Rescued (Forever 5)

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 f**ked-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.