THE INCESSANT BEEPING HURT MY EARS, and I wanted it to stop, but I couldn’t keep my eyes open. The pain in my chest throbbed and everything felt like an effort, even the tiny action of opening my eyes. The room around me was silent but for the beeping. After a minute or two, I felt the drugs pulling me back under, though I could still feel Danny’s gentle hand, warm in mine.
THE SECOND TIME I CAME AROUND, things were much clearer, and the pain was much worse. O’Connell’s head rested on his arms beside me as he slept. Dark circles rimmed his eyes, and he was in desperate need of a good shave, but I was so glad to see him I could have wept. My hand felt heavy and sluggish, and raising it was like swimming through treacle. I did it anyway and ran my fingers slowly and comfortingly through his unkempt hair. After a few seconds, he woke, and looking up at me raised a smile.
“You’re awake,” he said in awe, and I nodded.
“Water,” I begged croakily.
With shaking hands, he poured me a glass of water from the jug beside my bed and raised the straw to my parched lips. The cool, clear liquid was a balm to my burning throat, and I laid back on my pillow after a few sips, exhausted from the effort.
“Danny?” I asked him, trying to talk as little as possible.
“He’s fine, baby. We’re all fine.”
He paused looking pained. Staring at my face, he looked desperately sad and as he started talking, I realised how much misplaced guilt he had been carrying while I was asleep.
“I’m sorry, Em. I’m so fucking sorry. I should never have sent you off on your own to wait for me. I should have stayed by your side and protected you. My only job is to make sure you’re happy and protected, and I fucked it up.”
It killed me to see him beat himself up like this, and in truth, I was in too much pain to say much.
“Not your fault or mine. Just Frank’s. He would have killed you as soon as he saw you. Where is he?”
“Police got him,” he said with contempt. “They’re remanding him in custody so they can add rape to the charges. He’s fucking lucky they got to him before I did.”
I closed my eyes briefly, silently giving thanks that I wouldn’t have to worry about O’Connell being locked up. I tried hard to open my eyes when he called out my name, but I was already falling back into the darkness, and as I did, I could swear that he was crying.
“WHAT’S WRONG, DOC. Why won’t she wake up?”
“Mr. O’Connell. Your wife has only just been moved from intensive care. The fact that she has come around once is a good sign, but keeping her asleep is her body’s way of taking care of her while it repairs itself. The knife pierced her lung and only just missed the main artery. It’s likely that she’ll have respiratory problems for the rest of her life, and the road to recovery will be a long one. You’re very lucky that she’s still alive.”
“I fucking know that, doc. What I want to know is when she’ll wake up!”
“Con! For fuck’s sake, rein it in,” I heard Danny chastise him, and I could feel the anger radiating from O’Connell. I desperately wanted to calm him down, but I was trapped once again inside my own body.
“I’m sorry, doc,” O’Connell apologised. “I can’t thank you enough for saving Em’s life. I’m just worried, that’s all. I need to hear her voice and feel her touch to know that everything’s okay.”
“You will, Mr. O’Connell, but right now our biggest concern is the risk of infection. I know it’s crass to say, but you need to learn to be patient, and I mean it about the visitors. No more than two at any one time. I’ve lost count of how many times my nurses have evicted people from this young lady’s room.”
Their conversation faded away. Be patient, baby, I’ll be there soon.
DANNY WAS READING Moby Dick to me when I finally came around. I didn’t disturb him, content to let his raspy voice narrate the story for me. I imagined him as an old, Irish Captain Ahab. He glanced up to find me watching him and slammed the book shut.
“Thank fuck for that.” He snorted. “I thought I was gonna be reading this shite for days.”
“Moby Dick isn’t shite,” I whispered.
“Whatever,” he mumbled.
“It was in the waiting room, and they told us to keep talking to you in case you could hear, so I picked this shite to read so you’d wake up and tell me to stop.”
I smiled at him and reached out my tired hand. He held it in his own, and I remembered his touch as one that kept me warm in the dark.
“O’Connell?” I asked.
“I convinced him to go and have a shower and a shave and something to eat. Course now he’ll be pissed that you woke up, and he wasn’t here.”
“How long have I been here?”
“’Bout a week, darlin’. The knife punctured your lung, and they had to operate. He missed your heart and a major artery, but your lung is in pretty bad shape. You got an infection straight off the back of the surgery, so it was touch and go for a while.”
I lay there and just tried to process everything. I was in pain, confused, overwhelmed, and tired but, above all else, I was glad to be alive. Frank was behind bars now and between this and the rape, I doubted he’d get out of prison any time soon.
