Chapter Sixteen
Grace
The next day, I felt wrung out, like day-old bread. All the soothing concern that Noah had lavished on me seemed to have dissipated with the rising sun. He didn’t want me to be alone that day and insisted that I go with him while he trained. I packed my books into my messenger bag and left the camera backpack lying in the corner. I wasn’t sure if I would ever feel the confidence to wield it again.
“Do you miss the Marines?” I asked, fiddling with the radio. I wondered if I would miss my camera. Sometimes I would forget I was even carrying it, since it was such a natural extension of my body. This morning when I picked up the camera bag, it felt like it weighed as much as a cement block and I could barely drag it into the closet. My portfolio was lying on the desk, and sitting on top was a mint tin emblazoned with the tilt shift photograph I had taken of the Alpha Phis. Lana must have left it for me last night. I assumed it was one of the many rush-related paraphernalia they had produced. Maybe it wasn’t true art, but I couldn’t deny a surge of pride when I looked at the tin with my photo printed on the lid.
“Sometimes, but not today,” he said, interrupting my reverie.
“Why not today?”
“Today is Field day. If I were still in the Marines, I would be cleaning today. Shining my shoes, cleaning the barracks. Everything.”
“But if today weren’t Field day?”
“It’s nice not to have every aspect of your life under someone else’s control. I don’t miss walking in the desert and disrobing in order to take a—well, you know. I don’t miss getting shot at. But I miss my brothers. I think that’s why Bo and I enjoy living with all the guys. There’s a sense of community there that we had in the Marines. Plus, you know, you were paid to shoot stuff up. It’s unreal in some ways. But every day was like a challenge, a competition between yourself and the elements or the insurgents.”
***
The Spartan gym looked like its name. There were mirrors along one wall, but there were no machines like you would see at a health club. Bags hung from the ceiling, old huge tires were stacked in one corner, and long ropes coiled on the floor. Racks of free weights lined the wall opposite of the mirrors. The place smelled of sour sweat.
Noah led me through the front room where everyone seemed to stop what they were doing and stare at us. In the back was a larger room that resembled the warehouse where Noah had fought for his ten thousand dollars. Except this room had large fluorescent lights that hung down over a raised boxing platform. To one side sat a long bench like you’d see in a schoolyard. Noah led me over to it and gave me a hard, long kiss that left me blushing from the tips of my ears to the soles of my feet.
“Be right back,” he said.
When he returned, he and Bo were dressed only in loose shorts. They climbed into the ring and a couple of other guys came to help them suit up with protective gear, red on Noah and blue on Bo. They looked a little like the kid’s game of Rock ‘Em Sock ‘Em Robots. My trigger finger twitched involuntarily. If I stood up on the rafters and looked down, the bright colors contrasting against the dull gray walls would’ve made an amazing photograph. Dr. Rossum’s jeers about my trick photography killed the thought off quickly. I shook my head to rid myself of his taunts. I didn’t want to dwell on it. I resolved to just live in the moment.
A crowd of thickly muscled men filtered in from the front room and soon it seemed like everyone was standing or sitting around the platform.
This was different from the warehouse fight. Bo and Noah circled each other, their arms outstretched as if measuring the distance between them. When one moved in, the other feinted. They danced like that for a minute before Bo sprang toward Noah with a punch across the jaw. Noah’s head snapped back, but he responded with a quick kick to the side that pushed Bo away.
For two friends, the blows they exchanged seemed fierce. A flurry of punches, kicks, and parries followed, and a few of the blows elicited shouts of delight from the audience. Noah was on his back with Bo atop him, Noah’s legs snug around Bo’s torso.
With a quick movement, Noah rolled Bo onto his back, his arms around Bo’s neck and his legs around Bo’s arms. Bo tapped his hand to the side and Noah let go immediately. He rose easily and leaned down to help Bo to his feet. They hugged each other. When someone came to remove Noah’s helmet, I could see him grinning.
He said he fought for money, but it was clear by the expressions on both faces that they enjoyed this exertion of testosterone quite a bit.
Noah was breathing hard when he came to the edge of the ring. Leaning on the ropes, he motioned me over. I resisted the urge to look behind me, but I did see out of my periphery about a dozen heads swivel toward me. I have to admit the feeling that welled up inside me wasn’t pretty or nice. It was possessive with a tinge of pride. Yes, that guy up there all sweaty and gorgeous who just fought the crap out of the other guy? That guy was gesturing toward me.
Someone, I’m not sure who it was, gave me a boost at the same time Noah reached down to grab my hands. I stood on the outside with the ropes of the boxing ring between us. They were soft and springy.
“What’d you think?” Noah asked me, holding my arms so I didn’t fall backward. “Different from the other night?”
“I’m a little afraid of what I think,” I admitted.
“Oh,” he said, one eyebrow rising.
“It’s very primitive,” I said, “and evokes a primitive response.”
He laughed low, and I felt my stomach tighten in response. “I don’t think this is the place for the discussion I’d like to have. Let me shower and change, and we can get out of here.”
“Shower,” I said plaintively. I wanted to finger paint the sweat all over those defined muscles from his chest down to his low-riding gym shorts. His hands tightened on my arms, and I wondered if he was going to haul me over the ropes. He just looked at me, his nostrils flaring.
