loving Max, but this advice speaks in volumes to me. It tells me she thinks it’s over.
“Destiny is a name often given in retrospect to choices that had dramatic consequences.”
– J.K. Rowling
“How are you feeling today, Harper?”
Our hour always begins with this same simple, overly common question that I’ve begun to loathe. Traditionally, this greeting can be evaded so easily with a smile or a returned question. That’s never the case with Kitty. She seems to really want to know.
It’s been a couple of weeks since she brought up my dad and the reasons for me moving out here. When I returned, I didn’t apologize for leaving the following week, and she didn’t either. Maybe we both know that she pushed too hard. Or maybe we both know that I’m just not ready for her to push that hard.
“I don’t know.”
Kitty waits patiently. I’m tempted to wait with her, see how long she can actually tolerate this silence.
I don’t last long. “Fitz and I went to a bar Friday, and this guy that Fitz knows asked me out.”
Kitty’s head tilts to the side. “You’re concerned about going out and having a good time?” I don’t protest. I don’t know how to explain my objections without sounding a little crazy. “Harper, time will always pass, but sometimes you forget to pay attention until it’s too late.”
“Too late for me to go out with this guy? Or too late to fix things?”
“What do you think?”
“I don’t know.”
“Why don’t we discuss Max a little today? Perhaps that will help you find the answer you’re seeking.”
I shift in my seat, already uncomfortable with the mere thought of where this conversation will lead. My fingers trace along the seat cushion.
“Do you think that your connection to Max could be so strong because he’s the only man you’ve ever slept with? That you feel like you’re committing an indiscretion by caring for another person?”
I’m slightly shocked by her words. Generally, she never allots me feelings or thoughts, always working to prod them from me. I shake my head and shrug at the same time. “No.” Her eyes obviously catch the small shrug, and I reiterate. “I think that I would feel like I was committing an indiscretion, but I don’t think the reason I feel that way is because I’ve only slept with him.”
“What made you decide that you were ready to give your virtue to Max? Obviously, you had waited a very long time.”
“I just knew,” I say, blinking back the memories and Kendall’s taunting voice in my head for Kitty using the word virtue. “I think I knew way before I admitted it to myself that I loved Max.”
“Were you in any serious relationships before Max?”
I nod. “Yeah, I dated several guys. I was just always reluctant to go that far for some reason. It had just never felt right.”
“Do you think that you were afraid to sleep with other guys prior to Max because of what happened to you at that party?”
“No.” I shake my head, working to explain to her what I already know. “No, I had sex with Max because I was ready, and I wanted to. I dated a lot of people before he and I got together, but they never gave me the same feelings that he had.”
“I’m glad. That … situation…” She pauses, and I can hear her thoughts, though she doesn’t voice them. We spent most of last week discussing the last night of my drinking at parties after Kendall called me last Wednesday.
“Hey, Kendall,” I’d answered with ease. I had feared that things would become more strained with my sisters and me when I made the decision to take some time away from our mom. I didn’t ask my sisters to do the same, and was reluctant to tell them all initially, concerned I’d influence their decisions. However, if anything, Kendall’s and my relationship seems to have reached a new level of growth. We’ve always talked about things, but often times we experienced so many situations together that we were usually sharing different perspectives, inside jokes, or filling in details. Now we explain our completely separate lives to one another—something that is much harder, but feels even more significant.
“Did he hurt you?” I could hear the trepidation in Kendall’s voice, and it had me stopping in the middle of the aisle with my shopping cart still only half-filled with the groceries I was in dire need of.
“What? Someone hurt you?”
“What did Nathan Hudson do?”
My blood ran cold and my focus was forced to split from the fear of what she had heard to who in the hell told her something. “What are you talking about?”
“What did Nathan Hudson do, Ace? Did he hurt you?” Her voice rose with an intensity that made the small hairs on my arms and back of my neck rise.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” My voice was strained, desperate to deflect the entire conversation.
