Killer

Britt’s voice is like a beacon in the fog, pulling me in.

“Your sister saved my life, Keller. I’ll never forget that.”

Britt lowers the side of the bed and I climb in, pulling her warmth against my chest, heating my frigid skin. We stay wrapped up like that, holding, caressing, comforting each other through our shared pain. Eventually, Britt pulls back, brushing her lips over mine.

“Maybe we can find our way out of the darkness together,” she says.

“Maybe.”

Britt lays her head back on my chest and I bury my nose in her hair. For a brief moment, I allow myself the luxury of believing everything will turn out all right. Just this one time, maybe it can.

Epilogue

Ten years later.

Britt

“Honestly, Marco. If you don’t stay off of it, you won’t be able to fight next month.” I look over my laptop and shoot the young fighter a serious look.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t plan on injuring it again.”

Shaking my head, I finish typing my notes and walk over to the exam table.

“I don’t say things I don’t mean, Marco. If I tell you to elevate your ankle and keep weight off of it, I’m not secretly saying ‘go jogging then jump rope for an hour.’ Understand?”

The young man nods, properly chagrined.

“Okay. You’re all wrapped up and iced. Go home and keep it up, I want you here in two days so I can look at it again.” I tap his leg gently and step back, knowing he won’t want help getting down from the table. They never do.

“Thanks, Britt.” Marco gives me a crooked smile and heads for the office door.

“Oh, and Marco?” He stops and glances over his shoulder. “You get to tell the boss what happened.”

The fighter’s eyes nearly bulge from his head. “No, no, no. You need to do it for me. Please? Oh my god, he’ll kill me.” Marco’s olive skin is significantly paler than a minute ago.

“For Pete’s sake, he won’t kill you.”

“Oh yes he will.” Marco shakes his head. “He’s scary as hell. I don’t know how you do it.”

I laugh and pat the young man’s shoulder. “He’s really not that scary, Marco. Just… ummmm,” I have to concentrate to keep from smiling. “Just don’t look in his eyes when you tell him. That’ll help.” I push the reluctant fighter out of my office and close the door, managing to last until it clicks in place before I burst out in a fit of the giggles.

I clean up the table, spraying it with disinfectant, and toss the open wrappers. My conscious gets the better of me. With a sigh, I go to my desk and pick up the phone.

“Hello, my love.”

“Keller.” I grin even though he can’t see it.

“To what do I owe this pleasure?”

Boy, he’s laying it on thick today, not that I mind. Not one bit. “Marco is coming to see you. Can you go easy on him?”

“Britt,” Keller warns.

“I know, I know. I’m too soft on the fighters. You’ve told me. Just, don’t make him pee his pants.”

Keller’s laugh lights up my insides, filling me with warmth and love. Laughs were rare our first few years together. Between Max’s trial in which he was sentenced to twenty-five years in jail, my therapy for PTSD, and Keller dealing with his sister’s death, neither of us had much to laugh about. Then our life completely changed and the good times began to outweigh the bad.

“I won’t make him pee his pants, I promise,” Keller says when he finally stops laughing. I hear a soft knock on his door though the receiver. “I believe I have a visitor.”