“And Jenny’s getting married to a good guy.”
“He is a good guy,” I say, quietly filling my lungs with a breath of cold air.
“I’m really excited to see you.” Kendall’s voice is warm and as comforting as my pillow.
“I’m excited to see you too. Go to sleep, I’ll talk to you in the morning.”
“Okay.”
“Kendall?”
“Yeah?”
“I love you too.”
“I love you too, Ace.”
I fall asleep with a watery smile across my face.
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.