Crux (10 page)

“Uh huh.” He smiles again. “You’re not quite as tough as you pretend or as big a loner.”

True. I was on the street less than four months. A walnut sized lump clogs my throat.

He angles his head all smug like. “You’re worried about me. That’s precious.”

I whip my shoe at his head. He ducks, laughing.

“I make my own choices, Bird, and what we’re about to do is important. We both have our reasons for saying yes. Let’s just leave it at that. I have a good feeling about the quest. Everything’s going to be fine … I promise.”

I don’t share his enthusiasm or his naïveté. It’s too late to back out now, and he’s made it clear he’s along for the ride. “Oh, yeah,” I say. “We’ll be just peachy.”

11

I fall back against the burgundy mat again and stare at the florescent lights above me. They wink as if something’s funny. Pushing back up to sit, I whip my sweaty ponytail from my face, glowering, first at Grey, then Jeff.

“Yes, you have the angry stare down pat. Very menacing,” Jeff says with no hint of humor. “But your skills must match your look of death. Now, again, place your feet here, and hold your Shinai up across your chest like this.” Jeff’s hands position my battle stance for the twentieth time that afternoon.

A Shinai is a big honking stick I’m supposed to punish my adversary with, in this case, Grey.

Me, with a sword? This just keeps getting better.
So far, I’m the only one being punished, and his smile proves he’s having a delightful time.

The bamboo pole represents a Japanese sword. It’s used to teach balance and preliminary skills before we move on to metal weapons.

“Strike low,” Jeff instructs us. “Draw your opponent’s defenses away from his heart, so you can destroy him.”

I pretend this class is just for fun, or fear would paralyze me. I strike at Grey’s thighs and push my stick up with my right hand to hit his jaw. He blocks me, pivots, and whacks the hell out of my shoulder.
Ow.
I prevent my hand from rubbing the spot, trying to look all tough and act as though it doesn’t sting like a bugger.

“Birdie,” Jeff says, “You are weaker.”

Ya think?

“You must rely on speed, not strength. Keep your feet apart. Don’t turn your back on him.”

Grey is smiling again, which ticks me off.

I step forward and thrust with my stick. He turns his Shinai vertically, so I loosen my grip and allow my stick to slide away between my gloved hands. When the thing all but leaves my grasp, I tighten back down on the end, whirl, and clobber Grey in his ribs with a satisfying
thwack
.

He stumbles to one knee, exhaling a grunt.

I jump to the left, panting, and wipe my cheek with the back of my hand.

“No!” Jeff yells until his face is purple. “Don’t stop, finish him!”

Before I can react, Grey’s stick sweeps the air at knee level, and I’m flying. Horizontal. I hurtle backward, and my butt hits the mat with a thud.

A string of foreign harsh-sounding words leaves Jeff’s mouth.

Grey climbs on top of me and holds his stick against my throat. His weight crushes my abdomen, but, truthfully, I don’t care if he never moves. His face is inches from mine. A line of sweat drips from his temple as he grins. “Say mercy, sweetheart.”

He’s enjoying this
way
too much.

“Not happening, loser.”

His cologne smells fantastic, even under the perspiration, but I remember I’m supposed to beat him up. I push my hips down into the mat, lift my knees off the floor, and wrap my legs around his body. I twist right, as hard as I can, knocking him down on his side.

Flipping over, I claw the space between my Shinai and me. Grey scrambles across the mat as my hands close around my wood pole. I swing blindly, hoping to connect with his body and catch him off guard. Our sticks crash. My pole shudders and cracks on impact, the sensation rippling though the length of my arm to my shoulder. I’m breathing so hard my throat is beyond parched. My muscles burn, and sweat stings my eyes.

“Excellent, much better,” says Jeff. “Rest and take some water.”

Thank you, God.
I flop down on the mat, panting. “This is … pointless, Jeff.” My hand presses against my chest as my breath huffs out of me. Sorry for myself, at my pitiful attempts at self defense, I have this image of being gutted by a burly Nordic king as cleanly as a fish at a Saturday afternoon fish fry. It’s not pretty. In fact, I’m sure I got carried away by some idealistic notion that I could actually save somebody. The reality that I was delusional is hitting me, literally!

Grey drags himself over and drops down beside me. “Would it help if I told you I think you bruised my ribs?”

“Aw, really?” I say all bright-eyed and hopeful.

Jeff groans and rubs his forehead.

Still, when I think how outclassed I am in the ring, hope plummets again. “He can still take me, Jeff. I’ll be stronger with Alarr, but so what? Grey will be stronger, too, with that stupid band thingie.”