“Don’t push it, sister,” he said, growling a little. “Pull up on the top rope.” And he ducked under the raised rope and came out on my side. He jumped down and held up his arms for me. I leaned forward, and he effortlessly lifted me down.
“Why is your nose still unbroken? Or your face rarely bruised?” I patted his face.
“It’s the face masks, but sometimes I can get a bloody nose. Bo wasn’t aiming for that though.”
“Aiming?”
“Yeah,” Bo’s voice came from above us. He jumped down from the ring to land softly beside Noah and me. “Noah has a glass jaw, so I couldn’t hit him too hard, or I’d mess up his photo shoot.”
“I don’t like getting hit in the face, so I try to avoid it,” Noah admitted.
“Does that mean if you get hit in the face you’re knocked out?” I asked.
“Nah, it just means I can’t take too many of them. And I’ve developed very good duck and jab instincts.”
“So this is like the swimming thing,” I said to Noah. “Exposure is like an antidote.”
“You told her you were scared of the water?” Bo asked, surprised.
“He wrote to me about it,” I replied. Bo gave Noah a strange look and then slapped him on the back.
“Let’s get you cleaned up,” he said and took Noah off to the locker room.
The mini high that I had been on faded, and discomfort set in as I looked around the room as it emptied. A big barrel-chested man who had been standing in Noah’s corner during most of the fight came over.
“Paulie,” he said, holding out a giant hand, which could have engulfed two of mine.
“Grace.” I watched as my hand was swallowed up. Where Noah was lean and muscled, this man’s physique screamed steroided body builder. I shrank away at the menace in his gaze, but he didn’t release my hand.
“My boy Noah’s got a chance to be a big name in this sport. You gonna help him or mess with his mind?”
“Um, I think Noah decides what he wants to do without much input from others.” Paulie must not have had a good understanding of Noah’s mentality if he thought I was going to influence Noah one way or another.
“There’re two kinds of girls for a kid like him: The hometown girl and the ring girl. One is going to do everything she can to propel her man up the ladder to the title.”
“I’m guessing I’m a hometown girl.” I tugged at my hand and he finally let it go.
“Yeah and you hometown girls have a lot of ideas about what your men should do. Uptight chick like you with money written all over her probably thinks she’s too good for this place. Maybe you should let go now and hook up with your own kind.”
Right, like I was going to take lessons from a guy whose neck had been swallowed by his shoulders.
“Leave her alone, Paulie,” Noah demanded. He had returned from the locker room. “Let’s go,” he directed to me.
“Bo?” I asked.
“He’s got his own ride,” Noah ushered me to his truck. His hair was wet from the shower and laid flat against his head, like a silky brown cap.
“Bo mentioned you had a photo shoot? What’s that all about?” I asked when we got into the car.
“I’ve been offered an undercard fight on Halloween,” Noah said.
“My God, is that why you were all at the apartment the other night?”
He nodded. “Yeah, I came up to tell you the news. Lana was making spaghetti, and we just dumbly invited a bunch of people over.”
“God, I feel like an idiot. I ruined your big news.”
“Nah, it’s all good, Grace,” He turned his head slightly, and I could see a smirk on his face. “The evening ended just right.”
“What happens now?” I asked, slapping him lightly on the arm.
“It would be great if you could just get into the Octagon and fight. But there is a ton of BS involved. The publicity you’re required to do. The constant monitoring of your diet. The working out constantly. They make me wear my cowboy boots to public appearances,” Noah’s voice started to take on a whiny quality.
I stifled a laugh at his side.
“I can feel you laughing,” Noah accused me.
“I’m sorry,” I giggled a bit. “Cowboy boots? I’ve never seen you wear those!”
“Yeaaahhh,” he drawled. “And they want me to talk with a twang and use loooong vowels.”
This time I couldn’t contain my laughter.
“Being successful in the UFC isn’t just about being the best fighter; it’s about being a personality. Making people want to either cheer for you or against you,” Noah complained.
“How do you get chosen for the fight?” I asked.
“Money,” Noah said flatly. “It’s all about how much money I can generate. I’ve got a perfect record, but there are a lot of low level guys with perfect records. We all earned them against gym chum.”
“Gym chum?”
“Yeah, for smaller gyms, they drag in guys off the street, promise them money fights, and then throw them up against more experienced fighters so that those fighters can build their records.”
“You aren’t making this sound very savory.”
Noah shrugged. “Anything where there is a lot of money contains unsavory things.”
***
Sleep came easily each night with Noah’s attentiveness, but each day I awoke with a sense of dread. Noah needed to spend more and more time training. And I felt like I was just marking time. Mike asked me to cover for a classmate who was struggling with midterms and I said yes. I had nothing better to do. I hadn’t picked up my camera since the debacle with Dr. Rossum, and other than the one time at the gym when Bo and Noah were fighting, I hadn’t had the urge.
Ironically, it wasn’t the money that killed off my hobby. Getting paid for it was exciting. Instead, it was knowing that what I was doing was fake, a trick, no more worth gracing the cover of a magazine than a bowl of fruit. I wished I had the nerve to tell Dr. Rossum how much State was paying me, but money probably didn’t matter to him. Noah said that real criticism came in the form of dollars exchanged and if someone thought my work was worth paying for, then it didn’t matter what a million Smithsonian artists had to say. I wanted to believe that was true more than anything, but I was having trouble convincing myself, or at least of getting the courage to return to Dr. Rossum. One visit to the firing squad was enough for me.