“I knew you’d make it,” Danny mumbled, as he stared at the cover of the book. “I always said you were a fighter, and I wasn’t wrong. Besides, it wouldn’t be fair. You’re not supposed to outlive your kids, especially when they go trying to save your life. It wasn’t your time yet, sunshine, not with all of us keeping you here. We need you too much to let you go.”
He continued to stare at the book with watery eyes, as he contemplated what could have happened. There was little I could say to console him, but I was alive, and that was all that mattered. Besides, my throat was burned up again from all the talking, and I needed to rest. Tapping his hand, I asked him, “Read to me until I fall asleep?”
He rolled his eyes and sniffed, as he turned back the crinkled cover.
“Call me Ishmael...”
OVER THE NEXT WEEK, I was never alone. Almost every time I woke up, O’Connell was there. On the rare occasions that he wasn’t, one or more of the boys would be there with me. Danny continued to read to me, and I knew he was secretly enjoying the book, because I caught him still reading when he thought I was asleep. I’d already asked Nikki to bring me a copy of The Color Purple ready for when we’d finished. If he didn’t like it, I’d let him pick the next one.
Visiting hours didn’t apply to me and sensing that they were fighting a losing battle, the staff at the hospital gave me a private room so that we didn’t disturb the other patients. It was the same room that was currently staging poker night. Having no idea how to play and no interest in learning, I flicked through one of the stacks of magazines I’d been given and amused the guys by reading them all their horoscopes. The hospital’s ‘set in steel’ rule of only offering patients and not visitors tea or coffee hadn’t gone down well with Danny. He’d taken to charming the rounded, stern-faced, trolley lady into giving him his regular caffeine shot. Pushing the door open with his butt, he walked in carrying two coffees. Of course, I was still too sick to drink caffeine, but the trolley lady didn’t know that. So, he snagged an extra one for himself. O’Connell played cards with one hand, as he insisted on holding mine with his other one. He couldn’t bear to be in the same room and not touch me, like he was constantly reminding himself that I was still there. Watching everyone getting comfy, a thought occurred to me.
“What’s happening about the Ramos fight?”
The whole room stopped as all the boys turned to look at me.
“Um... the fight is gonna be cancelled, Em. With everything that’s happened, there’s no way that Con will be in good enough shape to fight.”
O’Connell had gone back to studying his cards, clearly unaffected by the conversation.
“But if you cancel the fight, will he reschedule?” I asked.
“Will he fuck,” Danny huffed.
“He wants a stepping stone, and they’re two a penny. If Con doesn't fight him, he’ll find someone who will.”
“It doesn’t matter. There’ll be other fights. I’m not leaving Em,” O’Connell said with indifference, as though the fight meant nothing to him. But I knew better.
“What do you think?” I asked Danny.
“The amount of training he’s already done for the Calvari fight counts for something. If he puts his nose to the grindstone for the next two weeks, it’ll be close, but I think he can go the distance. No fucking point, though, if he can’t get his head in the game.”
“I’ve told you I’m not fighting,” O’Connell said quietly. “My wife is laid up in the hospital after nearly dying. Quite frankly, I’m fucking stunned you think I would.”
Danny seemed guilty and resigned. I looked carefully at his face and realised how dejected he was. Frank had nearly killed me, but he’d also taken away O’Connell’s big shot at a title. I couldn’t live with that. I wouldn’t live with that.
“Guys,” I said quietly. “Could you give us a minute?”
O’Connell, sensing an argument, put his cards down with a sigh. To their credit, the boys filed out of the room without a single word of complaint.
“I’m not fighting,” he argued as soon as the door closed behind them.
“Why?”
“I don’t want to,” he retorted.
“That’s crap. Why?”
He crossed his arms and looked everywhere around the room except at me.
“O’Connell,” I warned, “why?”
With another sigh, he unfolded his arms and looked up at me.
“You know why, sunshine. I was so caught up in the fight and the sponsors last time that I left you unprotected, and you nearly died because of it. I’m not doing it again. I don’t need to fight. I can always go back to working in construction.”
“Is that what you want?” I asked.
“I don’t want to leave you, and honestly, I don’t think I could get back in the ring again without being reminded of what happened. Danny’s right. My head’s too fucked to go back.”
“Then we fix it,” I told him, running my hand through his hair. It had become my favourite way to comfort him. He turned his face into my hand.
“I’m afraid, sunshine,” he admitted.
“Of losing the fight?” I asked.
“Of losing you.”
“How much do I need to survive to prove to you that I’m not going anywhere?”
He looked me deep in the eyes, and I could see all of his pain and fear, but he needed to get over this. Even if he lost the fight—if he didn’t face his fears and get back into the ring then he’d have to live with that fear forever.
“I can’t do it, Em. It’s over.”
