Fatal Knockout (Knockout Series Book 1) Page 5

  “Come on, Mads. Spill it,” Keisha insist. “As y’all know, none of us have the same tissue type as Bentley. Keisha’s is close, but not close enough. I know Dr. Kessler opened the donor search to the public, but what if we make the search nationwide?” Madisyn asks excitedly. “How do we go about doing that?” Keisha implores. Maddie shrugs and looks at me. “I don’t know, really. I’ve thought of several ways to do it, but I’m not sure how successful they’ll be. I know we don’t like to air our business on television, but Blaze could advertise a donor drive. We could put up a YouTube video, start a Facebook page, advertise the drive in the papers, and see if any of the local news stations would mention it to their evening viewers…”

  “Baby, you’re a genius,” I lean over and kiss her. “Why didn’t we think of this before?” Keisha asks herself. Maddie stands and answers her, “Because, we had other options then.” She covers her mouth with her hand and scurries over to the trash can, where she lets out everything she took in. I follow behind her and hold her hair back. “Memaw, would you grab a washcloth and wet it for me?” She’s already wetting the cloth when I ask her. Memaw walks over to cool the back of Maddie’s neck and asks, “Would you like to go upstairs and rest for a bit?” She shakes her head no, but I blurt out, “Yes.”

  “Babe, I’m fine.” Arguing with my wife is pointless, so I pick her up and cradle her in my arms. “Woman, you’re going to rest. I don’t care if you fall asleep or not, but you’re going to lie in that bed and rest for at least thirty minutes,” I tell her, carrying her across the house. But as soon as I step foot on the bottom step, a loud boom sounds and rattles the windows. Maddie’s eyes lock with mine. “That was thunder,” she whispers. “April showers bring May flowers,” I huff, knowing there’s no way she’s going to rest now. Lowering my foot from the step, I walk over to the couch and lay her down. “Will you check the weather?” I pick up the remote control and turn on the television. I read the warning across the bottom of the screen and see the county we live in is under a tornado warning. Great. I’ve been doing everything in my power to make sure Maddie has a worry free pregnancy. But, unfortunately, I can’t control her fear any more than I can Mother Nature.

  Bentley comes down the stairs and Papa follows him with a weather radio in his hands. He walks over to the window and twists the blinds open. “Holy cow,” Maddie mumbles, getting off the couch and joining her grandfather. The wind is whistling, thunder is rumbling, and lightning is striking. The trees—both big and small—bend and break in the wind. “Momma, you might wanna get the flashlights together and head on down to the cellar. It’s lookin’ pretty nasty out,” Papa calls through the house. Maddie lifts my arm and practically embeds herself into my side. “I hate spring,” Bentley sighs. Suddenly, we hear a crack and another house shaking boom, where lightning struck the tree across the street. A large branch breaks from its trunk and falls onto the power lines, snapping them in two as it crashes to the ground. A big ball of fire spits from the transformer across the street and a loud pop sounds as the power goes out.

  Maddie jumps and covers her eyes. Seconds later, the National Weather Service comes on the radio and announces the counties that are under severe weather advisories. Sumner county residents, those who live in the Hendersonville area, are advised to take shelter. “Blaze, let’s go on down,” Maddie says, her voice shaky. “I think that’s a good idea, sweetheart,” Papa tells her, kissing the top of her head. “Blaze, take the ladies and Bentley on down and wait for me. I’m gonna run up and grab your Memaw’s medicine bag.” He takes his cane and begins up the stairs. I reach out and place my hand on his shoulder. “I’ll go up and get her medicine. You should go on down with Memaw.” But, being the stubborn old man that he is, he shakes his head and climbs the next step. “Papa, please,” Maddie begs. “Let Blaze run up and get it.” When I see the tears in my wife’s eyes, I pass him on the stairs and ask, “Where’s the bag?”

  “Son, I might be an eighty year old man, but that don’t mean I can’t take care of my lady,” he scowls, disapproving my actions. “I know you can. Papa, I’m only trying to help,” I assure him. Bentley tugs down on his hand. “You comin’, Papa?” He looks down and nods. “Yeah, Bent, I’m comin’.” He averts his eye back to me. “In the medicine cabinet, look on the middle shelf and you’ll see a black bag. Grab it and hurry yourself back down here, because I’m gonna walk these two to the cellar, but I ain’t goin’ down without ya.”

  “Me neither,” Maddie tells me. “Madisyn,” I warn. “Get down in the shelter, please. I promise you, I’ll be there in just a minute.” I make sure to keep my voice calm but demanding. She takes Bentley by the hand and coaxes him away from Papa. I watch the two of them meet Keisha and Memaw and walk towards the garage. Then, I look down to Papa. “You’re a stubborn old man, you know that?” He half laughs. “Yeah, son, I know. Now, hurry up.”

  I run down the hallway and storm through their bedroom. I go into the bathroom and open the medicine cabinet above the sink. I look where he told me the bag should be, but I don’t see it. I open the closet where Memaw puts her linens and search for it there, but it isn’t there either. Going back through the bedroom, I stick my head out into the hallway and yell, “Papa, go on down! The bag isn’t in the cabinet. I’m just going to grab all the medicine bottles and bring them down with me.” Assuming that he listened to me, I dash back to the medicine cabinet, skim the prescription bottles, and grab the ones that have Memaw’s name printed on them.

