Page 85 of Warrior's Walk
“You’d flatten him like a pancake,” McCormick jokes.
West shoots him a dirty look before grasping the rope. He spits in his palms and rubs them together before he re-positions his hands again. “Wish me luck.”
Unlike Nash, West doesn’t start off strong. He struggles the entire way, biting off curses, grunting and sweating as he fights to maintain his grasp. “My hands are fucking burning from this rope,” he complains, looking up at the bell to gauge his distance.
“You can do it, Professor. Just keep putting one hand in front of the other,” Brandt encourages.
“Don’t you quit on me, West Wardell. You get your ass to the top of that rope and ring that bell. That’s an order,” Riggs barks.
I can feel his struggle. He’s fighting with everything he’s got to hold on to that rope long enough to ring that bell.
When he’s just inches away from his goal, his sweaty hands slip, and he dangles one-handed as he wipes his palm off on his shorts before trying to grab hold again. He must dig down deep and find the last reserve of energy he’s got in his body, because he clinches the rope between his thighs and surges upward, barely tapping the bell. West screams a primal war cry as his hands slip from the rope again and he falls ten feet. I rush forward, but Brandt is quicker and catches West safely, although they both fall to the mat.
West laughs and his joy is contagious. He triumphed against the odds, against his limitations, and he won. He fucking did it. Soon everyone is laughing and clapping for him and he struggles to his feet, taking a hand up from Brandt. He hugs his partner hard, but then the Bitches surround him and it’s a dogpile before they’re back on the mat again.
Fuck it. I’m a Bitch as well, and I want in on this moment. I throw myself on the top of the pile of hard bodies, laughing and rolling with them.With my brothers.
“So, who won the bet?” Stiles asks Riggs.
Riggs grins, checking his clipboard for the stats. “Technically, Nash had the quickest time, but West had the harder challenge. I’m gonna call it a draw and let them settle it between themselves.”
The guys help West to his feet again, since he was on the bottom of the pile. He rubs at his thighs and I wonder if they’re cramping up. He snorts. “A draw, my ass. We’ve decided we’re not exchanging money, we’re going to let the rest of you Bitches treat us to lunch instead.”
“Black Mountain Tavern for wings and beer, boys,” McCormick calls.
“Uh-uh,” Riggs says, putting the brakes on. “First, I want West and Nash to do a cool down with stretching. Then you can go and celebrate.” He turns to me, clicking his little pen that reads, ‘You’re only as strong as you think you are.’ “Are you going with them?”
“Yeah, I guess. Then I’ll stop by the hospital and—” My phone rings, cutting off my words. The caller ID says Mission Hospital. My heart stalls, the breath in my lungs freezes to ice, and the phone continues to ring as I stare at the screen with dread.
Riggs reads my expression, and his face tightens with concern. “Answer it, Rhett.”
“It’s… it’s the hospital.”
Why can’t I just answer the fucking phone? ’Cause you know it’s bad.
Riggs grabs it from me. “Hello? He can’t come to the phone right now. This is her nephew, Navarro Riggs. Can I pass along a message?” I watch his face for signs that it’s as bad as I think it is. His eyes widen and he glances at me. “We’ll be right there.”
“Riggs?”
His throat slides and I can see the bad news written all over his face. “They’re waking your mother up. We need to head over there.”
Air rushes into my lungs, filling up my chest, and I can breathe. My heart begins to beat again. “Okay, let’s go.”
She looksthe same as she did yesterday except, maybe smaller. Did she shrink? She’s just so frail. Pale skin, hollow cheeks, and sunken eyes. They used to be so vibrant and full of life, the same whiskey green as mine. What I wouldn’t give to have her open her eyes so I can see them again.
“We’re going to wake her up, but I can’t make any promises,” Doctor Anson explains gently. “Her blood pressure and oxygen are stable, but that could change when she’s awake. We’ll keep a close eye on her and take it hour by hour.”
More like minute by minute. I’m not leaving her side for a second.
The nurse inserts a needle into the IV port taped to the back of her hand. “Now we just wait,” she says.
I trace the dark blue veins bulging beneath the pale skin of my mama’s hand, waiting to feel her twitch, even the slightest movement, any sign of life. Riggs’s strong hand on my shoulder reminds me of his solid presence. He’s been my rock, right by my side through this whole ordeal. Reminding me I’m never alone, even though I feel like I am.
She continues to rest comfortably for another thirty minutes until she begins to stir. “Mama? Can you hear me?” When shefinally opens her eyes, I’m the first thing she sees. “Hey, Mama. Been waitin’ on you to wake up. You needed your beauty sleep, though.” She tries to smile but doesn’t succeed.
I scoot aside as the doctor completes an assessment, shining a penlight in her eyes, asking her to turn her head from side to side, and checking her extremities for lack of sensation. The nurse changes out her bag of IV fluids for a fresh one and hands me the call button.
“Let me know if anything changes before I come back to check on her.”