“Goddammit, Ace, please!” I couldn’t imagine her face with the unfamiliar tone that echoed back at me. I didn’t know if she was ready to cry or scream. “Swear to me, swear to me he didn’t touch you.”
“I don’t understand what you’re talking about. Who have you been talking to?”
“Oh my God …” Her voice had become so quiet that I missed a few of her words as a mom came around the corner with a cart full of toddlers fighting over something. “…why didn’t you tell me?”
“There’s nothing to tell.”
“When did it happen?”
“You know why I hate him,” I urged.
“Is it why you left?”
“Are you listening to me?”
“Why didn’t you tell anyone?” Her voice was forceful, impatient, and filled with tears.
“Kendall, stop. You have no idea what you’re talking about. This isn’t something we’re discussing.”
“Like hell we’re not discussing th—”
I hung up.
Then I’d turned off my phone before she could call back and abandoned my shopping cart.
I had to go see Kitty an hour later and was still shaken about the situation, still trying to figure out who in the hell was talking about things and why, after it had been so long.
“My sister’s upset with me.”
“Why is that?”
“Because she wants to discuss something, and I don’t want to.”
“Why not?”
“Because there are certain things that are best left buried.”
“You know, the things that you bury are typically the same things that have inflicted the most pain.”
My palms rub together nervously, while my mind anxiously reached for a safe topic to discuss.
“Why is she insisting on discussing it with you?” Kitty continued.
“I don’t know. I don’t even know what, or how she knows.”
“Harper, why are you concerned about her knowing?”
I turned my gaze to Fuego the Betta Fish, and wait.
“Harper, I want you to remember what I’ve been discussing with you. The only way that I can help you—and that you can help yourself—is if you’re willing to actually face situations like these that you want to bury in the sand.”
I swallowed and shook my head. “Nothing happened.” My throat was dry, making my voice sound slightly raspy. I cleared it and repeated the words.
“If nothing happened then why won’t you discuss it with her or with me?”
Sighing heavily, I focused my attention on my fingers. My skin was dry from the cold and washing them so often at the lab. I released a deep breath and my mind went blank because I had very few images of that night to go back to. “A couple of years ago, I was at a party and drank way too much. Way too much. I was there with a couple of different friends, but knew mostly everyone. I was fighting with my mom about where to go to school and still trying to figure out what I was going to go to school for, and was just feeling overwhelmed and frustrated. And so I did something really stupid. I got wasted beyond belief, with no one knowing to watch out for me.” I paused to run a hand over my bicep as chills licked at my skin.
“The next day I woke up in the hospital. I learned from a nurse that I had to have my stomach pumped from alcohol poisoning.”
Kitty hid it fairly well, but I could see her own surprise. We hadn’t really discussed anything that could be considered crazy or even shocking, besides the fact that I was nearly twenty before I lost my virginity—that one seemed to have surprised her.
“I was horrified when I woke up. I couldn’t believe that I had drunk so much and was so irresponsible. My parents freaked out. Later, one of my good friends Jess, stopped in, and she asked me if I could remember anything that had happened. I couldn’t of course. I could barely recall much past the first hour of being there, but she told me that she had found me in a bathroom with four guys that were undressing me and videotaping it.”
Seconds ticked by, and I allowed them to be filled with silence. I had never repeated the story to anyone outside of a nurse and later a doctor that assured me that they had been caught before doing any physical harm to me.
“Harper, one out of every five women is sexually abused in their lives. That’s the statistic that’s reported. However, in my personal and professional opinion, I know that number is far greater. I’m sorry you had to experience that situation. You’re right, you were not being responsible that night, but that in no way gave them the right to do what they did. You shouldn’t feel embarrassed to tell your sister or anyone else what happened.”
“I can’t tell her.”
“Why not?”
“She would be so ashamed of me. Not for what happened, but for not doing anything about it when it did.”
Kitty patiently listened as I continued to tell her my fears and concerns and then encouraged me to press charges. I explained to her that I knew I should have and wished that I had, but I didn’t even know who was in that room or what occurred.
