28.

The women’s bathroom was full of giggling, gossiping talent. They all got quiet when I came in. I ignored them, bending over the sink to splash water on my face. I still didn’t want to look in the mirror.

One of the girls, a curvy brunette with a sleeve of tattooed orchids, sidled shyly over to me and opened her purse. She looked familiar. Raven? Roxy, maybe? For a weird moment, I though she was gonna ask for my autograph. Instead, she pulled out a small bottle of Listerine and offered it to me without comment.

As much as I hated dealing with all the bullshit in the industry, that small kindness made me miss it with a hollow, hopeless ache. I didn’t just miss the business, I missed my life. I missed the person I used to be more than anyone else I’d lost. Was I really gonna be able to start over somewhere in South America? Make a new life? Find a new person to be?

I couldn’t think that far ahead. All I could do was concentrate on getting Cody out of harm’s way, like I’d promised. I accepted the mouthwash and took a slug, swished it then spat it out and handed the bottle back. She gave me a wink and teetered away on ten-inch plastic platform heels.

I found Hank and Cody standing by Marco’s booth.

“Everything okay?” Hank asked, looking like he wanted to fold me up and put me in his pocket.

“Fine,” I said, willing it to be true. “Cody?”

“Sure,” he said. “I mean, it was cool, but it was kinda weird too, knowing all those people are watching. I’ve messed around with a video camera before, but never so other people could see it. Anyway, Cherise said I did pretty good.”

“Glad to hear it,” I said. “Now I have a plan to get us out of the country, but we have to go back to the Four Queens for a few hours. As long as none of our pals see us leave and follow us, we should be safe there until I get word from Damian.”

We wove a zigzagging path across the show floor, working our way towards the back exit, but got stuck waiting while the aisle was blocked by a smiling fan having his photo taken with three girls in Phat Azz t-shirts and booty shorts. That’s when I spotted the Croatians.

They had finally made it through the crowd of eager fans and were standing over by the Vixen booth. They were the only men in the room without big dumb smiles on their faces. They hadn’t noticed us yet, but that wouldn’t last if we didn’t get the hell out of there, pronto.

A squeaky Asian girl with huge implants started tossing DVDs into a large cheering crowd, causing a convenient distraction between us and them. I took Hank and Cody by their respective arms and indicated the Croatians with my chin. The three of us silently reversed direction and headed for an unmarked door on the far left of the hall.

The door led to concrete fire stairs. The only way to go was up.

When we reached the next level, the steel door on the landing led to an ugly, utilitarian hallway nothing like the tacky flash and glamour of the hotel’s public areas. We passed a freight elevator and a seemingly abandoned room service cart before we hit a dog leg in the corridor. I’d lost all sense of direction and had no idea where we were headed, but figured we’d have to find a way out eventually. Preferably before we ran into any kind of security personnel who would want to know what the hell we were doing in there.

We followed the twists and turns until the hallway deadended at another large steel door. The door led us to the main casino floor, just ten feet away from the hall where the auditions for Team Kenner were taking place. I kept Cody turned away from the AAFC signs and led him swiftly towards the exit.

We got lucky and were able to grab a cab right away. I explained about Damian on the way.

“Brazil?” Cody said. “I don’t know.”

Hank, on the other hand, seized on the idea immediately.

“Yeah, that’s great,” he said. “Getúlio Azevedo’s an old friend of mine. You can sharpen your jujitsu at his dojo for a few years, get a few local wins under your belt and then after this business has died down, you can come back to the States ready to kick ass and take names.”

“Man,” Cody said. “It’s all kind of overwhelming.”

“Don’t worry about the big picture right now,” I said. “The first step is getting on that plane.”

When we got back to the suite, Cody was like a zombie, shell-shocked and silent. He went into the bedroom he’d claimed and closed the door without comment.

Hank started after him but I took Hank’s arm, shook my head.

“Let him alone,” I said. “He needs time to process everything that’s happened.”

“Okay,” Hank said. He turned in towards me and put an arm around my waist. “What about you? You gonna be all right?”

“I have no idea what that even means,” I told him. “But don’t worry about me.”

“You know,” Hank said. “You’re the bravest person I’ve ever met.”

