It seemed like we had avoided the worst case scenario, but there was still a terrifying cloud hanging over our head. Beyond that, we hadn’t even started talking about Hunter’s fighting. Would he be willing to give that up to stay healthy? I didn’t know, but what I did know was that it was a sensitive topic.
When we got to Hunter’s car we both sat down inside without a word. Hunter stared out the windshield without putting his key into the ignition. I thought about what to say to him, opening and closing my mouth several times. What could I even say though?
Hunter saved me by speaking first.
“Fighting was the one thing that made me feel alive,” he said, still looking out the front of the windshield.
I reached over and put a hand on his thigh to let him know that I was listening. His fighting was clearly a sensitive topic for him.
“After I got kicked out of ROTC, I was fucking lost. I’d been working at it for so long that when I realized it was over, I was outta control. Fighting gave me something to focus on.”
He turned to me, his eyes shining and intense.
“It was like a drug. I had boxed and wrestled a lot in high school, so it was like returning home for me. It was something I knew, something I had control over when everything else in my life was so fucking outta control.”
Listening to him talk like that made hot tears bead in my eyes. I knew how he felt. I knew what it was like to feel weak and helpless and lost. When you’re in that situation, the only thing you could do was look for something to hang onto so you wouldn’t drown.
“Yeah, I guess drawing is like that for me,” I whispered.
Hunter might have found something he could control in fighting but I didn’t know if I could watch him step into the cage again after what Dr. Miller had said. Even if it was the only thing that made him feel alive, how could I stand by and watch him slowly kill himself?
I took a deep breath. I had to tell him how I felt. “I don’t know if—” I started, my voice cracking.
He shook his head, “I knew it was stupid, fighting with my condition, but I couldn’t stop. I didn’t even know how to stop.”
He reached over and smeared my tears off with his thumb.
“Lorrie, I’m done with all of that bullshit,” he said.
“Wh–what?” I mumbled.
“First I thought I needed the Air Force. Then when that was over, I thought I needed the fighting. But none of that shit matters. The only thing I need is you. I know I gotta face my disease the right way, not just for me, but for us. I can’t keep doing it the fucked-up stupid way I was doing it before.”
I watched him in disbelief. “Do you really mean that?”
“Yeah. I love you. I know how much it would hurt you if something awful happens because I’m being a dumbass.”
Hunter leaned over and kissed me, his lips warm and comforting against mine. We finally pulled apart.
“I love you too,” I said after, holding back tears. Seeing the way Hunter was handling this made my heart swell with pride. I was right about him. He was the strongest person I had ever met.
Chapter Sixteen
CLINT
The next day, Hunter seemed in a better mood and it was contagious. Even though some of what Dr. Miller had said was worrying, it was pretty good news overall, especially considering how much worse it could have been. Hunter spent the morning working on the dining room. It seemed like his new healthier attitude towards his condition was giving him new energy. I even felt excited about my session with Dr. Schwartz scheduled for the next day. I couldn’t wait to tell her about everything that had happened since our last talk.
In the afternoon, he invited me to go check out the gym the operator at the carnival had recommended. I accepted, hoping he was going to keep his word about not fighting, and soon we were in his car and on our way.
Soon, we were driving into the town center. I turned to Hunter. “No more detours to get our fortunes told, okay?”
“You don’t wanna check in with our friend Trinity?” he asked, smirking.
I shook my head until my hair was in my eyes.
“Fine. Not sure we’d have time anyway. This gym is only open for another couple hours.”
“Okay. Did you call to let them know you were coming? What’s your plan with this anyway?”
Hunter laughed. “I called, yeah. The guy on the phone was pretty short with me, though. He seemed cool with me coming in but definitely wasn’t promising anything.”
I shrugged. “I guess that makes sense. So what are you thinking you’re going to do there?”