Kitty’s legs cross, bringing me back to the moment, but I can’t rid the acidic feeling in my stomach for thinking about the conversation and that night again. “I’m glad it didn’t ruin the moment for you when you were ready.”
“It didn’t,” I assure her.
“So how are you feeling about going out with this new guy that you met?”
“He kissed me. Danny, that’s his name. He kissed me.”
“Did you want him to kiss you?”
“I don’t know.”
“Are you afraid of your feelings for him?”
“No. I just don’t know what I’m feeling. I have so many emotions running through me, that I feel like I’m about to lose my mind. And somehow, I keep coming back to the fact that my mom is engaged and wondering how in the hell she’s able to cope and get married to someone, when I freak out after a guy kisses me. Am I the deranged one, or is she?”
Kitty smiles at me and places her pen on the pad of paper that always sits on her lap while we meet. “Harper, neither one of you is deranged. You’re both trying to navigate your own way through life. There are no stoplights, maps, or billboards that can help us choose what path is going to be right for us. People move at different paces and take detours, while others remain on a focused journey. But there’s no way to say which route is correct; each person’s journey is right for them.”
“How can each person’s journey be right for them when some people do really terrible things?”
“There are always exceptions. I’m just speaking in broad terms. Let’s say you’re supposed to be here. Part of your path consists of moving to Delaware so you have the opportunity to learn more about yourself and what you want to get out of this trip that we call life. Maybe your future husband lives here. Or maybe he lives in Kentucky. There’s no way to know for certain, and you can’t plan that out. All that you can do is choose to be present during your life, and pay attention.”
“I can’t believe you’re making me be the third wheel on your date,” Fitz grumbles from the passenger seat of my car.
“It’s not a date. We’re all just hanging out.”
Fitz turns in his seat so that he’s facing me. I feel his eyes burning into me but pretend that I don’t.
“It’s not anymore, because you invited me.”
“It’s a barbecue at his parents’ house, Fitz. That isn’t a date. That’s either casual or something you do far, far, far down the road as a couple. I elect to believe that it’s a casual affair. And Danny had no problem with you coming. In fact, he said he thought it was a great idea.”
Fitz sighs again. “One day I’m going to get you drunk enough that you tell me about Max and what he did to you.”
“I’ve already told, you he didn’t do anything. We broke up.”
“Yeah, but people break up and then start dating again.”
“Fitz.” His name leaves me as a warning, and he accepts it by closing his mouth and turning back in his seat.
“Are you sure he said barbecue?” Fitz asks after a few awkward moments of silence.
“Apparently Detroit people are tougher than you New Yorkers,” I joke, turning on my windshield wipers as snow begins falling, adding to the thin layer already coating the ground. February and snow: I never knew those two co-existed.
I put the car in park and check my phone three times to ensure we’re at the correct house. It’s moderately sized and still has Christmas lights lining the roof.
We both exit the car and are halfway to the front door when it swings open and Danny emerges with his grin even bigger than I remembered.
“Hey, guys!” he calls, taking a step outside wearing only a T-shirt and jeans, seeming completely oblivious to the arctic tempered winds blowing around us.
Fitz and I hurry up the porch stairs and into the house, which is warm and filled with the scents of barbecue sauce and something fresh, like laundry detergent. We step into a formal living room that’s clean, but lived in.
Fitz and I begin the process of removing our layers as a couple walks into the room, dressed casually in jeans and sweatshirts.
“Mom, Dad, this is Harper and Maxwell.”
Danny’s dad smiles and it’s apparent where he inherited his dimples. The two look so similar it’s a little shocking. Danny’s smile is a little wider, his shoulders broader, and his hair is a lighter shade of brown, but other than that, the two are a matching set.
He steps forward, shaking Fitz’s hand and then mine. “It’s a pleasure to meet you both. I’m Daniel, and this is my lovely wife, Diane,” he says, waving a hand to Danny’s mom, who steps forward and rather than shaking our hands, hugs each of us. It’s a gesture that used to be second nature to me, and yet currently has me reaching to recall the movements.