“Have you thought about coming to Vegas with me?” Noah asked during one of the rare moments it seemed like we saw each other.
“I can’t,” I told him, twisting my face up in disappointment. “I thought I told you I was going to cover someone’s shift who was studying for midterms.”
“I thought you were going to turn down the trade?” Noah asked.
“I was, but this person was really desperate.”
“Why are you taking all these hours on at the library? It’s hard enough for us to see each other.”
“You’re so busy, and I’m just trying to keep myself occupied,” I explained.
“With Mike? I thought you said your insecurity wouldn’t manifest itself by making me jealous.” He wasn’t looking at me at all. Instead he just tapped his pen against the desk, fast and hard. I wondered if he would break the pen or gouge the desk first.
I wasn’t sure where the Mike accusation came from, and I wasn’t trying to make him jealous. The accusation did hit close to home. I complained incessantly about the ring girls to Lana who told me to go to Vegas already if I was so worried.
There were girls everywhere, and Noah was so fine with so much drive and potential. I knew that there were dozens of them on this campus alone waiting for him to tire of me. My indecision must have shown on my face because Noah threw down the pen and swore at me, which he rarely ever did.
“Goddammit Grace, you don’t need money from the work study. You can just sit at home.”
Sit at home and wait for him like I had for four years? I had waited for him, and only when he had decided it was time, did he come. Now he was telling me I could just wait some more until he had time for me? I felt a sudden and unexpected rush of anger toward him. “I just can’t sit around and wait for you to show up after you’re done with your activities.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’m not that girl,” I spit out. Maybe I was, but I didn’t want to be. I was tired of being Josh’s little sister, Lana’s cousin, and now Noah’s girlfriend. I had to start stepping out on my own, even if it meant just working at the library for more hours. Before, when my confidence was buttressed by my black metal case full of lenses and mirrors, maybe Noah’s absence wouldn’t have been so noticeable but the divide between us seemed greater now than ever.
“I’m doing all of this for you, you know.” He threw out his arm, gesturing into the air. I had no idea what he was talking about.
“How is your fighting for us?”
“It’s too low-class for you, is that it?”
“No!” I shook my head vehemently. I felt like we were talking two different languages. “I don’t fit with you, Noah. You know where you’re going and what you’re going to do. You’ve put actual plans in motion. I can’t even pick a major, and I dither over what classes to sign up for. My—” I couldn’t bring myself to say it, to give voice to my greatest failure. To admit that I was actually terrible at something I loved.
“You have plenty of time to experiment with what you want to do and decide later.”
“Don’t play father knows best here and tell me that because you’re four years older than me, you know what I’m feeling. You don’t. You’ve always had a plan. ”
“Grace, you’re killing me here. Don’t throw away this thing between us over some ridiculous idea of what you think I want. I want you,” he said flatly as if the conversation was over and done.
“Thanks for calling my concerns ridiculous.”
“Don’t do this, Grace.” He sounded disgusted.
“Or what? You’ll f*ck some ring girl?”
He reared back like I slapped him. “Don’t curse.”
“Don’t curse? You curse all the time. F*ck F*ck F*ck F*ck!” I screamed. Noah stood up.
“I’m not going to sleep with any ring girls. Calm down or just come with me. Then it isn’t even an issue.”
“Well, it isn’t an issue if we aren’t dating, is it?” I spat out. All my anxiety, frustration, and worry spilled out. I stomped over to the entry and threw open the door.
Noah picked up his bag and, with one motion, swept all his materials into the opening. He shouldered the backpack and stalked toward me. “Fine. If this is what you want.”
No, no, it really wasn’t, but what else could I say at this point without actually looking like a crazy person? I nodded, unable to speak, knowing that if I did open my mouth a million sorries would pour forth and I would be back to where I was before. In someone’s shadow.
“You’ll regret this,” he threatened. His face was dark like a thundercloud. I remained silent, and he stepped through the doorway. I waited half a heartbeat and closed the door with a slam. I didn’t hear his footsteps right away, and I thought about opening the door. But he took off a beat later, running down the steps.
I ran over to the living room window. At the corner of the street, I saw two coeds stop him. I shouldn’t worry about hurting his feelings. There would be any number of women ready to take my place. I felt like these past weeks had been borrowed time anyway. Like the magic clock had been broken and midnight was delayed. Only now the clock was fixed, and my time was being ticked off as the golden hour approached steadily. Inexorably.
***
The library was bursting with people during midterms, but everyone walked around like silent ghosts. Worry marked many faces, aging us past our years. I tossed Mike’s red ball around by myself and stared down at the library entrance from the balcony. I focused on the monitor’s desk purposely trying to blur the edges. People slowed down, moving like windup dolls, as I mentally took their photos. A girl with a bright red jacket walked in. She would’ve been a great subject.
My heart ached, missing Noah, missing my camera. He hadn’t called me or texted me. He didn’t show up around campus after class or even here at the library. Given that he had pursued me so hard in the beginning, his lack of effort now spoke volumes. We were done.
