Breakfall (9 page)

Don’s knee crooked funny.

Asbjorn obviously couldn’t see anymore. One eye was covered in blood and the other was swelling shut from a well-placed cross.

Don’s uppercut doubled Asbjorn over.

Asbjorn gasped for air and forced himself up—up and forward—driving his forehead into Don’s nose.

Silent and ghostlike, a third fighter appeared in the circle. He wore sagging pants and a checkered shirt. A blue paisley bandanna wrapped around his shoulder-length dreads. He wielded a push broom.

“Stop it. Stop it right now!” He broke the silence with a voice that was pitched high with tension.

“Get out, Troy!” Dud yelled.

Don stumbled forward, blood pouring out his broken nose, his fists finding their way home to Asbjorn’s ribs.

Asbjorn grabbed the man’s shoulders and gathered himself for another head butt when the black kid hooked Asbjorn’s knee with the push broom, immediately rebounding the hard handle end off Asbjorn’s head.

Sean watched Asbjorn’s knee buckle under his own weight and the well-placed maneuver. His face turned the other way, right into the path of the flying staff.

Asbjorn crumpled on the concrete floor.

Before realizing what he was doing, Sean was in the thick of it too, his body between the armed man and the fallen one. Troy was in midswing, not done with Asbjorn quite yet, when Sean barred his way.

His training took over as he timed the swing, moved inside, and smothered the trajectory of the improvised weapon before it gained maximum velocity. Sean twisted Troy’s wrist into a painful lock, elbowing him in the face for good measure as he went down.

He stood there, holding the broom. He barely registered the flood of bodies surging toward him.

Asbjorn.

He dropped the tool, stumbled forward, and fell to his knees by a head covered in red, reaching for the motionless hand. A sense of dread filled him. To his horror, he felt the prickle of unwelcome tears threatening to force their way into his eyes, clouding both his vision and his judgment.

“Sean. Sean. Sean.”

He heard somebody say his name over and over as though through a thick veil. Only when slender arms wrapped around his shoulders and soft hands touched his bare arms did the words penetrate the specter of red and blonde before him, and he lifted his head in response, meeting Nell’s eyes.

“Sean. I need you to move.” Her voice was hypnotic against the din of the others.

He made an effort to stand.

“Sean. I need you to let go of Asbjorn’s hand first.”

He walked out of the circle and sank into a folding chair. There was activity around him. Adrian Rios helped Don clean up. The older man’s white, black-rimmed muscle shirt was red with blood.

“I had it coming,” he heard Don say, his voice a flat monotone.

“Maybe not so much,” Adrian replied, fussing over Don’s nose with ice packs.

“Cut it out, Adrian. It’s not like I’ve never had my nose broken before. I have a fucking court date on Monday. The jury’s gonna love that.”

A thin, silver-haired man appeared behind Adrian’s shoulder. “You worry too much. With me as your opposing counsel, Don, your case is doomed anyhow.”

“Fuck you, Fred.”

“What? Maybe I should go get a black eye tonight so you don’t get all of the jury’s sympathy.” Fred’s lips were stretched in a wide smile, but his eyes were nothing but cautious under his bushy eyebrows.

“I just wish my ribs weren’t fucking cracked.” This time Don growled, and Adrian slowly turned his back on him, letting him vent at his colleague.

“Are you all right?”

Sean realized his former opponent was talking to him.

“Yeah. I guess. Just a little cold.” He shivered suddenly.

“I take it you haven’t seen much blood before.” There was no judgment in Adrian’s calm voice, no ridicule.

“N-no. Just a few black eyes. Some sprains—during practice, you know. But nothing….” He eyed Adrian. “Why did they fight like this?”

Adrian sighed, pressed a bottle of beer in his hand, and filled him in.

T
HE
FIRST
sensation that reached Asbjorn’s consciousness was the cold smoothness of the concrete floor. It drained his body heat and distracted him somewhat from the dull and incessant throb in his head, the rib broken by Don’s kick that reacted to every shallow breath, and the alarming, sharp ache in the right side of his jaw. Compared to that damage, his swollen knuckles were just a minor irritation.