As she pulls back, her hands clutch mine, and she smiles at me. Her lips go a little higher on the right side of her face, making her smile slightly crooked. I find the detail to be similar to Danny’s slanted bottom teeth that catch my attention when he smiles—a perfect imperfection. Diane’s dark blond hair is pulled back in a clip that several strands have managed to evade, and she seems completely unconcerned over the fact. She’s tall and a little on the heavy side, but carries herself with confidence, adding to her beauty.
“The girls will be down in just a moment. They were really excited to hear that you have four sisters yourself, Harper. But don’t ask if their names are Donna or Debbie, or anything else with a D. They don’t seem to find the humor in that these days.”
“It’s never been funny, Dad,” Danny says, shaking his head.
Danny’s family is warm and inviting and brings a sense of familiarity that has been lost to me for nearly a year. I loved meeting Fitz’s family, but Danny’s is a similar size to my own and filled with a familiar sense of love and acceptance. I laugh at the jokes about having sisters and share my own stories about growing up with such a large family.
Although Fitz only agreed to come along after I had threatened to request a transfer at work, I can tell that he’s enjoying himself. Diane is so warm and friendly that I’m pretty sure she could make a mime speak, and Daniel cooks what are quite possibly the best barbecued ribs, chicken, and vegetables I’ve ever had.
After dinner, we gather around the living room. We talk as a football game quietly plays in the background, occasionally distracting one or more of the guys, and his oldest sister, Paige, who seems to have more interest in the outcome than any of the others.
“Danny mentioned that you’re going to school to be a doctor,” Diane says, leaning forward in her seat as a cheer is directed to the screen.
“I’m going to be applying for medical school to get my doctorate, but it won’t be to actually see patients. I’m going into the research side.”
“That’s amazing!” Her blue eyes remain focused on mine as she smiles proudly. “I consider going back to practice someday. I was a pediatric medical assistant until we moved out here. It’s hard. I enjoy staying home, but I miss it.”
“You miss the babies,” Daniel says. “You just need Danny to make some grandbabies and then you’ll be happy.”
“Danny needs to move out if he wants to make some babies. No girl is going to marry him living here. Huh, Harper?” Danny’s sister Addison asks.
I feel my cheeks heat as Danny’s youngest sister, Grace, turns to see my response.
“Oh stop,” Diane intervenes. “When Danny’s ready to take that step he will.” I’m not positive if she’s referring to babies or moving out, but don’t delve into either possibility. Thankfully, Grace is more interested in where I got my jeans than she is in what will be two of her brother’s biggest decisions in life.
A few weeks later, February is about to end and I find myself staring at a vase of white orchids that were delivered moments ago. Each bloom is so perfect I have to brush one of the petals with my finger and thumb to verify they’re real. They are breathtaking—but they aren’t peonies.
“What are those?” Fitz asks in a sing-song voice, startling me from my trance. “Oh, Danny did good.”
I haven’t opened the card to confirm they’re from Danny, but we both seem to know that’s who they’re from.
“What did the card say?”
“I haven’t read it yet. They just got here.”
Fitz’s eyebrows rise to show his disbelief in my delay, then slides the vase closer to me.
I fish through several stems to reach the card and pull it from the small plastic bracket.
Harper,
Please, for the love of my record, come to my match Saturday.
Otherwise, I’ll be too distracted wondering what you’re doing.
My victory depends on you—no pressure. ;)
Love,
Danny
“That good?”
I slide the two tickets between my thumb and forefinger so Fitz can see them.
“Harper, do you realize how great these seats are? We’re going to be able to smell their sweat!”
My nose crinkles at the thought, and I drop my hand holding the tickets to the table. “Fitz, this is edging dangerously close to dating. I’ve hung out with him like five times in two weeks. Two of them … by myself.” I enunciate my last words since Fitz had called last minute to cancel on both occasions, claiming things had “come up.”
“Oh, come on! I’ll buy you a cotton candy!” Fitz pleads, palming the two tickets that are addressed to each of us.