I began to dimly understand why my mother couldn’t face the world and hid behind a veil of prescription drugs. Being a zombie from too much Xanax was vastly preferable to feeling hollowed out by pain.
My text message alert sounded. I swung away from the balcony and rolled my chair to where my phone lay on the desk. Call me. Josh.
“Yes, Master Josh, what can I do for you, Master Josh?” I asked, dutifully calling him.
“Can you come up here for homecoming?”
“I can’t. I traded with someone, and I’m supposed to cover their shift on Saturday.”
“Trade again.” He sounded impatient. “Get your student supervisor to cover. Tell him you have a family emergency.”
“Is Mom okay?” I asked, instant concern making my voice a little screechy.
“It’s with me, you dumbass.”
“Are you okay?”
“Better than. Guess what?” He continued without giving me a chance to guess. “The Athletic Director was down here the other day and saw your photo.”
“What photo?” I asked dumbly.
“The one you took of me looking awesome. What other photo would I be calling you about?”
“I already got paid for that one.” Maybe I wasn’t art major material or good enough for Dr. Rossum, but someone liked my stuff enough to pay me a substantial sum of money.
“Right, so anyway, the AD loves the photo and wants you to do one for every sport on campus. They’re gonna pay you to do it, of course. I’m negotiating your fee,” Josh said, sounding so proud of himself, almost as proud as when he talked about his athletic accomplishments.
“Seriously?” I was stunned.
“For reals, baby sis.”
“Why do I have to come up for homecoming?”
“They want you to take pictures of homecoming too. The parade and then the game. Whadda think?”
“I’ll get someone to cover.” I hung up on the sound of Josh’s laughter. Mike had no problem covering for me when I explained my situation.
***
Homecoming was more fun than I had anticipated. It was good to get away from Central. Noah had left for Vegas without a word. Lana came with to serve as my assistant. I was grateful for her help, as this time I really did need assistance, having to keep track of where I was supposed to be and when. I didn’t get to see much of the game except through the camera lens. This time, I stayed up in the press box for the entire game. Lana sat and charmed half the sports writers.
By the time we landed at Josh’s apartment after the game had ended, I was mentally and physically wiped, but I hadn’t forgotten that Noah was fighting that night in Vegas.
Josh pulled me aside after pizzas had arrived.
“Noah’s fourth on the card so he’ll probably fight around 8 pm or so. I’ve bought the fight. But he’s a huge underdog and he’s likely to get crushed, so maybe you want to miss it anyway?”
“No, really?” Dismay and fear chased down my spine.
“Yep, according to what I’ve read on the internet, the original challenger hurt himself. So Noah is filling in. It’s not a title match or anything, but it’s a fairly big deal because the opponent is undefeated, and in order to make the fight worth the pay-per-view money, they had to find another undefeated middleweight.”
I felt sick to my stomach and refused all offerings of food. Noah had never once expressed any concern about his fight, but then I never gave him the chance. The crowd in Josh’s apartment had blossomed. It was homecoming after all. I claimed a place in front of the TV and refused to move.
The first match lasted all three rounds. Both fighters were bloodied and exhausted. Their blows were more like grabs, and they spent the last four minutes grappling on the mat. The blood from cuts on their faces was smeared on the floor.
Noah had once told me that the grappling portion could look very provocative, and he was right. The one opponent was lying on top of the other in some weird 69 position. As the announcers narrated the events, the terms they used had more sexual innuendo than Cosmo’s front cover.
None of the men in the crowd were turned off by this. Apparently sweaty man on sweaty man in a sexual position was exciting if their intent was to hurt each other. After the fight was over, a decision was made, anointing the red shorts guy as the winner. I had no idea how they arrived at that decision.
The two looked completely exhausted with bruises and cuts all over their face and arms and chest. One’s guy nose looked broken and cotton had been stuffed up it to stem the flow of blood. I felt sick that this was what Noah would look like at the end of his match. After the commercial break, the announcers started talking about Noah’s fight.
Noah’s strength, according to the announcers that I could barely hear over the din, was in his legs. He had powerful legs, and his kicks had knocked people out. His weakness was grappling. No one mentioned his glass jaw. Maybe that was a weakness only known to him and Bo.
His opponent looked just as powerful. Noah’s fight was a little anticlimactic after I worked myself up to believe that he would be choked or struck into unconsciousness and carted off on a stretcher. Scenes from the night in the warehouse flashed through my mind. Instead, the first round consisted of the two grabbing each other around the neck and circling. There were a few blows exchanged, and Noah took his guy to the floor only to be thrown off. Neither looked too damaged after the first round.
The second round ended about twenty seconds in, after Noah kicked his opponent in the face and then drove his knee into the opponent’s abdomen about ten times until the opponent collapsed and tapped out.
Despite the shortness of the fight, I was wrung out and went to lie down. I didn’t need or want to see the big title fights. I missed Noah terribly. He looked great tonight, and there were all those girls ringing the fight, ready to attack him the minute he stepped out of the Octagon.
And he had every right to take them up on their offers, because I had so stupidly told him to get out.
“You okay?” I hadn’t heard Josh come in nor seen him because my arm was thrown across my face, in an attempt to keep my stupidity from leaking out and infecting others. I felt him sit on the side of the bed.
“What’s more important in life, Josh? Knowing who you are or just being happy with what you have?”
