Kellan (14 page)

The ref got
between us before Tutera could go in for the kill. “Let him up! He’s gotta get
that bleeding stopped! Folks want their money’s worth tonight.”

Smart money was on
Tutera, I guessed. He backed off and the ref helped me to my feet, then over to
my corner so I could get patched up enough to keep fighting. I couldn’t see it,
but I knew my face was a mess. I could feel how bad the swelling was; the
inside corners of my eyes even felt tight. I felt like a Mack truck had hit me.
I could barely even hear what the ringside medic was asking me.

“You good?” he
said again, much louder than before. I looked up at him dumbly, but nodded. He
shined a small flashlight in both my eyes, hesitated, then turned to the ref
and nodded. Holding onto the ropes, I stood up.

Somebody rang the
bell, and as a ring girl strutted around holding up the card for the second
round, I scanned the crowd again for Parker’s pretty face. I had more than a
few seconds now, but no matter how hard I strained, I still couldn’t find her.
My heart sank as realization dawned on me. She wasn’t here.

Where
the hell is she?
I wondered. Suddenly, I felt very
alone—like I had no one in my corner at all.

~
TWENTY ~

Parker

Crap. I was running
so
late.

The senator had shown
up to our meeting at Café Franz a whole twenty minutes after I did. He took his
sweet time ordering, too, letting me know that he had all the power here. I did
my best not to look like I was watching the clock, but I couldn’t help it.
Kellan was out there suffering through the last fight of his career, and I
wasn’t there to cheer him on like I’d promised.

I couldn’t show
Senator MacFarlane my cards, though. Not with so much on the line. So I sipped
my wine and ground my teeth and waited for the right moment to sink my teeth
into his throat—so to speak.

Once our food
arrived and the senator was too busy cutting his steak to interrupt me with
small talk, I sprang it on him. “I want to talk about the bill, Senator. That’s
what we’re here for, and I’m not about to waste any more of my time. Not when
there’s so much on the line for our veterans.”

Senator MacFarlane
smirked as if that amused him, but didn’t look up from his dinner. “By all
means, continue.”

I didn’t even
bother with my food, just leaned across the table. “You know as well as I do
what this bill is about. It’s about giving back to the men and women who have
given us so much. They’re coming back from serving our country, only to find
there’s no place for them in it anymore. Giving them job preference is the
least we can do. So why haven’t you agreed to support it?”

The senator chewed
a bite of his steak before answering, savoring every pink morsel. He rolled his
eyes skyward. “Well, let me answer your question with a question, Ms. Jones: do
you believe in capitalism?”

“Are you asking if
I’m a communist, Senator?” I answered, and he smiled.

“If you believe in
capitalism, you’ll understand my reservations,” he continued. “Employers in
this country are always looking for ways to lower expenses, and of course, we
hope they’ll pass those on to us, their consumers. It’s much more economically
sound to employ a college graduate or hell, even a high school dropout who’ll
take the job for eight dollars an hour rather than ten or fifteen, which is the
rate of pay this bill encourages for the veterans it encompasses. If we force
employers to give preference to employees who will demand higher wages, it’s my
constituents who will suffer the consequences. Higher prices on goods and
services never make anybody happy except the manufacturers, and they’re not my
primary voting base.” He winked.

I stared at him.
“So what you’re saying is that, essentially, if employers have to hire vets and
pay them living wages, the rest of us will all get screwed?”

The senator
chuckled. “Boy, you really have a way of boiling things down.”

I drummed my
fingers on the table. This was an argument I’d heard before, and one I had
prepared for. I said, “Okay. Let’s talk about McDonalds.”

Now the senator
frowned. “All right. What about it?”

“You remember
Occupy Wall Street?” I asked. He vaguely nodded. “They wanted fifteen dollars
an hour for fast food workers, and everybody and their mother said that if the
minimum wage went that high, we’d see ten-dollar Big Macs the very next day.
That’s your argument, right? That paying workers more will result in higher
costs for consumers?”

“It’s basic math
and common sense,” he answered. I smiled.

“I’m not sure
Seattle would agree with you.”

“You’re losing me,
Ms. Jones,” the senator warned. “I’m not sure what McDonalds and Seattle have
to do with this bill you’re so gung-ho about.”

