The Boxers Daughter

Death threats and Hospital gowns

The hospital smelled like hand sanitizer and lemon cleaner. The men that drove me home called Pop to make sure it was alright to bring me here. 

Ma stayed at the stadium with Pop. Something about looking good for the papers when the story was out. 

My stomach twisted at the thought of them being there. It wasn't safe. But I obeyed Pop and didn't try to go back. 

The nurse ahead of me led me down a few halls before stopping in front of a wooden door. She knocked, and a faint "come in" sounded on the other side and she opened it.

When I saw Cason I grimaced. He lay there with a needle in his arm and sticky things on his chest. His face was a rainbow of colors- blue, black, purple. They must have given him something for the swelling, because his eyes weren't totally closed anymore.

"Hey." He smiled when I walked in. I gave him a sad one and stopped at the edge of his bed. 

"Hi."

The nurse walked around his bed and tapped on a bag filled with clear liquid. "We're keeping his morphine doses small, just in case he has any severe head injuries. But it's still a big enough amount to make him drowsy." She told me, looking over the cords hooked to his body before leaving the room. 

I sat down on his bed and looked over my shoulder to spot Walsh- the guard Pop ordered to come with me- standing outside the door. 

"Got a new security order, Russo?" Cason joked, watching Walsh monitor the hallway. 

I didn't laugh. 

His smile fell when he looked at my face. "What's going on?" I hated the way he was looking at me. Concern and worry filling his eyes. 

"Nermani won, Cason." I said quietly, afraid that if I spoke any louder I would start screaming.

His humorless laugh was a puff on my shoulder. "Thanks for the reminder." I saw his jaw tense and his fingers curl slightly. The pule oximeter on his right index finger kept him from fisting his hands completely. 

"That's not what I meant." I shouldn't have said anything. He was in the hospital, the last thing he needed was more stress. 

"No, Aspen, it is. I failed your dad, you have every right to be mad at me." He grounded out. The pain in his face made my chest compress down on my heart. 

"Mad at you?" I snapped. "I'm not mad at you, Cason. I'm mad at that douche-bag  who took your Championship. I know how hard you worked for it." My blood was already pumping at the mention on Donovan. I needed a punching bag. 

"It doesn't matter now." He whispered, looking over at the window that overlooked the city. Pop had said that too...

"Glad that you feel that way." I snorted and looked down at my hand where the bruise from punching Donovan had appeared. Bluish-purple covered my knuckles. I didn't split any skin, but I didn't need a scar to remember how it felt to punch that horrifically beautiful face.  

Cason looked back at me, followed my gaze and swore. 

"Who was the unlucky bastard this time, Asp?" He chuckled, grabbing my hand to inspect it. 

"Donovan Nermani." I rasped. His eyes shot up to meet mine and he tensed. 

"You punched Nermani?" He asked in disbelief. 

I shrugged and pulled my hand out of his grip. He didn't need to know that I threatened him too, or that I may have been slightly jealous of Nermani's moves.