“I don’t know that you can have the latter without the former.”
“Right.”
“Is this about Noah?” Josh asked gently. “Because the guys and I think—”
I groaned and rolled over away from Josh. “Why are you always gossiping about my life?”
“Nothing better to do. They keep canceling our favorite soaps. But seriously, Grace, you can have both. There’s no reason why you can’t enjoy yourself with another person even while you’re searching for direction.”
“I just think that I can’t focus with Noah around. He makes it so easy for me.”
“That sounds kind of contradictory. If Noah eases your way, doesn’t it mean he gets rid of all the clutter so that you can focus on finding your ‘direction?’”
“What’s with the scare quotes? I can hear you emphasizing that word with derision,” I mumbled into his pillow.
“Because, Grace, you have this rosy and very wrong picture that everyone else around you knows what the hell they’re doing. I’m probably not going to get drafted, and I don’t know what I’ll do if I don’t play football, but I’ve got to figure it out. You don’t think Lana wonders whether the life choices she has made are right? Everyone has moments of uncertainty. You have to give yourself room to fail, Grace.” Josh pulled on my arm and rolled me back over so he could look at me. “I know you’ve been lost since Dad died. And I’ve been a shitty brother, at times, but not moving forward with your life isn’t going to bring him back. And it wouldn’t have kept him alive.”
The tears I had tried to keep at bay were sliding out of my eyes and dampening the pillow. Josh reached over to wipe them away. His own eyes were a bit wet. “I miss Dad every day, especially on game days. While I’m not a fan of the idea of my little sister dating, this Noah guy seems to make you happy. I’d rather have you happy and with him than miserable and alone.”
I wiped at my tears. “God, I’m like the poster child for every emo, sad-sack girl out there. I’m letting down my gender.”
“At least you admit it. Now dry those tears and come out. The fight’s over, and the guys are going to want to impress you by doing keg stands.”
“You make it sound so enticing,” I mocked.
“I know. This way they will be so disgusting, you’ll take a decade to want to date again.”
“You’re so clever.” I patted him on the chest and pushed off the bed.
Josh was right. Watching a bunch of players do keg stands and then puke did turn my stomach. I was glad to go home the next day.
***
I waited until I was sure Noah had returned to campus.
“Aren’t you going to tell me I’m doing the wrong thing?” I asked Lana as we were picking out the clothes I would wear to lure Noah back to me. I had, through some sneaking around, figured out that Noah was going to be at his gym tonight doing some kind of post mortem. Maybe planning for his next fight.
Lana was silent for a minute, and when she spoke, I could tell she was choosing her words carefully. “I thought you’d fall apart if you and Noah broke up. But even though you’ve been a mess emotionally, it’s nothing like you were when he wrote you and said he didn’t want to meet you.”
I was stronger, emotionally and mentally, than I was two years ago. Even though I had been torn up inside about Noah being with another girl in Vegas, I was still functioning. I could be alone and survive, even though I was happier with Noah. He might have slept with a girl in Vegas. He might have done two dozen of them. But Noah had written to me faithfully for four years. He had come to Central College, thousands of miles away from his base in San Diego. Josh was right. Everyone’s life had uncertainty. But my future wasn’t completely unknowable.
I had my camera. My family. And, if all went my way, Noah.
He had no one in his life but Bo. And me. He could have me if he wanted me.
I pulled up the bus schedule on my laptop. The bus service was nowhere near The Woodlands but it did go to the Spartan gym. I had showered and shaved every part of my body.
I pulled out the shirt Lana had bought for me the first night I saw Noah at the fraternity party. It wasn’t gym appropriate, but I knew Noah had liked it. He told me once that he had wanted to untie those bows with his teeth.
I considered putting on the silicone cups that Lana had given me to wear with this top but decided I would go without. It was an overtly sexual message, but I wanted there to be no misunderstandings.
It was cold out, and I threw on a pair of skinny jeans and a cashmere shawl. I flatironed my brown hair so it hung like a silk curtain down my bare back.
I inserted a pair of wide hoop earrings in my ears and carefully applied some mascara and eyeliner. I didn’t try too much because I knew I wasn’t the artist that Lana was with the makeup. I outlined my lips in rose and ran a tinted lip gloss over the top, making my lips look bee stung and wet.
Popping two mints in my mouth, I stuck my ID and debit card in my pocket along with my lip gloss. I slid my wedges on and double checked the bus route I stored on my phone. I’d need to make one stop and get a transfer and the second bus should take me within three blocks of the Spartan gym. Lana had wanted to drive me, but I wanted to do this all on my own, no safety net.
Both buses were sparsely populated. When the driver stopped at my destination, he warned me, “This isn’t a night club, girlie.”
“I know. My boyfriend is a fighter.”
“You best hustle inside, then, else he’ll be using those fists of his.”
Thanking him, I hopped off. It wasn’t just cold; it was freezing. I hurried the three blocks west of the bus stop to the Spartan gym. The lights above the gym were dimmed, and for a moment I had this terrible thought that the place was closed. I checked my phone. It was 7:30 and the gym didn’t close until 10:00. I pulled at the door, and it opened easily, a bell like sound occurring when the door opened. The sickly sweet smell of antiseptic and sweat assailed me, and I took a moment to acclimate myself.