Was I brave? Or just so numb and broken that I didn’t care what happened to me anymore?

Hank sat on the sofa and pulled me down with him, folding me into his arms. My immediate instinct was to turn the embrace sexual. To take the wheel and move things back into my area of expertise. Sex for me has always been so easy. Men are simple mechanisms, comforting in their predictability. But with Hank, my bedroom black belt was meaningless.

And this other thing, this complex, slippery emotional bond forming between us, it felt like drowning. I kept on telling myself that it was his thing, not mine. That I was just being polite, trying not to hurt his feelings. I needed it to be that way to keep my armor whole, to stay safe and focused.

But my heart was speeding in my tight, airless chest. There was something profoundly comforting and asexual about his touch, that weird mother hen vibe that seemed so strange coming from someone as tough and ugly as him. I wanted to push the alien comfort away like a little kid who doesn’t want medicine.

And just like that, for the first time in two long years, I was bawling my eyes out. Crying for Vic, for all my dead friends. Mostly for myself, for my lost life. Hank just held me, whispering gentle nonsense to me in that gravelly Southern voice. Telling me that he would never let anyone hurt me again.

He pushed back my damp hair and kissed my face and I couldn’t stop myself from pulling his mouth down on mine. I felt a hot pulse of hunger that swiftly dissolved into melancholy. He broke the kiss and held my head against his chest. His hands were shaking.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly. “I wish...”

I was going to say it’s okay, but stopped myself.

“You know, I wasn’t always like this,” he said. “It’s partly this thing with my brain, and all these meds sure don’t help, but I know I bring it on myself too. It’s like... Like I don’t deserve to be with a woman, after what I done.”

“What do you mean?” I asked. “Why would you think that?”

“She was such a little thing,” he said, eyes fixed on nothing. “Wouldn’t make flyweight with a roll of quarters in each pocket. We’d been together for about a year when it started. She’d get real mad about...the problems I’d been having. Like it was some kind of reflection on her looks or her female talents. I tried to explain that didn’t have nothing to do with it, but she wouldn’t listen.” He paused. Frowned. “ ’Course, she went ahead and got herself a piece on the side. Another fighter. A real man, she said. Threw it in my face just like that. Laughing at me.”

I pulled away and sat up, eyes narrowing as he continued.

“I only hit her the once,” he said. “But that was all it took. A coma, the doctor said. She didn’t wake up for four months.” He looked down at his hands. Clenched them, trying to steady the shaking. “I felt like some kinda monster. Still do, to tell the truth. It’s like any life I might have had ended in that one stupid second. Even though I’m out now, I feel like I’m still doing time in my own head.”

A cold knot formed under my sternum, making it difficult to breathe. I couldn’t look at him.

“Why didn’t you tell me about this sooner?” I asked.

“Reckon I was afraid you’d hate me for it.” He looked at me. Looked away. “You do, don’t you?”

I didn’t answer. I couldn’t.

“Angel,” he began, reaching for me. The shaking in his hands was getting worse.

“No,” I said. I pulled back and stood. “No, Hank, I’m sorry, but I need a minute here.”

I had been willing to accept everything else about him: the pills, the brain damage, the jealousy, the violent outbursts. But knowing that he was the kind of man who could put his girlfriend in the hospital, well, that was something else. Something much more personal.

I flashed back to my father, reaching across the dinner table and casually hitting my mother in the face, knocking her glasses into her spaghetti. My father had broken my jaw when he found out about my videos. I felt nauseous.

“Angel, please,” he said, voice breaking, showing me his calloused palms. “I know what I done was wrong but...”

“Look,” I said, but trailed off. I was so torn up and twisted inside that I couldn’t find words. Hank reached out to me again and I flinched away. Raw anguish flared in those pale eyes for an endless moment before he closed them and turned away from me.

He got his feet under him and stood, suddenly unsteady as a drunk. Veins pulsed in his temples, sweat beading on his hairline.

“Hank?” I said.

He didn’t reply, just staggered into the bathroom and kicked the door closed. Seconds later, I heard the irregular gush and splash of vomiting.

Maybe I should have gone after him, but I couldn’t. I just sat there. I had no idea how I was supposed to feel about all this. I had no idea how to feel about anything anymore.