“Seattle passed a
wage-hike on restaurant employees back on April first,” I told him, pausing to
take another sip of my wine. I was going to need it if I wanted to get through
this without screaming at him to Google the misinformation he was spewing.
“There was some real concern from business owners and politicians, as well as
corporations, that raising wages that high would have a negative effect on
growth, as well as inflation. But this year, more permits than ever have been
issued for restaurant openings, and the cost of a meal has seen no substantial
increase. Everyone there seems pretty happy with more equitable wages.”

“One city
mandating a wage-hike for one set of businesses is hardly comparable to the
effect something like that would have on an entire state,” Senator MacFarlane
said with a smugness that made me wish he would choke. “I love our veterans as
much as any red-blooded American does, Ms. Jones, but I have to think of the
greater good here, too.”

“You’re right,” I
agreed. “One city isn’t comparable to a whole state.” The senator sat back,
satisfied, until I added, “Let’s talk about New York, then, which has approved
a similar wage-hike for fast food workers. Or for that matter, the increasing
number of cities who have taken setting a higher standard for a living wage to
heart. This bill wouldn’t even propose a sweeping measure like that. This would
be beneficial strictly to veterans, and honestly, neither of us can say with
any certainty that they’ll be demanding that much compensation. And honestly,
Senator, the alternative of not supporting this bill has way worse consequences
for
everyone,
including those ‘Joe Schmo’ constituents you’re worried
about.”

“Okay. I’ll bite,”
the senator said, abandoning his meal for the first time this evening and
focusing his attention solely on me. “How so?”

I hadn’t planned
on it when I came here, but since I couldn’t get my mind off him anyway, I told
Senator MacFarlane about Kellan. I told him about what Kellan had experienced
after coming home from Afghanistan, and all the vets he knew who were in the
same boat. I interwove my narrative with some of my own independent research on
how vets with PTSD or other, physical injuries often couldn’t get a job due to
their sacrifices. I told him about the illegal fighting rings Thom and I would
be exposing soon, and ended on a note about the human interest piece I was
writing on Kellan and how it would be interspersed with details about this very
meeting.

“So,” I concluded,
“this could either look really bad for you, or really good. Either I pepper my
article about a vet who has served his country well with details about how
you’re working hard to ensure people like him get a fair shake, or I make sure
to mention how you’re so worried about fat cat corporations complaining that
you wouldn’t even entertain the idea of giving our vets the opportunities they
deserve. I hear you’re coming up for re-election soon. Which story do you think
your constituents would prefer?”

The senator sat
silently for several moments, just staring at me, his face an unreadable blank
slate. I stared right back, refusing to even check the time on my phone again.
I wanted to, desperately, but I got the impression that the senator and I were
currently engaged in a battle of wills. Kellan would never back down from a
fight, and he’d never let anything distract him from winning, either. I wasn’t
about to let him down by showing weakness now.

Finally, the
corners of the senator’s lips quirked just a little. “I see I underestimated
you, Ms. Jones. I have the feeling that people do that a lot.”

“All the time,” I
answered. “It’s my greatest asset.”

The senator
chuckled. “Well, I’m impressed. And intimidated, if I’m being honest.
Obviously, I’m not interested in having my name on a piece that pits me against
veterans. In the hearts of Americans, vets will win over politicians every
time—as they should.” He clasped his hands. “So, I think you should write that
I’ve changed my mind. That in light of new evidence, I’ve seen what a great
boon this would be for our state, and I’m ready and willing to fight for the
social changes that will pay back our vets for all they’ve given us.”

My heart leapt
into my throat. My stomach felt like it was dancing. I blurted out, “Really?”
before I could stop myself, then covered it up with, “I’m exceedingly glad to
hear that, Senator MacFarlane. Now, if there’s nothing more to discuss…”

I stood up and he
followed suit, reaching over to shake my hand. “You’re a damn good reporter,
Ms. Jones. I’m looking forward to reading your article, and to hearing more
from you, someday.”

I allowed myself a
little smile and took his hand. “Likewise, Senator. You’re doing a lot of
good.”