I rubbed my fingertips over his t-shirt covered chest, right where I knew his tattoo was.
“A champion is someone who gets up when they can’t.”
“You don’t fight fair, you know that, right?” He choked out his words, but I could see him wavering.
“I fight. That’s all that matters, and you need to do the same. If you need to picture Frank on every bag or at the end of every fist then that’s what you do. This guy is a has been. He’s had his shot in the spotlight, and now it’s your turn.”
“And if I lose?” he asked me.
“Then you go down fighting. But when you walk out of that ring, you do it with your head held high because you gave it everything.”
“I think they’d be better off calling you the bloody Hurricane,” he grumbled, but I knew I had him.
“You’ll fight?” I asked hopefully.
“I have conditions,” he warned.
“Okay,” I agreed warily.
“I’m not leaving you on your own until the fight is over, and I can look after you. The boys and I will take turns visiting, but you’ll never be alone.”
“You know that with Frank in prison, I’m in absolutely no danger right?”
“Hey, is it my head we’re fixing or yours?”
I rolled my eyes at the suggestion but relented. “Fine. Next condition?”
“I get to sleep here when I’m not training.”
“No deal. There’s no way you can train hard and sleep in a crappy chair. If you’re going to do this, then do it right. That means sleeping in a proper bed and getting some rest. You eat right and stick to Danny’s training programme or there’s no point in bothering.”
“Jesus, woman, you drive a hard bargain,” he scowled. “Fine, but the boys take it in turns to sleep in the chair.”
“That’s not fair. You can’t expect them to do that. Especially when I’m in no danger.”
“Non-fucking-negotiable,” he growled.
“Anything else?” I sulked.
“Yeah,” he said gently, leaning forward. “Win or lose, after this there’s no more fighting until you’re better. I get to spoil and take care of you and drive you mad, but the fighting stops until you’re healthy.”
“Deal,” I agreed easily, looking forward to it. Standing up, he kissed me lovingly then opened the door to let the boys in.
Kieran had looked at the both of us before he guessed. “You’re fighting, aren’t ‘cha?” Danny grinned broadly as he glanced at me knowingly.
“Seriously,” Tommy said. “Do you even own a set of balls, ‘cause I’m pretty sure you gave them to Em when you got hitched,” he joked, although he was seriously taking his life in his own hands baiting O’Connell while I was still laid up.
“Laugh it up fuck bag. You’re sleeping in the chair till I fight.”
“No way,” exclaimed Tommy.
“That chair is fucking uncomfortable, and no offense, Em, but I won’t sleep for shit.”
O’Connell stared at him hard until he relented.
“Fine. I might just lie down next to you Em if I get too uncomfy.”
“Not if you want to keep your fucking legs,” warned my husband.
“Finish your game” I admonished, smiling at Danny. “O’Connell’s having an early night.”
THE NEXT TWO WEEKS dragged monotonously. Every day meant more pills, more observations and more tests. I missed O’Connell terribly, even though he used Kieran’s phone to call me on Tommy’s number four or five times a day. I could hear the excitement in his voice, and I knew that training was going well. Despite all his initial protests, Tommy didn’t moan once about babysitting me and often split duties with Mac or my friends from university. But he was always the one asleep by my bed in the morning. Tommy’s whole family came to visit frequently, and although they didn’t have much money, they supplied a steady stream of baked goods to keep me and the boys going. Even Father Pat stopped by a few times. O’Connell broke tradition and spent the entire rest day before the fight with me, watching movies and listening to music. This time he didn’t need the day to prepare. His head had been in the game for two weeks. As he left me for the final time before the fight to head off to Father Pat’s, he sat down on my bed. Undoing the chain around his neck holding his cross and wedding ring, he refastened it around mine.
“You know I’ve got this right?” he told me, cockily.
“I know, baby.” I smiled, truly believing he did.
“I wish you were with me,” he admitted.
“I will be,” I replied. “Now put your big girl pants on and go get a title. The flat’s looking kind of bare, and we could use a big, gaudy looking belt to brighten up the place.”
“I love you, Mrs. O’Connell,” he told me.
“Love you, too, O’Connell,” I replied, and after kissing me the way that every woman should be kissed at least once in her life, he was out of the door.
NINE HOURS LATER, he walked back in again with an eye so black he could barely see out of it, a split lip, and a very serious face.
“Well?” I asked impatiently, frustrated that I’d been on tenterhooks for hours and that no one had been answering my calls.
Suddenly, his face lit up like the morning sun and the heart-stopping smile that I loved so much spread across his face.
“Winner by knockout in the seventh round and new IBF Heavyweight Champion,” he announced.
“That’s my boy,” I said leaning back against my pillow.