Jeff takes the tone of an adult addressing a five year old. “The purpose of Shinai training is to give you the basics. You will engage in a very different contest when we add the power of Alarr and the armband. The band works for Grey so long as you possess its power source. Monks created it to assist the Guardian in protecting the Wielder from Haddr. The metal draws power both from the amulet and the strength of the Guardian’s commitment. While powerful, nothing rivals the abilities of Alarr.”

I grab my water bottle waiting at the edge of the mat and drain the contents. My body drops back to the floor in feigned exhaustion, and Jeff frowns.

“There are a few matters I must attend to, he says. You may have a half-hour break before we resume.”

“You’re all heart, Sensei,” I say to Jeff’s back as he exits the room.

Lying next to Grey, we don’t speak, but I glance over at him, and the steady rise and fall of his chest mesmerizes me. Scenes from last night appear in my mind like a movie. Grey telling me off as he insists on being a part of the quest.
“Money doesn’t keep you from bleeding. No one knows that better than I do.”
His words play like a round in my head, and I speculate about what made him bleed.

“Grey?”

“Yeah?”

“Who’s Sean?”

“He is … was … my brother.” His chest holds still a second before another breath.

I thought so.
“You don’t have to talk about him. I understand.”

“I know you do. I guess that’s why I don’t mind telling you.” He rolls toward me and rests his head in his hand. His face is solemn, quiet when he reaches over to mess with my ponytail that’s flung across the mat.

I lie still and wait, ignoring how his touch relaxes me. I guess at how hard this must be for him, because it’s hard for me.

“Sean was assigned to a SEAL team with Naval Special Warfare Group Two in Little Creek, Virginia. He was killed in a routine drill when his parachute malfunctioned. Never saw combat and died three weeks before he was supposed to ship out to Afghanistan.”

I tug gently on his T-shirt. “I’m sorry.”

“Me, too. My dad, he … still has a pretty hard time. Sean was older, brilliant. He went to Tech to be an aerospace engineer. My dad was really proud about that until Sean started hanging out with some guys in the reserves. Sean worshipped those guys. His interests changed, and that changed my dad. When Sean enlisted, my dad went ballistic, said Sean was throwing away his dreams—although, I think they were more my dad’s dreams. Yeah, so anyway …”

“I shouldn’t have asked.”

“No, it’s okay. I want you to know.”

“Thanks for telling me.”

“Well, you told me first, remember?”

“Yes, but not everything.”

“I figured. You can tell me as much or as little as you want.” He gives me a weak smile, one laced with pain. “I’m a patient guy. When I told you I wanted to know the mystery that is you, I wasn’t talking about the quest. I was talking about you, all the pieces of your life that have gone into making you who you are.”

My eyes sting as Grey talks. I roll away from him and swallow. I can’t handle his intensity, and I don’t know why he cares so much. It doesn’t make any sense to me.

“Bird,” he whispers, “come here.”

I ease back toward him and blink hard, swearing at my weakness.

“No, this is good.” He wipes a tear from my cheek. “Don’t you see? I know you’ve been hurt. I don’t pretend to understand how, and you don’t have to tell me, but
this
…” He holds up his finger with a drop of my tears on it. “… This means you want to trust me, you want to let me in, and I promise you, you can.”

He’s right. I did want someone to talk to, but trust is foreign territory. Even if Grey thinks he wants to learn about my past, can he handle it? Can I? He seems to think I’m good. I like pretending I am. If Mr. Red, White, and Blue heard the whole truth about me, would that change?

I decide to find out. “It’s not what you think. Yeah, some things about my life have been hard, but I’m not always the victim. When I came here, I let someone down. It was important, and I blew it.” He touches my wet face again. I didn’t realize I was still crying. “Do you know who The Snatcher is?”

He shakes his head.

“No, you wouldn’t. No one should. He and his scum take girls from the streets and prostitute them. When I first moved here, I met a girl. Shondra.” Her name catches in my throat. “She was nice to me. But they came for us one night, pulled up in their van and took people away. They got Shondra.”

He sits up and pulls me into his arms. “Shh.” His hand runs up and down the length of my back. “It’s all right.”

“No, it isn’t. You don’t understand!” The more he tries to comfort me, the more I loathe myself. “She fell … and the goons caught her.” One of those hiccupped cries escapes along with a trail of snot. “She told me to run, so I did. I ran and abandoned the only friend I had. This is why I don’t want you to fight with me, Grey. I’m a coward. Do you get it now?”