“Fitz, I’m not ready to date. That one kiss about broke me. I don’t want to hurt him.”
“Hurt him? Wait until you see how tough he is, then you won’t be nearly so concerned.”
“Hardy har har,” I reply sarcastically.
“And not to hurt your feelings, babe, but he’s pretty well known—if that little scene at the bar was any indication for you. I don’t mean to sound chauvinistic, but there are a lot of women that voluntarily throw themselves at Danny.” I find Fitz’s words to be far more comforting than hurtful as I finally agree to go.
The match is apparently a pretty big deal, though it’s untelevised. Danny moved from amateur to professional boxing, and he’s admitted to me that he’s still feeling a bit out of his element.
People are going crazy by the time the match starts, screaming obscenities that make no sense, and are filled with rage. It has me feeling a little uneasy. Fitz sits beside me, undeterred as he looks up the stats on Danny’s opponent, Theo Duvall, more commonly known in the arena as Midnight Assassin.
“These nicknames are ridiculous,” I comment, reading a list of competitors that the Midnight Assassin has already defeated. “What’s Danny’s name?”
Fitz’s eyes dance as he looks at me with obvious amusement. “Double D.”
My eyes roll to the ceiling. “Oh my God, that’s even worse,” I cry, clasping a hand to my forehead. “Double D? Are you serious?”
“Harper! Fitz!”
My tirade on how unbelievably stupid and sexist I find Danny’s nickname falls short as I turn to see Daniel approaching, wearing a smile as though the match is already over and Danny had been claimed the victor.
“Hey, guys! Danny will be upset I didn’t catch you sooner. He wanted to see you before the match started. He’s getting stretched right now and trying to focus. I’ll let him know that you’re here, but things are about to get started so we’ll have to wait until it’s over to bring you back. Here,” he says, handing both of us a small tote. “This whole match has been kind of a mess. These were supposed to come sooner, but this place is under new management. There are backstage passes for after the match, some water and drink vouchers, and some other stuff.”
“Wow, thank you,” I say in surprise, looking over to see Fitz rifling through his bag with an infectious amount of enthusiasm. “Thank you so much. This is really way too generous.”
“He’s thrilled to have you guys here tonight.”
I smile to avoid admitting how much I don’t want to be here, or watch this. “Tell Danny we wish him luck and that we’ll see him soon.”
“He claims he isn’t nervous at all. That all his nerves were used up asking you to come.”
My cheeks redden and words escape me. I know that Danny’s close with his family, but this is really awkward.
“Tell him to overcompensate to his right. A friend of mine said that The Assassin’s trying to keep it quiet, but he pulled some ligaments on his right serratus anterior.”
Thankfully Daniel’s gaze turns to Fitz in curiosity. “And that would be located where exactly?”
“A little lower than the pec,” Fitz answers.
Daniel’s hand grazes his own chest in confirmation.
“More on the side.” I reach forward and slide his hand toward his armpit.
Daniel smiles and nods a couple of times. “I’ll let him know. The passes will get you back there, but you have to wait until the mat is cleared.”
We say quick goodbyes and then I listen to Fitz explain the different divisions of professional and amateur boxing.
When the emcee stands in the middle of the ring, the crowd is already going crazy. He riles them up even more with some carefully chosen words. My heart races in synchronization to the thundering roar of the crowd as Danny climbs through the ropes, his hands covered in large gloves. White tape peeks out from each, making me briefly wonder if his wrists are hurt until I notice the Midnight Assassin’s wrists are taped too.
“Don’t they wear something to cover their faces?”
Fitz turns and shakes his head. “Only in the amateur league.”
My eyes widen in disbelief, and Fitz clutches my hand. “Don’t worry, H. Danny’s here because he’s good. He’s going to be fine.”
I barely watch any of the fight. I can’t. My thoughts on it being barbaric are amplified as I struggle to remain seated throughout the event as grunts and impacts reach my ears. I work even harder to ignore the increasingly savage things people are screaming around us.