Then I walked out
of our private dining area, through the main hall of the restaurant, and once I
was outside, I sprinted to my car.
Shit.
Kellan’s fight had started
almost ten minutes ago. He was up there getting bruised and bloodied, and I was
nowhere to be found. I could only hope he hadn’t noticed I was gone, and that I
wasn’t too late to give him something to fight his heart out for.

We
did it, Kellan,
I thought as I leapt into my
driver’s seat and turned the key.
We won!

I couldn’t wait to
tell him to his face.

~
TWENTY-ONE ~

Kellan

I was dying out here.

Tutera was the
most vicious fighter I’d ever encountered. It was like once he saw blood, he
developed and undying thirst for it. He had to have more. Besides myself, I’d
never seen anyone go so crazy over inflicting harm. Was this what my opponents
felt like when I beat them? Was this gnawing dread, this unbearable sense of
impending doom, the same thing they’d experienced when they looked into my
eyes?

I didn’t have a
whole lot of time to contemplate it. Tutera was on me like a fly on shit, and I
could just barely move fast enough to avoid the worst of his blows.

The crowd around
us was howling. There was enough of my blood on the mat to make it slippery in
places. Some of it was Tutera’s too, but not nearly enough. My strength and
endurance were waning. I could hardly manage to keep my hands up.

Don’t
drop ‘em,
I reminded myself through the bleary haze
of pain tearing through my body.
The second you drop ‘em, he drops you.

Maybe that was for
the best. Maybe I should just give up, let Tutera win. The longer we went at
this, the longer I felt like all I was doing was prolonging the inevitable. I
was exhausted, covered in sweat and blood, and at this point, only fighting for
my ego.

Parker’s
not even here to see me. It’s not like she’d care if I threw in the towel.

Tutera responded
to that thought with a kick to my hip that brought a new stab of agony to those
ribs I kept fucking up. I snarled and my knee gave way on the same side,
bringing me down to the mat where Tutera pounced.

We rolled, and I
kicked and thrashed as he tried to get me into an arm bar.
Fuck.
This
was bad. Tutera was strong and way more energetic than I was. He could hold out
and stay the course. I was flagging, my confidence and will to see this through
sinking faster than the
Titanic.
If he got me into position, I was
doomed.

Why
fight it?
that voice in the back of my head
reasoned as I slipped out of Tutera’s hold, only for him to grab me again.
You
know this isn’t going to end well. Just lie still and let go. Let him have his
win. You were always the sacrificial lamb, Kellan. You were born to lose.

And let Vic have
the last laugh? No. No way. Not without giving it my all, at least.

I got a lucky
break when I jammed my elbow back at Tutera’s face. He wasn’t expecting it and
I smashed him straight in the teeth. Blood gushed down his chin and I struggled
free, panting and stumbling once I was on my feet, waiting for him to get back
up.

He did. Slowly.
And he looked pissed. There wasn’t even a splinter of pain in his eyes. Tutera
wasn’t feeling anything tonight.
Fuckin’ coke!

He sprung at me
like a tiger, and in my weakened state, I couldn’t block the body blows. All I
could do was keep my face and my head covered as Tutera pushed me back onto the
ropes, landing shot after shot on my ribs, my kidneys, everywhere that would
hurt the most.

Pain blinded me
for an instant, but it felt like an eternity. And in that moment, everything
around me dimmed and slowed. The world took on a gray pallor, and I could feel
the shockwaves from Tutera’s fists spreading through my whole body, penetrating
my bones. I was brutally aware of my ribs cracking again, splintering,
threatening to break in half. I couldn’t take much more of this. No human body
could.

It was over. I had
to make it stop.

Knowing the
consequences, I raised my head for one last look at the cheering crowd. They
weren’t yelling for me. They were yelling for Tutera. This crowd had never been
mine. They’d always been his. They’d come here explicitly to see him drop me.

Better
give ‘em what they want.

And that was when
my gaze snagged on the single, radiant face I’d been anticipating all night. My
lips parted as her blue eyes met mine, her fist raised in the air, a pained
smile on her face. Parker Jones was out there watching me, cheering me on, dressed
in a fucking silk blouse and a skirt and looking for all the world like the ace
reporter I knew she was.

Concern wrinkled
her face. Worry clouded her pretty eyes. She could tell I was losing, and about
to give up.