He willed his eye to open. The right was swollen shut already, but the left one was good. Nell-sensei bent over him, mopping up what was left of the blood.

“Bjorn.” Her voice murmured behind his head, sounding resigned but not reproachful. “I should’ve seen this coming.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” His voice was but a croak.

The silence between them stretched like the salt-water taffy Tiger used to buy him for his birthday every year.

“I…. It was hard to talk about, Bjorn. For both of us.” Nell’s voice grew husky, and he recognized the way she was controlling her breathing.

Suddenly ashamed of his weakness, Asbjorn pushed himself to a sitting position, suppressing the waves of nausea and the throbbing headache. “I’m sorry, Nell-sensei. Tiger wouldn’t have wanted me and Don to fight. I just….”

It was as though I was sixteen again and my father was just buried and there was nothing but my fists and the faces of those who would taunt me.

“Ass-bjorn, show us your ass—Bjorn!”

It was as though all the pain and blame in the world could have been pinned on one single, white-haired lightning rod.

“I felt so alone again. I’m sorry, Nell. I should be a support to you, not a useless wreck.”

“Bjorn.” She sighed, shook her long, honey-brown hair out of her eyes, and tried again. “Look. You need to get it out of your system. I know. I… I cried a lot. Maybe you should try
that
.”

“Tiger would never cry.”

Nell met his bloodied gaze solemnly. “You are very much mistaken, Asbjorn. Tiger was known to cry, given cause. Do you think seeing this would make him laugh? You’re the younger brother he never had. Don’s his best friend. If he saw the two of you bloody one another in anger over something you cannot change, do you think he would not cry?” Nell met what was left of his gaze with a forced smile.

“Mourn him, Asbjorn. You say you’re useless—then I’m useless too, because neither one of us can bring him back.” She glanced over Asbjorn’s shoulder. “You have a friend here who may need to be reassured that you’re all right. You may feel you’re alone—but you’re not.”

“Oh?” He turned with painful care to follow her gaze.

Sean huddled under his winter jacket. His face was ashen and hands were still red with Asbjorn’s blood.

“He took care of that guy who blindsided you.”

S
EAN
’
S
BREATHING
steadied as he focused on his one point, centering himself with every breath. His reaction to the fight took him by surprise, and he turned his feelings over and over in his mind. Two guys fought and beat one another up. Their tension was, one would hope, resolved. They would hopefully go back to being friends again. They apparently both suffered Tiger’s loss. One felt guilty for being part of it—he provided Tiger with the means of his untimely demise. The other felt…. How did Asbjorn feel, really? Sean thought back to when his mother died.

It all happened so fast. The sixth child was going to be her last, and her pregnancy was going well. Then there was a clot, and a hospital stay, and a feeling of a desperate, helpless kind of fury. And fear—so much fear. She died in her sleep three weeks later, and Sean spent hours, days walking through San Diego, aimless, seeking somebody to blame.

Sean’s gaze wandered over to Nell, who still knelt over Asbjorn. It had been almost half an hour. Perhaps they should…. Wait. A movement. Relief washed over him as he saw Asbjorn sit up carefully, gingerly. He saw Nell look his way and soon Sean felt Asbjorn’s eyes on him. He didn’t want to meet his gaze.

During one of his aimless walks, Sean strayed to one of the worst neighborhoods. Violence was rare where he lived, but if one sought it out, it came. Insulting two local guys down on their luck, their breath heavy with liquor, Sean thought he’d finally found a target for his pain.

Unfortunately, so did they. He looked just about as bad as Asbjorn was looking right now when the short, raven-haired man showed up. Like northern wind ripping through a forest, he removed the two assailants from Sean and blew them away, not allowing them to remain entirely whole at the end of their brief journey.