“I dunno. Just wanna check it out I guess. Get a feel for the place. I don’t wanna fight like I was before or anything, but maybe it would be a good spot to work out. Or maybe I can work there. Gotta find some way to start paying for myself sooner or later.”
“Fair enough,” I said. I was skeptical of anything coming from this, but Hunter taking steps toward a plan for a long-term future was promising enough for me.
A few minutes later, Hunter pulled over and parked in front of a sign that read “Clint’s Gym.” The place looked like it hadn’t changed since the nineties.
”So you think you talked to Clint?” I asked after we’d gotten out of the car.
Hunter looked up at the sign. “I’m guessing. Guy had the voice of someone who yells a lot.”
“Maybe you’ll be yelling a lot too when you start coaching,” I said.
I hadn’t been sure how serious I was, but Hunter took me at my word. “Yeah, maybe.”
He seemed to be lost in thought as we walked to the entrance, so I kept my mouth shut. We got to the glass door, opened it, and went inside.
My first impression centered on how rundown the place was. The second was that it reminded me a lot of Hunter’s gym in Studsen. Bigg’s had some more recent music, maybe, and there seemed to be more wrestling, but that was about it. The two places were pretty close.
Hunter began surveying our surroundings the instant we were inside. Seemingly in a trance, he made his way past the unoccupied front desk and to the entrance to the gym area, where the sound of leather hitting leather could be heard.
When we walked in, the pungent smell of disinfectant practically punched me in the face. How on earth were they using so much of the stuff? I looked around and saw a bucket in the corner. Holy cow.
Hunter seemed unfazed by the smell or anything else. His eyes scanned the room, taking in all the activities being performed.
There were almost a dozen people in all working out in various stations. To our right we found a series of small and big punching bags being hit by fighters of various sizes. To our left were a couple of mats. One of them was in use, and the two wrestlers seemed to be drilling a move where one of them would try to grab the other guys legs and the other guy tried to stop him from getting a good grip.
“What are they doing over there?” I asked Hunter.
Hunter looked over briefly. “Takedown defense,” he answered, before screwing up his face in skepticism. “Kinda.”
I watched as the guy attempting the takedown was successful and nodded. Logical enough name. When I turned to ask Hunter what he meant by “kinda,” I saw he had turned his attention to the room’s centerpiece.
It was the sparring ring. The thing looked even older than the one in Bigg’s. Its ropes were fraying on the far side especially, the wood along the side was chipped, and it even looked like the floor was slightly uneven. Nevertheless, two fighters—who looked to be about sixteen—were in the ring with helmets, fighting each other under the instruction of a third man. I didn’t need to be told the third man was Clint.
He wore a pressed, crisp maroon polo and had his nearly white hair cropped close to his head. His tall, thin frame bounced around the mat like that of a young man, and his voice barked instructions with startling intensity. If I had to guess, I would say he was in his late sixties, if only because I couldn’t imagine him being any older given how spry he was.
One of the boxers appeared to make him so irritated he pulled him aside and stepped in his place, showing him the correct footwork. He threw some practice punches on the other fighter and had the other fighter throw some punches back to demonstrate the technique.
“Son, you can throw ‘em faster,” he barked. “You won’t hit me.”
The other fighter obliged, though Clint was right. He wasn’t getting touched.
“Alright,” he bellowed in his raspy voice. “Again.”
He backed up and watched them. After another couple of minutes of sparring, he finally acknowledged us. “You the guy on the phone?” he called, keeping his back to us.
I looked to Hunter, who had been observing carefully. “Yeah,” he answered.
Clint turned to us now for a moment, looking over his shoulder. “I’ll be with you in a minute.”
Hunter nodded but said nothing, since Clint had already turned back to the action in the ring. He appeared to be a man of few words.
The fighters took a break a few minutes later, and Clint got down from the ring to greet us. After introductions and some handshakes, he got right to business. “So what can I do for you?” he asked.
