Page 50 of Road to Absolution

Ignoring my attitude and admiring her red high heels she had propped on a chair, she said, “Can’t you just box against your doctor’s orders?”

“Viola!” yelled my wife, while handing her brother a box of food.

Trying not to admit I had already thought of that, I answered, “Have to be medically cleared first.” I grumbled, “No one wants a lawsuit.”

Vixen tried, “What about that MMA crap? They clearly don’t give a shit about anyone’s health.”

Thinking of that jungle of a ring, I agreed, “Nor rules, apparently. I’m not sure how it’s even classified as a sport.”

Viola shivered. “It’s more like a blood bath.” She shrugged. “Not that my bestie wouldn’t be a total ass-kicker there and—”

She stopped when Lilah, bending over in front of her, rested her hands on V’s knees. “Viola, I love you more than my luggage.”

Viola grabbed her chest. “Aw. Steel Magnolias. I love that movie.”

As if on the brink of snapping, Lilah’s nose crunched up. “Yeah, I know.” She cleared her throat, something that made Viola suddenly leery since she always did the same when annoyed. Lilah asked her, “Tell me, do they say this in the movie?” She leaned forward, putting them face to face. Then my wife snarled, “If you don’t stop helping my husband get back into a ring that could kill him, I am going to rip your tongue from your ‘hot’ mouth.”

Viola’s eyes were so wide they had doubled in size. “No. That wasn’t in the movie.”

“Do you wish to keep those pretty blues so you can possibly watch another movie, ever?”

Blink. Blink. “Ummm, yes, I would.”

“So, the conversation about Mavy-Wavy going against doctor’s orders is over?”

“Completely.”

“Good. Good.” Lilah handed her a box. “Enjoy your lunch.”

As Lilah walked away to find herself a seat, Viola opened the box, mumbling, “Maybe she should be the scary biker or on an MMA battlefield.”

Tucker and I burst out laughing until Delilah turned on the TV, where it was showing a video of my truck burnt so bad it was unrecognizable. I had yet to see it. Eyes glued to the TV, no one saw my head twitching as I relived the terror. Roaring bikes… Headlights… Guns firing…

Then my face was plastered on the Sports Channel. “… Heavyweight boxer, Maverick Hutton, has awakened from his coma…”

Nobody but close family was told about me waking. That was on purpose. The last thing we needed was for whoever had come after me to know I was able to talk to the police. Not that I would, but they didn’t know that.

With shocked faces, we all looked to the door when Diesel came running in, saying, “Hey, we got a problem.”

We looked back to the TV. He did, too, and cursed. “Motherfucking rat!”