Then he took Sean back home to his father. They talked. Burrows-sensei allowed himself to be the target of his anger and his pain, and he absorbed it—reshaped it—over time. Sean felt immeasurable love for the pale, quiet man. To Asbjorn, Tiger must have been much like Burrows-sensei.

After standing up and removing his winter jacket, Sean walked over to the empty end of the ring, took a few quick steps, and threw himself into the air. He flew, tucking, and the outer edge of his right hand touched the hard, cold concrete and rolled only to stand up again. He did another ukemi, and another, until his anxiety was spent and his center was his own to command once again.

“Rolling on the ground will bring you back to your center. The reason for this is unknown—but if you cannot roll, even pretending you have rolled will help. It is much like rebooting a computer, Sean.”

The echo of his teacher’s voice still resounded in his mind as Sean approached Asbjorn. “How do you feel?”

One blue eye met his tentative look and held it. Asbjorn’s trademark grin was but a painful grimace. “I’ve been worse.”

“Are we ready to go?”

“I think so. Nell?” He quirked a split eyebrow at Nell.

“Whenever you’re ready.”

Asbjorn stood slowly and wavered.

Sean slid to his side, offering support. “What is it, Asbjorn?”

“Eh… just a bit dizzy. A bit pukey, too. And my fucking side hurts.”

Nell stood, gathering her first aid kit. “I can’t really check you for a concussion with your eye swollen shut. You should go to the hospital, just in case.”

“No.” The reply was immediate and curt. “I’ll set my alarm to wake me up every so often. I know the drill.” He limped to the side, not deigning to lean on Sean’s quietly proffered shoulder. One blue eye peered at Don from underneath his split eyebrow. “We should get together and talk in a week or so.”

Don nodded. “Yeah. You’re staying at Nell’s?”

“No. I have my own place.”

“You should have some company, kid. Troy knocked you out way too long for my liking.”

“Little bastard.”

“Yeah.” Don grinned. “He likes me. Don’t worry. He got a black eye for his trouble.”

Asbjorn frowned. He’d have to find out what exactly happened as he was going down.

Almost simultaneously, they made a fist and offered it to one other. Expressions solemn, they bumped them, paying no heed to their sore, swollen knuckles.

T
HEY
CROSSED
the Longfellow Bridge into Cambridge. The Charles River flowed wide and sulky beneath them. Dud argued with Asbjorn all the way. “You won’t wake up for your alarm clock if you’re out with a concussion.”

“Stop mother-henning, Dud.”

Nell had her say earlier and now kept quite while they drove.

Sean cleared his throat. “Stop at my place first so I can pick up a few things. I’ll stay at Asbjorn’s tonight.”

Silence descended.

“You don’t need to do that,” Asbjorn growled.

“I didn’t ask your opinion. Besides, I can cook.”

“Oh god, a live-in mother. What did I do to deserve this?”

“Getting into a stupid fight, maybe?”

Asbjorn spun to face Sean, wincing in pain. “You don’t have to.”

“Really, it’s no big deal. Just till Sunday. I’ll be quiet—it’s not like I don’t have work to do.”

Nell smiled and Dud snorted as they exchanged a sly, sidelong glance. “Thank you, Sean,” they said in unison.

T
HE
APARTMENT
was silent and dark when the cell phone alarm woke Sean for the first time. Disoriented, he pawed around the coffee table, finally found the device, and silenced the offending noise.

Asbjorn. Time to wake Asbjorn.

Sean turned on the table lamp by his head and rubbed his eyes before swinging his cold feet to the floor and stretching his arms up, trying to wake up at least a little bit. The temperature had fallen overnight and the light blanket did little to keep the chill away.

He padded across the cold hardwood floors to Asbjorn’s bedroom. Sean knocked, pushed the door open, and reached for the small reading light on the nightstand. Partially illuminated, Asbjorn’s angular jaw looked sharper than ever. His cheekbone would have jutted out, cut and statue-like, had not the swelling engulfed his whole eye socket.