What the hell is going on? My mind is screaming out in pain as I timidly open my eyes. A harsh, fluorescent light beams down on me as I see vague faces above me. I feel a sting in my arm. I grab at it, pulling out what feels like an endless tube as the faces go black and begin to scream. I’m bleeding from somewhere, they cry out, while hands attempt to hold me down.

 

“Liam! Kid! Stay down. You’re okay!” My coach Ricky hollers at me with his gruff, smoky voice, “You’re in the hospital, but you’re okay! That damn dirty bastard lined his gloves with a roll of quarters. Damn good it did him. Lost the fight and managed to get himself a lifetime suspension.”

 

It comes back to me like a wave of memories. I’m not in the hospital anymore. I’m back in the center of the ring where we pound fists to start the match. I knew something was wrong then. Those fists were just a bit too heavy. He was just a hair too slow from all those tapes I watched of him. Either this guy had gained some massive muscle in his hands, or he was attempting to pull something.

 

Despite knowing it, I let the fight happen anyways. I wasn’t a chicken-shit novice that backed down or cried foul. I had seen that play out a ton of times, and it never ended good for the nark, especially if the guy had a good defense or an in with the referees to get away with it. No, I had to tough this one out and find a way to knock him out before he knocked me out.

 

Then there was that blow in the last round. I thought it was over then. My head swam in some dark fog I couldn’t get out of. Every muscle in my body went stiff and rigid as if it could break apart like brittle glass. My eyes became heavy, and I knew all I could do was just to swing at anything that looked like a body. I hit something. And then again. And then again.

 

Before I could come to, there was nothing left to hit. The referee was holding my arm high in the air as the hot lamps from the spotlight baked down on me. I tried to spy Alana in the seats. That green dress was supposed to be a beacon for me, but I was too tired… I was too beat up and damaged to see anything but a crowd of blackened faces and long shadows that only grew more tilted as the man talked loudly in my ear.

 

“Oh Liam,” a woman’s voice cries out over my coach’s shoulder, “I knew something was wrong with you when I saw you take that hit, but I couldn’t stop it. It’s like that match in Orlando we went to a few years ago with that guy Marco-something. Do you remember what I told you then?”

 

I can’t answer her. I sit there in a sort of stunned silence as I spin my heavy head towards her voice. Red hair dangles down like a canopy above my head. She grabs my head as she finishes her thought for me. “You’re a damn idiot who doesn’t know what’s best for him,” she laughs, with a shrillness that sounds like a witch’s cackle -- high pitched and hollow. “It was true then, and it’s true now,” she adds, almost as an afterthought.

 

I pull my hand away from her as the next part of my fight’s story comes back to me. There was the referee, but there was someone else too. Someone’s warm lips pressed against mine, someone’s tight body against me, her hands feeling and grabbing at my moist muscles. And then there was that laugh -- Amy’s laugh as the referee outstretched my arm for the win.

 

Alana. Shit. She saw that. She fucking saw Amy storm through the ring to claim me as her prize. She knew what she was doing. No doubt she had seen Alana in the crowd and wanted to make sure she made it public that I belonged to her. Rage flows through my body, coursing through my veins. The beeps on the machine speeds up as my heart races and my blood pressure rises. A nurse dressed in all red scrubs comes in quickly with a chart in hand.

 

“Whoa there,” she cries out as she spies the machine attached to me. “Mr. Murphy, is there something wrong? Something I can get you? The doctor will be in soon to do rounds and discuss your test res--”

 

“Get this bitch out of here!” I scowl, not caring if this innocent nurse has to deal with my anger. Obviously, I couldn’t trust my coach to obey my wishes. He knew how dangerous Amy could be, and that we were over long ago, but he still managed to let her creep her way into this hospital room with him.

 

“Liam!” Amy cries out with her hands crossed on her bare chest as she looks back and forth helplessly to the nurse and Ricky. Neither moves. They’re frozen in place as they watch her lean her head down towards mine to whisper sternly, “I’m supposed to be here with you, and you know it. No one else can take care of you like I can take care of you.”

 

“Get her out of here!” I scream again, this time loud enough to make the entire hospital floor stop in their place. Seconds later, a security guard, the same one from when I met Alana’s father, hurries in. His hand rests on the nightstick attached to his belt holster. I eye him and then gesture towards Amy who has backed herself into the corner of the crowded hospital room. She tries to say something her defense but the security guard has already called for back up.

 

Before leaving, she turns one last time to look at me. “You’ll be sorry you sent me away, Liam,” she says, narrowing her eyes. “You know that you and I belong together. No one, not even that new skank of yours, can keep us apart.” Her beady brown eyes dig imaginary daggers into me as she no doubt goes through the emotions of desperation, angry, and despair. I almost feel sorry for her as the security officer grabs her by the arm and forcefully leads her out of the hospital room. Or perhaps, I feel worse for the man whose job it is to be her escort back to her car.

 

With Amy gone, the nurse goes to work. She replaces the IV I managed to tear out of my own arm in that haze and adds a bit of pain medication to my line. “The doctor is monitoring you from his office,” she says. “While you were in and out of it, he ordered a CT scan, some x-rays, and a few blood draws. We should have the results soon, and he’ll be here to go over it. Right now, it doesn’t look like more than just a routine concussion. We see it in fighters like you pretty frequently.” She winks at me as she says playfully, “Tough job to get beat up like that.”

 

“This wouldn’t be anything for a guy like Liam if it weren’t for the damn cheater being able to get away with stuffing his glove with quarters. Can you believe that?” Ricky scoots a chair over towards me and sits down beside my bed. He turns on the television overhead to the sports channel as we all turn our attention to the commentator in the gray, shiny suit.

