Sick Heart: A Dark MMA Fighter Romance

“Where’s she going?” I absently ask Maart.

“Home,” he says. “She’s going home.”

CHAPTER THIRTY - CORT

Ainsey’s voice is sweet, so sweet, when she finally speaks to me.

“I did it!”

“You did it,” I agree. I’m kneeling down so we’re eye level. I put my hands up and she automatically begins to punch them.

“I didn’t speak at all,” she adds.

“I know,” I say, pulling her in for a hug. “I’m proud of you.”

“I’m so big now, right?”

My heart has never felt sicker. But I rally and smile. “Yep. You’re big now, Ains.”

She keeps talking now. Like she’s got piles and piles of words collected up inside her that need to come out. She tells me about her time on the Rock. Just certain moments of it that were important to her, I guess. And then, finally, she lets out a long breath and goes silent again.

“Are you ready to go back home?” I ask her.

Her gaze wanders to the jungle behind me. She nods, and signs, and speaks all at the same time. And my sick heart melts into a big old goopy mess. “Yep. Yes. I’m ready.”

“OK. Off you go then. Go find Cintia. OK? She’s probably training. So just go find her and sit down on the mat until everyone is home. Can you do that?”

Ainsey nods. And then, without another word, she turns, walks off, and disappears into the trees.

Zoya comes next. She has stolen a book and a beaded bracelet from the game room. I eye both those things. “Do you have something to tell me, Zoya?”

She tilts her chin up, nods, and then says, “I should’ve taken more. Next time I’m taking a whole suitcase with me.”

“Is that right?” I laugh.

“Yes.” She is not laughing. She is dead serious. “Because every day is another sad fight. And if they make me fight for these sad things, then from now I will also fight for happy things.”

She spits into the dirt at her feet. Salutes me. Sidesteps. And walks off into the jungle without another word. I don’t even know where she comes up with this shit. It’s not like she’s sitting around on her ass watching TV and picking it up from old war movies.

It’s always been like this. They are always different when they leave the Rock than when they got there. And I don’t care how many times they get to do that, this is always true.

This ritual we have, these kids getting off the ship… they leave something behind out there in the ocean. They don’t even know they do this, but every single time, without fail, a Zoya gets off that boat and meets me here and my world shifts.

This is a learning moment, and a teaching moment, and in this moment, I am both student and teacher. Trying to decipher Zoya’s words and actions so I don’t lose her underlying message.

But I don’t have much time to think about Zoya and her new Zen attitude because all my kids are waiting to come ashore and speak their mind to me.

They do this one by one. Some of them have profound things to say, like Zoya. But most are just proud of themselves. Most just want to be told that I am proud of them too.

So that’s what I say. Because they are still innocent. They are just kids. And even though they all know that ugly, evil, real-life monsters are coming to get them, this is not the day to think about that. This is the day to go home and let out that long breath they didn’t think they were holding.

Jafari is the last of my students to meet me on shore. He’s at least two inches taller than he was three months ago and if this kid makes it to fifteen, he will tower above me.

I rough up his hair. “I’m proud of you, buddy. This was a great summer for you.”

He grins, tight-lipped.

“You can talk.”

He nods.

“Or you can stay silent.”

He signs, Yes, to me. And I wonder for a moment if I’m actually helping them at all or just justifying all the ways in which I am going to get them killed.

I can’t bend down to look him in the eyes the way I did Ainsey because he’s in that awkward stage of tall. So I just put both hands on his shoulders and say, “Jafari. I know that maybe you think silence is safety, but… there is no safety. You get one life, son. Just one. And you need to find the joy in each day. So if staying silent gives you joy? Hey, I’m fine with it. But if you’re doing this to test yourself or for any other reason, then I would like you to reconsider.”

He draws in a deep breath and on the exhale, he says, “OK, Cort,” and gives me a nod. Then, without ceremony—no hug, no handshake, no look over his shoulder—he walks off into the jungle.