Hunter pursed his lips for a moment, then shrugged. “Well, I just wanted to check the place out and see if there was anything I might be able to help with.”
“Did you now?” Clint asked, his eyebrows raised and a small smirk on his face. “Find anything? Been meanin’ to get that ring painted up . . .”
His tone was skeptical bordering on humorous, but Hunter soldiered on. I had always admired his ability to let it roll off his back when someone wasn’t taking him seriously. “I was actually just watching those two kids wrestle,” he replied.
The smirk left Clint’s face and was replaced by his previous seriousness. “And?”
“I think I could probably help them out.”
Clint squinted. “You mean coach them?”
Hunter nodded. “Yeah. Their technique has a lot of holes, and I figure with the way the fight game’s going these days you’re going to have a lot of kids who wanna do MMA. If you wanna do mixed martial arts, you better have good wrestling or someone is gonna take you down and kick your ass. Doesn’t matter how good your boxing is if you’re on your back.”
“I’ve seen some of this cage fighting stuff,” Clint said, definitely interested now. “You know all that, then?”
Hunter smiled. “Yeah, I know it.”
“How do I know you know it?”
I pursed my lips. Was Hunter going to have to fight again?
“Got anyone here you think could wrestle me?” Hunter asked.
The air left my lungs. It looked like he would.
“Right now?”
“Why not?”
Clint shrugged and looked around. “What do you weigh?”
“About two-ten.”
“Alright. Only guy I have is Yevgeny, but he’s probably closer to two-fifty and knows his wrestling. If you really want to, have at it.”
My eyebrows shot up. Did he say two-fifty? That was like NFL football player big. I grabbed Hunter’s arm to tell him I didn’t think this was a good idea, but I was too late.
“Yeah,” Hunter said. “Let’s do it.”
My stomach dropped. We all went over to one of the free wrestling mats, then Clint went to go get Yevgeny from where he was working on a punching bag. The boxers working around the gym got wind of what was going on and gathered round the mat before Yevgeny had even arrived.
Yevgeny finally came, followed closely by Clint. Yevgeny was a college-aged guy about the same age as me and Hunter, and enormous. He wasn’t anywhere near as ripped as Hunter was, but he was bigger. The white undershirt he wore was at least a double XL and it still fit tight around his arms. His short hair sat atop a thick brow, and his expression signaled nothing but confidence.
Hunter had taken off his sweatshirt and was now wearing an undershirt and jeans. He seemed to be sizing Yevgeny up, undisturbed by what he saw.
“Hunter,” I whispered, grabbing his arm. “Do you think think this is a good idea?”
He patted my hand and gently freed himself from my grasp. “Yeah, it’ll be fine. It’s just a friendly spar and it’s wrestling so they’re not gonna hit me. I meant what I said when I told you I’m serious about taking care of myself. We won’t get too rough.”
I hesitated, but I didn’t say anything else. It didn’t make me happy, but I couldn’t set limits for Hunter. I had to let him make his own choices.
With a final smile back at me, Hunter stepped onto the mat and waited for Yevgeny to do the same. Yevgeny stepped on with a wry smile on his face.
On Clint’s signal, the two men crashed together. I watched Hunter’s arms as they flexed, straining against his larger opponent. Even in his jeans, his butt looked amazing while he was bent down trying to get under Yevgeny’s center of gravity.
It all happened in an instant. Hunter stood up straight, pulling Yevgeny toward him quickly. Then he swiveled his hips around and turned, his back bulging as he brought Yevgeny forward until he tripped on Hunter’s trail leg and fell down to the mat on his back. Yevgeny’s eyes bulged in surprise as Hunter came crashing down on top of him for the pin.
I didn’t know much about wrestling, but that looked impressive.
The room went silent as the gym’s fighters watched their best get put on his back. Clint’s voice thundered through the quiet and brought everyone back to reality.
“Very nice,” he cried. “Again!”
