illicit funds • j cody

TEN

💸 JUST KIDS 💸

I take the last of my pills in the locker room as my hands tingle with anxiety—actually they might be tingling from the medication, I'm not quite sure at this point. I take a deep breath in an attempt to calm my nerves.

I'm scared. I haven't been scared before a fight since I was a kid, but right now I'm genuinely terrified. There's a fairly good chance that I still have tiny undetectable fractures to my ribs, meaning any blow could break them completely, causing anything from a punctured lung to internal bleeding.

My trainer rubs the tension out of my shoulders while I sit on the bench. I know this fight isn't going to be easy. Regardless of if I win or not, I'm going to be in rough shape afterwards.

It's finally time for me to step out and into the ring. I'm not ready. I'm shouldn't be here. I shouldn't be fighting. This isn't right. My father claps me on the back as I climb under the ropes. This is it.

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She flashes me an uneasy smile while she sits in the corner with her trainer whispering advice in her ear. She looks vulnerable, small almost. The only other place I've seen her like this was the graveyard. She looks like a kid.

That's what her and I are, kids. It's an easy thing to forget with our situations. Her father runs an international money laundering service, my grandmother and uncles conduct robberies as their main source of income. Kids shouldn't be involved in either of those things, and yet we are, washing away whatever childhood innocence we had left.

She rises from her chair and shakes the stiffness out of her limbs.

The bell rings and the fight begins. She holds her own pretty well before taking a few hard hits to her sides and face. Will, who sits next to me, visibly winces and squeezes his eyes shut for a moment. He appear to be deep in thought. He looks to the trainer and nods hesitantly, leading the trainer to give Hunter the command to finish the fight, but it doesn't look like it's going to be over soon.

Hunter fights harder, but it's clear she's trying to preserve her strength. She takes another hit to the side, and this time a crack is audible. It's clear she felt that one, but instead of doubling over in pain like instinct would dictate, she continues fighting. She starts to land more good hits of her own. One after one, she relentlessly pushes the man towards the edge of the ring. It's clear she's struggling to breathe at this point, and with what's probably a collapsed lung, there's no way she's getting enough air to keep this up for long. In one last effort, she throws a fierce left uppercut followed by an even more wicked right hook. The man crumples like a sack of bricks onto the mat.

Hunter stares blankly at her opponent as the referee counts down. She spits out her mouthguard and the ref holds up her arm, clearly exposing the extent her rib injury. Will jumps onto the mat in joy and takes the giant belt that was supposed to go on her, knowing she wouldn't be able to hold it in her state.

She whispers something desperately in her father's ear, probably that she needs to go to the hospital as soon as possible. She waves to the wildly cheering crowd one last time before a towel is thrown over her shoulders and she's led off the mat. Her trainer has an ice pack ready and walks back to the locker room with her. She gives me one last weak smile before disappearing.

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I can't help but scream in agony as my trainer holds ice to my rib while I lie on the bench, waiting for the paramedics to come get me.

My dad pulls my gloves and shoes off revealing my blue, oxygen deprived, hands and feet. I start to cry. I feel pathetic, but it all just hurts so bad.

"Your painkillers didn't do anything for me," I sob, "I feel like shit."

"It's okay," he coos, holding a hand on my forehead, and then he utters words that I never thought would come out of his mouth, "I'm sorry, Hunter. I've failed you as a parent. No one should ever let their child be in this much pain. It's killing me."

"It's okay," I gasp, "if I didn't want to do it, I would've stayed in Cartagena." The paramedics lift me gingerly onto a stretcher, and place an oxygen mask on my face. He squeezes my hand one last time before they wheel me off to the ambulance.

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Will walks out of the locker room looking more emotional than I've ever seen. He shoots me a confused look, "What the fuck are you still here for?"

I stuff my hands in my pockets, "I just wanted to make sure everything was going to be okay..."

"Right," he looks around at the crowd that hasn't gone anywhere since the fight ended and then sighs, "just get out of here and I'll give you a call in the morning about her condition. I have to go," with that he runs off and disappears in the crowd.

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My entire chest aches and I can barely breathe. Early this morning I had a surgery where they put plates in my ribs to hold them in place to heal. My father sleeps in the chair next to the doorway. I'm pretty sure he stayed up all night, and I guess he sort of deserves it.

I try to reach for my phone, but the effort only causes more pain and I give up. "Fuck," I hiss. I can't wait to leave. I clench my jaw in frustration. It's the only movement that doesn't hurt at this point.

Minutes feel like hours, just laying there, staring at the hospital TV. This is just the beginning of it all, too. I'm going to be on bedrest for at least another week, and then I won't be able to even attempt training for a couple months. I can still teach until then, but I won't be able to demonstrate anything, and I won't be able to stay on my feet for long.

J pokes his head inside the room, interrupting my thoughts. "Hey," he murmurs, noticing my sleeping father.

"You can come in," I reply softly, "just try not to wake him up, he was up all night."

He steps in quietly with a bouquet in hand before taking a seat in the chair next to my bed, "How are you feeling?"

"Like shit," I wheeze in a vain attempt to laugh, "I have plates and screws in my ribs, a tube in my chest, and this daytime television fucking sucks. Also, I can't reach my phone, so if you could hand me that, it would be much appreciated."

He gives me my phone with a smile, "When are you going home?"

"A couple days, hopefully," I fold my hands on my stomach, "I'm surprised you came to check on me so soon."

"I stayed in a hotel last night," he bites his lip, "it didn't feel right just leaving. Last time I saw you, you were practically being carried into the locker room."

"You didn't have to do that for me," I cough, causing pain to explode in my chest. "Seriously, there isn't a whole lot to see."

"It's no problem," he shrugs. "Do you need anything?"

"Just rest," I answer, "you don't owe me a thing."

"You do need rest," he laughs softly, "you still look pretty out of it."

"I feel pretty out of it, Josh," I hold out my hand and he takes it gently, "You should go home. I don't need anything. I'll keep in touch. Thanks for coming in, though."

"Let me know when you're home and feeling well enough to have a visitor stay for more than five minutes," he squeezes my hand, sending what feels like a pulse of electricity through my body, "Take care, Hunter."

"You too," he lets go of my hand and gets up to leave. "Thanks for coming to make sure I was okay, it means a lot."

"No problem,"  he says as he treads lightly to the door, "it's what friends do."

My father peeps one eye open when J leaves the room, "He's taken quite a liking to you."

"Yeah," I smirk, "he has."

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New episode tonighttttt!!! I'm so hype. Also J and Hunter's little friendship/relationship makes me so soft and I love writing about them.