He says nothing but holds me closer. Instead of resisting, I throw my arms around him and hug him as tight as I can. I sob against his chest until I can’t cry anymore, heaving in air that comes out a snort and dragging my sleeve under my nose. Now that I’ve embarrassed myself in front of the hottest guy I’ve ever known, I can’t face him. I ease off his lap and mumble something inane like, “I’m sorry.”

Grey reaches for me. He cradles my head as he leans over and reaches for the gym towel that’s lying on the floor. He puts it to my nose. “Blow.”

I obey, taking the towel from him to finish the job. His smile is sad, soft, and full of compassion. I’d like to find a rock to get under and hide, preferably a tombstone, but I can’t look away.

Grey’s steady fingers brush the hair from my forehead, fallen strands worked loose from my ponytail. He takes my face in both hands, forcing my gaze up. “I want to tell you something.” His voice is steady, earnest. “You’re—”

Jeff hits the double doors with a boom and charges back into the room.

We separate, but not before Grey squeezes my hand, which I take as a promise to continue our discussion later. He stands and walks across the gym to the bathroom.

After wiping my nose again, I pull my ponytail out, comb my fingers through my messy hair and refasten it.

“Are you rested?” Jeff asks, picking up my Shinai off the floor.

“Not at all.” All my thoughts are about what Grey was going to say. I need to hear it almost as badly as I need to eat or breathe.

“Good.” Jeff ignores me. “Let’s go again.”

• • •

Grey and I sit at a traffic light in silence, the car’s engine purring steadily. I could curl up and sleep right here I’m so tired, but my mind nags me to ask Grey about whatever he started to say, back when I was bawling like a baby and wiping my nose all over my clothing.
Charming, Bird, really. It’s shocking you don’t have a string of boyfriends by now
. Still embarrassed over my outburst, I can’t bring myself to restart the conversation.

“Bird?” Grey’s voice breaks the silence. “How soon does Fenris need to go out?”

I shrug. “He should be okay for a while, yet.”

“Do you mind if I run an errand before I drop you off? I need to take something by Dylan’s.”

“Sure.” The light turns green, and I crane my neck around as we speed through the intersection where a sleek, red Camaro zings past. “You know, I really should get back to my car search. I’m starting to feel bad mooching all these rides off you when you won’t take any gas money.”

“I’m supposed to be with you as much as possible, remember? So even if you had a car, I wouldn’t let you drive. It’s my job.” He speaks with determination.

“You sure are stubborn, you know that?” I try to sound casual and diffuse the fact Grey just admitted I’m a duty, like voting or doing laundry.

“Unlike you?” He smiles. “Yeah, I know.” He pulls over and parks in front of a line of storefronts.

I peer out and read the words painted over the last doorway: Shatter Music Store.

“I’ll only be a minute. You can wait in the car and stay warm if you want.”

I nod.

“Lock the doors while I’m gone, okay?”

“Okay.”

Grey disappears into the one story, red brick building, and I snuggle down in my seat, but I’m not comfortable. All that water I drank during practice has come back to torment my bladder.

Reaching over Grey’s empty seat, I slide the key from the ignition and step out of the car. The Audi’s alarm chirps in response to my thumb on the key-lock. Wind harasses a few fallen leaves; they tumble and swirl around my legs as I hurry inside the store.

Chrome gleams. Wild colors adorn electric guitars everywhere. I’m surrounded by instruments. Someone in the back of the store is playing guitar, and the heavy base thrums inside my chest.

The guy behind the register is pale and gaunt, covered in tattoos and piercings, and purple circles underline both eyes. I’m thinking Lurch from the Adams Family or Keith Richards. I want to call 911 and see him hooked up for immediate intravenous feeding, but instead I ask, “Ladies room?”

He hands me the key and jerks his greasy head to the left. I hurry to open the door, but upon entering, the need to lock the room escapes me. The once white tiles are speckled black with mold and mildew. Inside the toilet is rusted orange and smells awful. A community hole in the ground of some third world county might be more sanitary than the cesspool where I stand. I can’t hold it, though, so I squat, still standing, and pray for no splash.

I can’t get out of the bathroom fast enough. The key goes back to the cashier when an advertisement behind the counter catches my eye. It looks a bit tattered, as though it’s been there awhile, but I can’t stop staring. Four guys in black jeans and t-shirts stand, shoulders back, feet apart. The words printed underneath say PUSH, September 15th. My breath catches in my throat at the singer in the center with a guitar hanging over his shoulder.