There were the sounds of metal against metal as burly guys lifted bars heavy with weights. Another person was watching himself do curls in front of the mirrors. No one stopped me, although it seemed like everyone was looking.
I took a few more steps inside the gym, clutching the shawl around me. For a moment I wondered what the hell I was doing here at this nearly all-male enclave of muscle and sweat.
“You lost?” I heard a familiar voice call out to me, and I spun to my left and saw Bo standing there. He was shirtless, and he was unwrapping a long cloth from his hand.
“No,” I answered, straightening my shoulders. “I know exactly where I am.”
We stood there for a minute as he weighed my response against his own love for Noah. I must have passed, because he jerked his head toward the back room that held the boxing ring. “He’s back there.”
“Thanks.”
As I was walking toward the back room, I brushed by him and heard him say, “Don’t make me regret it.”
I saw Noah almost immediately, sitting on a bench against the wall. His elbows rested on his knees and his shoulders were hunched forward. Noah had always appeared solid and in charge, but in this moment he looked burdened by the weight of something.
My cork wedged heels made almost no sound as I walked toward him on the rubber mat floor that covered the expanse of the gym. It wasn’t until my feet were nearly under his nose that he even noticed another person was in the room with him.
“Not interested, babe,” he said without raising his head.
“You haven’t heard what I’m offering,” I said. His head jerked up and for a moment I saw a strong emotion blaze in his eyes. Relief? Love? I knelt down in front of him and placed my hands on his.
“Congratulations on your win. It looked fairly—” I cast around for the right word“ —, effortless.”
“It wasn’t exactly effortless, and my body still hurts more than usual, but it was a good win. I’m surprised you watched it,” he admitted.
“I couldn’t not watch it. I’ll definitely believe anything you say about the other guy looking worse than you.”
Noah shook his hands a little restlessly but didn’t move them out from under mine. “Did you really come down to the gym to tell me congratulations?”
I took a deep breath. “I need to ask you an important question. One bigger than whether Converse sneakers are better than Keds. Or what the best super power is.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah,” I paused and took a deep breath before plunging ahead. “Do you think magnet polarity can be reversed?”
“All of those sound interesting, but I think we both know the answer to one of them,” Noah replied in a serious tone.
My heart sank. “So that’s a no?”
“Every sane person acknowledges that Chucks are the superior sneaker.”
I managed a weak smile. “Indeed.”
This time he turned his hands palms up and gripped mine. “Magnets can be reversed. But, for some, their attraction is so strong that they can’t be kept apart.”
“Not even by stupid words and stupid actions?” I said softly, looking at our entwined hands. I could feel mine getting sweaty, and I wanted to pull them away and wipe them on my jeans.
“Not even.”
“I picked out my own clothes and rode the bus here,” I blurted out.
This statement was met with silence. Then he said, “You’re the strangest girl sometimes. Let me help you, Grace: ‘Noah, I miss you, and I forgive you for being an a*shole.’”
I looked up at him, wanting him to see how earnest I was. “Noah, I’ve missed you,” I didn’t repeat the last part calling him an a*shole, but I was glad that he knew the mistake wasn’t all mine. “I was afraid of what you made me feel, and it was easier to push you away than accept it. I’d like to try again if you’re willing.”
He let go of one of my hands to sweep my hair back and tuck it behind one of my ears. His big hand cradled my face. I leaned into it and turned to kiss his palm.
“I’ve just been waiting for you to come around instead of forcing myself on you,” Noah said softly. He drew me closer to him with his one hand, still holding my face with the other. The kiss that he gave me was more tender than passionate, but it still curled me toes and made me want to drag him down on top of me.
“I was never interested in Mike, you know. You’re the only one for me,” I vowed.
“I didn’t sleep with a ring girl in Vegas. I’ve never wanted anyone but you.” He tipped my head up, his face suddenly vulnerable. “We all right?”
“Yes, forever,” I breathed out. He swept me up against his body. Neither of us cared that his sweat was staining or even ruining my top. He could rip it off me later, and I’d keep a piece in my memory box as a remembrance of our reconciliation, tucked in next to all his letters and notes.
***
The next morning, I told Noah my plan to submit a different set of photos to Dr. Rossum. The one with the girl on the bench. The gravesite of my father. The picture I took of the front of our house the one time Josh and I returned for a visit after we’d moved to Chicago to live with Uncle Louis. And another tilt shift photography piece–the one of Josh looking awesome. Someday I hoped the portfolio would include Noah fighting.
“After class today, I’m going back to see Dr. Rossum,” I said, pouring Noah a cup of coffee.
He made a face, but I knew it was about my announcement. I made good coffee. “Why Grace? Do you really need an art major to take pictures for a living? You said before you just needed more practice.”
“No. But I can learn a lot about perspective and composition and self-expression.” I took a sip of my own coffee. “It would make me better at photography.”
“Then I’ll go with you,” he announced.
“You can, but you have to stay outside the building.” I had anticipated this and wanted to set early ground rules. If Dr. Rossum was mean again, I could see Noah barging in and punching the professor in the nose, which would result in Noah getting suspended or worse.
“No way. I’m coming inside,” Noah insisted.
“You aren’t the one applying for entrance into the art program,” I replied calmly, sipping on my coffee. He wasn’t going to win this argument.
