Worth the fight

to sell tickets.”  He walks towards the open elevator, putting his hand on my shoulder as he passes.
    Trevor lifts the gate and it looks like he’s going to walk out, but then he turns back to me.  “Frankie wouldn’t want you carrying this around with you.  He thought you were the shit.  Used to watch you on T.V. all the time, and try to memorize your moves.  He’d want you to get your lazy ass back in the cage and show ‘em how it’s done.”  He lifts a hand, offering me a wave, and takes a step into the waiting elevator car.  “And if that doesn’t get your head out of your ass, I’m giving you twenty-four hours to go after the lawyer.  If she isn’t smiling pretty by then, I’m calling fair game for me trying my hand at putting it back on her face.”  He slams the gate down, securing the latch.  Smart man, putting steel between us after the last comment.

Chapter 49
    Elle
    I’ve worn a bare patch in the area rug in my living room today.  Sometimes the best intentions wind up being the nails that build the house of failure.  Trevor said he would go see him, and he sounded genuine, but I’m not even sure if he really did.  Worse, what if he did go to him and Nico sees my going behind his back as traitorous…unforgivable.
    And then my phone rings and my heart races with hope.  But it’s quickly stomped on when I see Regina’s face flashing on the screen.  Not that I don’t appreciate her constant checking on me since she left this morning, but it’s not the face I long to see on my screen.  
    Regina wants me to meet her , go to a meeting.  I really don’t want to, I’m in no mood for cheering up.  I prefer to stay home and sulk with my good friends Ben and Jerry.  But she’s worried about me and that, in turn, means she won’t take no for an answer.  She’s relentless until I finally agree, and in all honesty, I do it just to shut her up.  I don’t think I need a meeting, but I agree to go anyway because I know she won’t sleep tonight if I don’t.
     
    ***
     
    Grief counseling meetings are sort of like AA meetings.  People come and go, some losing their battle to move past their grief, others succeeding in their efforts and sharing their stories.  Regina and I attended meetings in the basement of this community center for more than ten years.  For years I attended three times a week, never sharing my story with anyone, but listening to people helped me…knowing I wasn’t alone in my battle.  It’s where I met Regina.
    Her husband was killed in a horrific accident, where the driver was under the influence and the passenger was severely injured.  Unfortunately, her husband was the driver and she was the passenger.  So many people tried to help me over the years, but it was Regina who I finally connected with.  We were both racked with guilt and shame, spending all our energy trying to forget what happened in our lives.  She helped me take baby steps forward when I thought I needed to run backwards.
    I recognize a few faces as we take our seats in the back row, some have been here for ten years like us, for others it may be their first time.  Anyone can share their story, there’s supposed to be no judgment between members.  After ten minutes, I start to relax.  As much as I hate to admit it, Regina was right for bringing me here.  The past few days have opened up old wounds, and there is comfort in hearing the leader’s kind words on forgiveness.  It also makes me think I did the right thing with Nico, even if he doesn’t recognize it.  I’d rather him heal and hate me than suffer and stand by my side.
    The usual group leader announces a new member would like to speak.  We’re reminded of the phone’s off rule, and I’m still digging in my disorganized bag in search of my phone when the voice hits me.  I know it’s him, but when I look up I still can’t believe what my eyes are seeing.  He doesn’t look up as he speaks quietly.
    “ A smart woman told me to come here months ago...but I was too stubborn to listen.”
    Nico inhales deeply, pushing a loud breath out before he begins, his face still looking down.
    “ Eighteen months ago I killed a man.  I didn’t intend to, but it happened anyway.  I’m a fighter and it happened in the cage.  The ref ruled it a clean hit, but it doesn’t change that it was my hand that dealt him the blow that killed him. 
    I ’ve spent the last year of my life under a cloud of guilt and shame.  I