 

“Stunning footage we’ve been playing from a pro-am fight in Vegas tonight. MGM champion fighter Mr. Murphy, or Liam Murphy, has been duking it out for a chance at the pros for a good month now, and tonight was meant to be one of his biggest breaks yet.” The feed cuts to highlights of the match as they show punch after punch. I turn my head away towards the nurse who has a grimace on her face. I could never stand to watch my face break in slow motion while two dudes who have never set foot in the ring comment on it.

 

The ringside announcer comes back on to declare, “Murphy landed a TKO, downing his opponent in the second-to-last round. He even managed to score a kiss from some random hot chick as a reward. But then…” Out of the corner of my eye, I watch as my body shivers and shakes before falling backward. Amy lets out a scream, and the crowd rushes towards the ring. Ricky calls for a medic, and the shot goes black.

 

“It was later announced by the pro-am heads that Murphy’s opponent had managed to smuggle in a roll of quarters by stitching it in the lining of his gloves. Dirty tactics from a guy who had nothing to lose or win with this match other than taking down Murphy. Investigators are still trying to see if there were outside ties to the case, but, in the meantime, the fighter has been put on a lifetime ban upon further notice and will face his trial in the coming weeks. In the meantime, we hear that Murphy is well and resting in a local hospital, awaiting test results.”

 

The sports news switches over to some football coverage as the nurse looks down completely horrified at me. “Turn it off, Ricky,” I command. “I don’t want to see them do another recap of it again. And stop feeding the press info about me. Nothing else until I get out, you hear me?” Ricky’s face is ashen as he places his phone back into his pocket and leans into his chair.

 

“Like I said,” the nurse interrupts, “the doctor should be in very shortly. In the meantime, is there anything I can get you? Some food? Drinks?”

 

“My phone, if you don’t mind. I need to call someone right away before the doctor comes back in.” I imagine Alana sitting along in her dorm room, upset, confused, and angry. Did she see me pass out or did she get away as soon as she saw Amy force herself onto me? She wasn’t here, so that had to be a sign that something was up. I can tell by the wallpaper and the tags on the nurse’s chest that this was the same hospital her dad was in. She would know to come here, but she’s not. The room feels impossibly empty without her.

 

The nurse nods and then walks out of the room, leaving Ricky and me alone. With the door shut, I lay into him, “What the fuck were you doing letting crazy Amy in here with me? You know that she’s not allowed anywhere near me!”

 

“I didn’t know, kid. She’s been hanging around the fights for weeks now. I thought maybe you were running her on the side with that other chick. And when she didn’t show up in the ring after your win, I thought that she was no more -- that you picked Amy. How the fuck was I supposed to know? The last thing I do is try to keep up with what pussy you’re getting this week.”

 

Fuck knows if he had a point. It wasn’t his job to be my security or my matchmaker. And at this point, he had seen it all and managed to keep his mouth shut about it too. For whatever reason, I trusted this jackass to not only keep myself in fighting condition but to take me as I come -- even as the head of an outlaw motorcycle club. That was a tough order to fill.

 

Who I should be pissed at are my boys. My security was supposed to be working that night, but I didn’t see one of them outside my dressing room or working the ring line. Every guy in the black shirts looked completely unfamiliar to me as if they had been sourced out to another group. My senses tingle as I think about the intel from Alana about Amy possibly working with the mafia or another club. If she wanted to walk past one of those goons, she had to have some leverage over them. No way would my guys let her pull that shit without my permission.

 

“Yeah,” I finally sigh as I turn back to an upset Ricky, “I get you. It isn’t your fault. It’s Amy’s. But I need you to do me a favor. I need you to get that other chick here in the hospital room. I’m not talking to any doctors until I know she’s on her way.”

 

“How am I supposed to manage that? You think she is going to take your call after watching you suck face with that insane bimbo? I’m no good at playing Cupid, Liam. And I certainly am not good at keeping couples together. I couldn’t even keep my quickie marriage lasting more than a year!” He laughs heartily as the nurse walks in and places my phone on the table beside Ricky. He grabs at it and begins thumbing through.

 

“Wait!” I say as I reach over with my arms outstretched towards the phone. “Don’t use that. You’re right. She won’t answer it if she knows it’s from me. But she will answer if she thinks it’s about her dad.”

 

“Her dad? What the hell has he got to do with it?”

 

“We’re at St. Luke’s, right?” Ricky nods at me slowly as I lay out my mad plan to get Alana back here with me. “Her dad was in a car accident and was in the ICU here. He’s up on the fourth or fifth floor now recovering. She gets calls from his doctor whenever there is an update. So I need you to --”

 

Ricky holds up a hand to stop me. “I see where you’re going with this, Liam,” he says, “and I don’t like it. I am not going to use her near-dead dad to get you some action tonight.”

 

I grab his arm as he stands, forcing him to look back at me. “All I need you to do is use the hospital phone and call yourself Dr. Underwell. Make it vague. Say he wants to speak with her or something. You don’t have to pretend it’s an emergency. She’ll come if he asks her to.”

 

Ricky’s face tightens, the wrinkles in his oily, aged face seem to grow even heavier as he finally says, “You’re going to burn in hell for this, Liam.” He picks up the hospital’s phone and begins to dial the number on my cell phone’s contact list.

 

I whisper back with a gaping smile I can’t seem to control, “That doesn’t matter. At least I’d be with her when I go down.”

 

He puts the phone on speaker as the other line rings. A tired, frail voice answers, “Hello? Dr. Underwell?”