“No, but I’m not going to sit on my thumb while someone tears you a new a*shole.”
I tried a different approach to reason with him.
“Let’s assume that at some point in the future, I’m working for a newspaper or magazine and I have a problem with the editor. I need to be able to work out these issues on my own,” I explained.
“No, you really don’t.” He looked so serious that I tried to keep from smiling at the absurdity. “I’ll come and break his face and then your problem will be solved.”
“What if you’re gone on a fight?”
“When I get back, I’ll come and break his face.”
“Noah, be serious. You can’t go around breaking people’s faces in order to protect my feelings,” I admonished him. I couldn’t tell at this point how much was teasing bluster and how much was serious threat.
He heaved a huge, put-upon sigh and took a long drink of his coffee. “Is it okay with you if I’m mentally punching their lights out?”
“Yes, perfectly. And I want you to describe the action in great detail after.”
***
Noah was waiting for me, just like that first day, slouching against the wall. This time I didn’t hesitate at the door but ran to him. His arms came around me immediately and he kissed me, uncaring of the students around us.
“Ready?” He asked, tenderly moving a little hair that had fallen forward and tucking it behind my ear.
I nodded and lifted up my black portfolio.
We walked silently across the campus, holding hands. The fallen leaves from the trees crunched under our feet. The fall air was getting cooler, but it would’ve to be much closer to freezing before the students would pull out jackets and jeans. I couldn’t recall a time I had felt more content and just generally pleased with the world. I knew that even if Dr. Rossum hated my work again that I’d be okay.
I’d still be able to perfect my photography skills without classes. What I had told Noah before still was true. Nothing was better for me than actual practice, which meant experimentation and, yes, failure.
I’d learned so much from trying and failing. It’s something I wouldn’t fear again.
Funny how facing down your greatest fears actually made you stronger.
“Are you sure I can’t come in?” Noah asked as we reached the steps of the Fine Arts building.
“Yes, I’m sure,” I reached up on my toes and pressed my lips against his. “Your love is so strong I can feel it even upstairs.”
I grinned at the sudden redness appearing in his cheeks. “I do, you know,” he said softly, “love you very much.”
“I know, and I love you,” I said. Pleased with myself, I pushed him onto a bench and ran inside the building. Even walking up the stairs, I felt different. Last time I was tentative, as if I was going to my own execution. This time, I took the stairs swiftly and confidently.
I marched right up to Dr. Rossum’s assistant and gave her my name. “Grace Sullivan,” I said. “I have an appointment to see Dr. Rossum.”
The assistant’s blue eyes twinkled at me. Could she recognize the difference too? “Go right in,” she said.
“So you’re back?” Dr. Rossum’s flat voice met me at the doorway.
“I am, sir,” I said. The sound of his voice made me falter a bit, and I recalled the harsh words he had flung at me before. But I shrugged the memory off and entered the messy room. There was still no place to sit and barely any place to stand. Noah had said to imagine a steel rod from the base of my foot into the floor to keep me steady and focused. I visualized instead a long metal chain that hooked me to Noah, my rock, and mentally grounded myself.
“Do you have new material for me?” He held out his hand wearily as if this meeting was too tiresome for life.
“I do,” I said and stepped forward, handing him my portfolio. He paged through quickly as he did before and then stopped at the photo of the girl on the bench.
“Why did you take this picture?” he demanded, his demeanor a little less tired.
“She reminded me of my mother,” I admitted.
“Your mother wears poorly-fitted cardigans and ugly shoes?” he mocked.
“No. My mother’s eyes are dead. Her spirit was snuffed out when my dad died. This girl’s eyes show the same thing. No life. Something killed her inside. Nothing is growing there yet. Not now. Maybe not ever,” I said flatly. I didn’t relish dredging up my old pains; by including those pictures, I was offering up a piece of me. I’d look foolish trying to deny those feelings to Dr. Rossum.
He looked at me sharply and gave me a short nod. “It’s not like I can really keep you out of the program.”
I didn’t say the obvious, which was that he could. Instead, I waited for the official verdict and tried to keep the triumph off my face. Probably an impossible task. Noah and I hadn’t practiced that. It was enough that I was still on my feet.
Dr. Rossum tapped the portfolio against his hand. “Do you know why I am hard on students, Ms. Sullivan?”
I shook my head. Because you’re an a*shole? I thought, hoping my thoughts weren’t blazing across my face like a neon sign.
“Because,” Dr. Rossum instructed, “if you plan to be an artist you need to learn how to take criticism and stand up for your work. If you don’t love it, no one will.”
There were better ways of teaching, in my opinion, but I wasn’t going to voice those to Dr. Rossum, I said nothing.
“Nothing to say for yourself?” he finally asked.
“No, sir. I plan to let my art do my talking,” I replied, allowing a little snarkiness to leak through.
“You have a lot to learn, Ms. Sullivan.”
“I hope that the art program will teach it all to me,” I said. This time I couldn’t prevent a smile because we both knew I had won.
Dr. Rossum grunted and tossed the portfolio to me. This time all the photos remain safely tucked inside. “Leave your email with Ms. Grant. She will send you the admissions papers, and you can start classes in the spring.”
After I did as Dr. Rossum instructed, I sped down the stairs to Noah.
