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The noise recedes, the spotlights fade away, and I go down, content.
***
“Give him some breathing room,” a woman’s voice is saying. “Back off. Natasha, go tell James to bring the car.”
This makes no sense.
“Riot. Can you hear me?” Pax. This is Pax.
I try to move. My limbs are like rocks tied to my torso. My lids are so fucking heavy. One more try, and I blink to stabbing light.
Ow, fuck.
“Hey.” Pax is a watery, hazy silhouette leaning over me, dark hair framing her pale face. “There you are.”
“Drink some of this,” the first voice says, and Ellen Morris enters my vision field, holding a bottle of something blue. “Just Gatorade. It’ll help you feel better.”
Sitting up proves kinda hard, but then the referee is there, helping me. Pain stabs my ribs, and I keep a yelp behind my teeth with some difficulty. I wrap my arm protectively around them. My head is pounding, and my vision is a bit fuzzy.
Ellen offers me again the bottle and I swallow a few sips of the sweet drink. “The doctor is here,” she says, “just to take a look at you.”
Pax gives me a reassuring smile. She’s kneeling next to me—and that’s when I realize we’re not in the ring anymore but in the locker room.
Whoa. Guess I was out for more than just a few seconds. I’m sitting on one of the long benches under the lockers.
The doctor sits down next to me, a middle-aged man in a dark suit. He checks my eyes with a flashlight, listens to my heart, takes my pulse, and pronounces me okay.
“Can’t rule out the possibility of a small concussion,” he says before he gets up. “You should seek medical attention if you pass out again, or have strong headaches and nausea. In any case, I do think a few days’ rest would do you good.”
Man, I think so, too. I feel weary to my bones.
But Pax is here. I reach for her and she climbs on the bench beside me, carefully slips an arm around my back.
“Hey you.” She smiles at me, and it’s watery but bright. “You did it.”
“Told you.” All I want is to curl up in bed with her, safe in my arms, and sleep for days.
“And you won the fight.” She laughs, then presses her lips together.
“What’s the matter?”
“Nothing’s the matter. You won. It’s crazy.”
“You didn’t think I could do it.”
“No.” She lifts my hand, still taped and bloodied, and kisses it. “You didn’t think you could do it.”
“Pax bet on you,” Ellen says, sitting on my other side. Pale strands have come out of her hairdo and hang around her face. She’s smiling. “She’s the one who found me. The reason we’re here. And the reason you’ll be free.”
“Free of what?”
“Of the agency. Of everything that ties you down to a life you don’t want.” She smiles. “You see, almost everyone bet on the Crusher. But Pax and I, we bet on you.”
“Why didn’t you bet on Crusher? Your son?” I shake my head, then think better about it when the pounding headache intensifies. “Why did you give me your scarf? Why did you want me to win?”
“Because, my dear boy.” She lifts her hand, pets my hair. “Yours would be the only real victory. And I’m quite fond of you, as well.”
“Thank you,” I tell her and lean in to kiss her wrinkled cheek. “For everything.”