No. Fuck that. I
couldn’t let her keep looking at me that way. I couldn’t let her see me fall.
Not like this.

Parker had fought
tooth and claw for me, and now I had to do the same for her.

Tutera, noticing
I’d lifted my head, got in a good hit to my cheek. This time, I didn’t even
feel it. Seeing Parker had given me the adrenaline rush I needed to get my
second wind, and with all the force I had in me, I launched myself at Tutera
and wrapped my arms around him, dragging him to the ground.

Off-balance, he
fell and landed hard on his side. It was easier to deal with him when he wasn’t
swinging at me, and as he turned to get up on his knees, I jumped on his back
and pulled him back down. I had him on top of me on his back, and sliding
across the mat in my own blood, I used it to my advantage to get one of my legs
over his face.

Tutera grabbed at
me, but in a second, I had my other leg across his chest and under his arms.
Then my fingers were around his wrist, pulling his arm hard toward me, my
ankles locked, and I had no intention of letting go.

The crowd around
us went berserk. I pulled hard on Tutera’s arm, bending it back in an arm-bar I
knew had to hurt. Even as coked up as he was, there was no way Tutera could
ignore this agony. Arm-bars hurt like a bitch no matter what you were on. I
could tell by his snarling and struggling that he was feeling it.

Good.
Payback’s a bitch, ain’t it, kid?

I held onto him
tight while he bucked, trying to push me off him, but there was no point. I had
his arm locked good and tight, and the more he flailed, the more pain he caused
himself. Bending backward, I yanked, feeling his joint strain. Tutera froze,
his whole body contracting in a spasm of excruciating misery, then with his
free hand, pounded the mat. The ref came to our sides and knelt down.

“Tap out, you
bastard,” I gritted. “It’s over. I got you.”

Before the ref
could call it, I gave another hard yank and Tutera pounded the mat again,
grabbing for the referee. He blew his whistle and I let go, Tutera rolling onto
his side to cradle his nearly broken arm.

I lay there on my
back as I heard those sweet syllables I never thought I’d hear again.

“Killer Kellan
wins!”

Holy
shit.
I laughed, covering my face with my hands
as the world exploded into chaos around me. Lights flashed, people cheered, and
above it all, I could hear them chanting:
Killer! Killer! Killer! Killer!

When I let my
hands drop, the ref was offering me his hand. I let him help me to my feet and
leaned on him bodily, raising one fist in the air the same way Parker had when
I’d seen her watching me. Everyone else in the room faded away until there was
just her face again, smiling broadly, cheering, her lips moving in a way that
let me read them. Out of everyone gathered around me, she was the only one who
was actually calling me by name.
Kellan! Kellan! Kellan! Kellan!

And then, shaking
her head, tears sparkling in her eyes, she screamed something else:
I love
you!

Warmth blossomed
inside my chest, nullifying all the pain I’d been keeping there. I couldn’t
wait for the winner’s room to be with her. I had to have Parker in my arms.
Now.

I broke away from
the ref and made my way over the ropes, then jumped down from the mat and
pushed my way through the crowd. Most of them parted for me, but not before
touching me, totally in awe of the nobody who’d beat Johnny fucking Tutera in
an illegal match. I could hardly believe it myself, but that wasn’t what I was
focused on right now. Right now, all I could see, all I could think about, was
Parker. My Parker.

I reached her and
swept her into my arms, swinging her around heedlessly, pressing my damaged face
into her beautiful, golden locks of hair and inhaling her scent. That was the
only thing I wanted to smell for the rest of my life. I could die happy, here
in her arms. But I wanted to live. For the first time in damn near forever, I
wanted to choose life over death, pleasure over pain. I wanted to be the man
Parker believed I could be.

I leaned up for a
kiss, closing my eyes as I tasted her sweet breath on my tongue. Then I cradled
her in my arms bridal-style and pushed my way through the crowd again, this
time toward the hall that would take us to the winner’s room.

“Wait!” she
laughed, gingerly touching my bruised and bloodied face. “Don’t you have to get
your winnings from Vic?”

“Trust me, I
didn’t forget,” I told her, kicking open the door. “But you and me have
something to settle up on, first.”

Parker blushed,
and I grinned back as I stepped inside the room and shut the door.