He saw me running from inside and caught me as I flew out of the doors. “I’m in,” I cried with happiness and showered kisses all over his face.
He threw back his head and shouted “Ooooorah,” which made me laugh like a loon. People stopped and stared at our spectacle, but I didn’t care.
“I knew it,” Noah laughed and carried me down the stairs, setting me down when we had reached the bottom.
“Oh you did, did you?” I teased, slapping him lightly on the arm with my portfolio. He grabbed it and carefully tucked it into his backpack.
“Yup,” he said, cradling me under one of his arms as we started the trek back across campus toward my apartment. “Either you were going to get in, or I was going upstairs to break Dr. Rossum’s legs. It was all good.”
I snorted and said, “Well I’m glad I could save us both with my superior skills, then.”
“How so?” Noah queried, grinning down at me.
“Because otherwise you’d be expelled, and I’d be a humanities major, if not for my photographs.”
“I’ve always known you were superior,” Noah said, all sign of humor vanishing. “You’re too good for me.”
“Bullshit,” I said, in a no-nonsense voice. “We’re just right for one another. Let’s go home and celebrate.”
His eyes lightened. “I know just the thing.”
“Does it involve us being in bed together?” I recognized that look. It’s the one that he gave me before my clothes ended up on the floor. It was one of my favorite Noah expressions.
“Yes. Why do you even ask?” He looked at me like I was just being silly. I was.
“I thought celebration was dinner and drinks?” I teased him.
“No, why waste our time doing that when we both know what we want,” he somberly told me.
“All right, Noah Jackson. Let’s go home and you can show me how to celebrate things the right way.” I was totally in the mood for anything he had in mind.
“You know, you’re very sexy when you tell me what to do,” he grinned, teasing again.
“Really?”
“Yeah.” This one word was growled at me, sending a shiver of excitement down my spine.
By the time we reached the apartment, we could barely keep our hands off each other. Our mouths were fused together as if we could only keep breathing through each other.
He picked me up and carried me to the bedroom, throwing me on the bed. I bounced once and tested out his earlier suggestion.
“Take off your shirt,” I ordered.
He stopped short and grinned at me. “I like this.” He reached behind his back with one arm and pulled the shirt over his head. I admired his bare chest, the rock hard muscles, the golden skin, the thin trail of hair that marked the path from his belly button into his jeans. His erection was clearly defined behind the denim and seemed to grow larger as I stared at it. “What now?” he asked.
I had forgotten what we were doing, as I took in his obvious masculine beauty. “Um, now the jeans.”
He shucked those quickly, too. I pulled off my denim skirt. His hardness was now tenting the thin cotton of his boxer briefs. I motioned for him to come sit on the bed, and I climbed on top of him, rubbing myself against him.
He ran his hands up my sides, eager to touch me. “And now?” he murmured.
“My shirt,” I said breathlessly, “take off my shirt.”
He did so slowly, the calluses of his palm and fingertips lightly abrading my sensitive skin. He rubbed the flat of his palms against my breast, pushing the shirt up and over the lace-covered mounds and then lifting the cotton over my head. I ground down against him, and he groaned audibly.
“I want you to kiss me,” I moaned.
“Where?” he drew me close to him, his breath whispering over my skin.
“Here,” I said. I lifted my breast to him.
“What do you want me to do?” he asked me, moving down so that his mouth was positioned just over the crest of my breast. “Lick it? Suck it? Bite it?”
I was panting now. “All of it.”
He didn’t require more instruction. Through the lace, he mouthed my breast. I fumbled at the bra, wanting to feel his wet mouth against my skin. He understood and released the bra closure, pushing it down my arms, all the while licking and biting and sucking on me. I rubbed harder against him.
“Do you want me to touch you anywhere else?” he asked, his lips moving against my breast.
“Yes,” I said. Oh yes. I wasn’t even conscious anymore. I was lost in his touch and in the flame of our desire for one another. I grabbed his hand. “Touch me here, Noah,” I placed his hand between my legs. “I’m so wet for you.”
His forehead was resting against my chest as he stared down at his fingers dipping inside my panties. “Jesus, Grace, I love how hot I can get you.” He pressed the flat of his palm against me and rubbed his fingers against the soft flesh between my legs.
I started to say something more, but he brought his hand up to my mouth. “Not another word, or I’ll come in my shorts. Your dirty talk is too much for me.” He looked up ruefully and dropped his hand away.
I gave him a pained smile. “Then take the wheel.”
And he did.
Noah
I must have fallen asleep after our celebration, because the next thing I knew was that I was alone in Grace’s bed. I swept out a hand and it hit the crinkle of paper. Grabbing it, I sat up, flipped on the nightstand, and began to read.
Dear Noah,
Don’t let this go to your head, but you were right to not come for me two years ago. Neither of us was ready. We both had to face down our greatest fears.
I know your fear isn’t of water anymore. I know that your greatest fear is that you aren’t good enough. But you are. You are the best kind of person, Noah. The best kind of friend, the best kind of supporter, the best kind of lover.
I will never want more than I have in you. The journey may have been long, but it was oh-so-worth it.
You are even better than Odysseus because he was an imaginary character dreamt up by some writer. You are real. And amazing.
I love you and will always love you.
Your Grace.
P.S. The weather is always really hot around you, for some reason.