Walking Disaster

mirror.
    “Yeah. I wasn’t sure how I was going to do it without him there.”
    “I told you—” Abby began, but I stopped her.
    “Pidge, how many times do I have to say it?”
    She shook her head at my impatient tone. “I don’t understand it, though. You didn’t need me there before.”
    I turned to her, my finger touching her cheek. She clearly had no idea how deep my feelings ran. “I didn’t know you before. When you’re not there, I can’t concentrate.
I’m wondering where you are, what you’re doing . . . if you’re there and I can see you, I can focus. I know it’s crazy, but that’s how it is.”
    “And crazy is exactly the way I like it,” she said, leaning up to kiss my lips.
    “Obviously,” America muttered under breath.
    Before the sun set too far into the horizon, America and Shepley took the Charger south.
    Abby shook the Honda keys and smiled. “At least we don’t have to freeze on the Harley.”
    I smiled.
    Abby shrugged. “Maybe we should, I don’t know, consider getting our own car?”
    “After the fight, we’ll go shopping for one. How about that?”
    She jumped up, wrapped her arms and legs around me, and covered my cheeks, mouth, and neck with kisses.
    I walked up the stairs to the apartment, making a beeline to the bedroom.
    Abby and I spent the next four days snuggled up either in the bed, or on the couch with Toto, watching old movies. It made waiting on Adam’s call tolerable.
    Finally on Tuesday night, between
Boy Meets World
reruns, Adam’s number lit up my cell phone’s display. My eyes met Abby’s.
    “Yeah?”
    “Mad Dog. You’re up in an hour. Keaton Hall. Bring your game face, sweet pea, he’s Hulk Hogan on steroids.”
    “See you then.” I stood up, bringing Abby with me. “Change into something warm, baby. Keaton is an old building, and they’ve probably shut off the heaters for
break.”
    Abby did a little happy dance before jogging down the hall to the bedroom. The corners of my mouth turned up. What other woman would be that excited to see her boyfriend trade punches? No wonder
I fell in love with her.
    I slipped on a hoodie and my boots, and waited for Abby by the front door.
    “Coming!” she called, strutting around the corner. She gripped each side of the door jamb and shifted her hip to the side.
    “What do you think?” she asked, pouting her lips attempting to imitate a model . . . or a duck. I wasn’t sure which.
    My eyes traveled down from her long, heather gray cardigan, white T, and tight blue jeans tucked inside tall black boots. She meant it as a joke, thinking she looked frumpy, but my breath caught
at the sight of her.
    Her body relaxed, and she let her hands fall to her thighs. “That bad?”
    “No,” I said, trying to find the words. “Not bad at all.”
    With one hand I opened the door, and held out the other. With a bounce in her walk, Abby crossed the living room and intertwined her fingers in mine.
    The Honda was slow to start, but we made it to Keaton in plenty of time. I called Trenton on the way, hoping to God he would come through for me like he’d promised.
    Abby stood with me, waiting for Trenton beside the tall, seasoned north wall of Keaton. The east and west walls were protected with steel scaffolding. The university was preparing to give their
oldest building a face-lift.
    I lit a cigarette and took a drag, blowing smoke out of my nose.
    Abby squeezed my hand. “He’ll be here.”
    People were already filtering in from every direction, parking blocks away in different lots. The closer it came to fight time, the more people could be seen scaling the south fire escape.
    I frowned. The building choice hadn’t been thought through. The last fight of the year always brought the more serious punters out, and they always came early so they could place their
bets and secure a good view. The size of the pot also brought out the less experienced spectators, who showed up late and ended up flattened against the walls. This year’s was exceptionally
large. Keaton was on the outskirts of campus, which was preferred, but its basement was one of the smallest.
    “This is one of the worst ideas Adam has had yet,” I grumbled.
    “It’s too late to change it now,” Abby said, her eyes traveling up the concrete blocks.
    I popped open my cell and shot a sixth text to Trenton, and then snapped the phone shut.
    “You seem nervous tonight,” Abby whispered.
    “I’ll feel better when Trent gets his punk ass