I watched with lips pursed as Hunter and Yevgeny got up to wrestle again. The two men came together at Clint’s signal, and grappled back and forth for a while, but eventually Hunter was able to pull the same move. This time there was some appreciate murmuring from the fighters around the ring.
“Alright,” Clint said. “One more time. Yevgeny, are you gonna let him keep doing the same move on you?”
Yevgeny’s face was red with a combination of embarrassment and exertion. He was scowling when the two men came together for a third time. I held my breath as I watched the now familiar grappling, hoping Hunter could pull off the same move. He seemed to really want this job with Clint and coaching would definitely be a more productive use of his fighting skills than the MMA he had been doing before.
This time, when Hunter stood up Yevgeny didn’t go with him. Instead he seemed to disengage from Hunter’s grasp and come at Hunter in a more controlled manner.
Hunter had the answer, though, as he faked briefly in one direction and then spun around to Yevgeny’s back, wrapping both arms around his waist.
The larger man looked confused for a moment. Hunter grunted and bent his knees before leaning back and picking Yevgeny up off the ground with a loud cry. The two came down to the mat with a thud, Hunter on top. The impact was so forceful I felt the floor shake.
“Holy shit!” one of the fighters gathered round the mat yelled.
Clint whistled. “That’s all I need to see. Son, you want a job, let me know.”
My heart leapt. I watched Hunter’s expression on the mat. He looked as happy as I had ever seen him. We spent another hour at the gym and Hunter gave a few more tips to some of the guys. I watched from the sidelines, enjoying my view of him working up a sweat.
Hunter was still in a great mood on the drive home. As I sat in the car looking out the window, I finally understood why he had held onto fighting as long as he had. He loved it, and he was very good at it. I was just glad that coaching could be a step toward him finding a productive use for that passion.
Chapter Seventeen
PROGRESS
The next day, I found myself in the waiting room outside of Dr. Schwartz’ office. It had been two weeks since our last session. So much had happened. I wondered what she would make of it.
Dr. Schwartz interrupted my thoughts when she came into the waiting area. She waved at me and I got up, following her through the heavy mahogany doors to her inner office. Even
though I couldn’t quite place it, something felt different. The light coming through the window shades was brighter and the clock on her desk didn’t seem nearly as menacing as it had before.
We settled down, me on the tan couch and Dr. Schwartz beside her desk. She looked at me, her face neutral, waiting for me to begin.
I settled back into the couch and thought about how to start. The last time I had spoken to Dr. Schwartz, I had barely been able to get out of bed. My relationship with Hunter was in shambles and it seemed like we were both doomed to be lost forever. Now things were different.
“I don’t even know where to start . . .” I said, trailing off.
How could I even begin to tell Dr. Schwartz everything that had happened since the last time I was here? I felt like a completely different person. It was probably best to start with the most important change. “Hunter and I had a chance to talk.”
She raised an eyebrow and wrote on her pad. “What did you talk about?”
For the next few minutes, I gave her a rundown of Hunter showing up at my aunt’s place and how we agreed to work things out. I told her about Hunter’s MS, how he promised to stop hiding things from me and his test results.
When I was done, she finished up writing some notes on her pad and looked at me over her glasses. “So it appears you’re recovering well.”
That phrase. Again. I shuddered as I went back to the first letter I’d received from Marco when I was still at Arrowhart.
My therapist seemed to notice my reaction. “Is something wrong?”
“That phrase,” I said, shaking my head. “Marco used it in the letter he sent me at Arrowhart.”
“What phrase?”
“‘I hope you’re recovering well,’” I quoted. “For some reason that stuck with me. Like of course I’m not. How could I be? What does that even mean?”
Dr. Schwartz wrote furiously on her pad. “This phrase,” she started. “Does it occur to you in other places? Dreams, maybe?”
I considered this for a moment. “I guess I notice when people say it . . . but it hasn’t been showing up in any of my nightmares, no.”