  All of a sudden, the house begins to shakes. “Blaze!” Maddie screams. The sound of her crying out for me almost brings me to my knees. Instead of dropping everything and running to her, I pick up all the bottles I can hold and two step it downstairs. When I make it to the shelter and begin to climb in, she asks, “Where’s Papa?” I look at her confused. “He isn’t down there?” Her lip quivers. “No.” Crap! I drop the medicine down into the cellar. Then, I take my wife’s face into my hands and press my lips to hers. “Listen, I want you to lock up and not worry about me, okay? I’m going to find Papa and we’ll take shelter in one of the closets downstairs.”

  “What? No! Are you crazy? I’m not locking up without you. Just—just get him and come back,” she cries. A loud roaring sounds closer to the house and I hear glass shatter. “Baby, there isn’t enough time. I’m begging you, Madisyn, just seal the damn door.” I kiss her one last time and tell her, “I love you.” Then, I run off to search for Papa. “Blaze, baby, please!” The fear in her voice pierces my heart like a dagger. I want nothing more than to run back to her and hold her in my arms, but I can’t. If I got into that shelter without Papa and something happened to him, I’d never forgive myself.

  “Papa,” I call, the distant roar becoming louder. The shaking of the house becomes more vigorous and it sounds like a train is headed our way. “Papa,” I yell again. “I’m in here,” he answers from the bathroom. The bathroom he’s in isn’t where we need to be. It’s located in a corner near the end of the house and there aren’t many walls separating us from the storm. Though it isn’t the best place to seek shelter, it’s safer than standing out here in the open.

  Sprinting to where he is, I close the door behind me and take him by the arm. I try to pull him to the tub but he yanks his arm away. “What are you doing? Get in here,” I demand. “I’m just as safe standing out here as I would be in there, and a lot more comfortable,” he says. “No you’re not. There are more pipes surrounding this tub than that sink.” When we hear the cracking of wood and the roof being ripped off, he takes a step towards me and decides to take my advice.

  “Here, take my hand,” I tell him. He reaches for my hand but the suction pulls him back. I step one foot outside of the tub, hold on to the side, and reach for his hand again. Finally, our hands link and I’m able to pull him a little closer. More of the roof is torn off and debris comes in and flies around us. And all at once, Papa lets out an agonizing scream when a beam comes down and hits him in the back.


  He releases my hand and falls to the floor. “Papa!” I shout. He looks at me with his mouth open, but he doesn’t say a word. “Talk to me!” Why isn’t he blinking? No, not like this. Abruptly, the storm calms and I hop out of the tub and run to him. I lift the beam off his back and roll him onto his side. Praying he’s only in a daze, I shake his face and call his name. “Papa. Papa, talk to me.” Nothing. I roll him onto his back and check his neck for a pulse, but I don’t feel one. I sit back and look for his chest to rise and fall as he breathes, but it doesn’t. My, God, why? After all we’ve been through, why this?

  I don’t want to leave his side, but I have to make sure everyone else is okay. Using my fingers to close Papa’s eyelids, I take off jogging to the garage. The shelter is still shut. “Madisyn, baby, it’s all over.” I bang my fist hard against the reinforced steel. When I hear the latch come undone, I step aside and lift the door open. Warmth pricks my eyes when they meet a familiar pair of blues. “Oh, no... You’re crying. You never cry.” She climbs up from the shelter and her hands capture my face. “What is it? What’s wrong?” she asks, wiping away a tear I don’t recall shedding. She looks around the garage and gasps, “No. Please, Blaze? Please, please, please,” she begins to sob. I place my hand at the nape of her neck and pull her head to my chest. Tears I have no control over stream down my face as I kiss my wife’s head and choke out, “I’m so sorry, baby.”

  With one arm holding my trembling wife, I reach into her back pocket and take out her cellphone. I scroll through her contacts and dial the only person I know to call. The first two times I call, the line is busy. On the third time, he answers and blurts out, “Mads, are you okay?” I inhale a deep breath and blow out, “We’re at Memaw’s and Papa’s… How soon can you get here?”

  Seven

  Madisyn

  I’ve been standing outon my deck for two hours, watching the sunset and thinking about Papa. It’s been three days since that atrocious, EF4 tornado touched down and ripped him from our lives. No matter how many hours pass, the events from that day are set on replay inside my mind; Papa lying lifeless on the floor, Memaw sobbing and showering his face with kisses, the paramedics physically removing her so they could put him onto the gurney. I can still hear Bentley’s pleas for Papa to open his eyes and stop making Memaw and me cry. I remember looking into my grandmother’s red eyes when she grabbed onto my shirt, pulled me close, and told me that she couldn’t breathe.

  At first, I’d thought too much had happened at once and she was having an anxiety attack, but when beads of sweat broke out across her forehead and the color drained from her face, I knew something worse was happening. I had screamed for Blaze and the EMTs followed behind him as he ran to us. She was evaluated and taken to the hospital, where doctors told us Memaw had experienced a mild heart attack.

  She’s set to be discharged tomorrow, the same day as Papa’s funeral. Yet, the cardiologist who is caring for Memaw has advised against her attending the service, afraid the stress of burying her husband might be too much too soon. Of course, it’ll be too much too soon. Memaw and Papa had been married for sixty-two years. They’ve spent more than half of their lives loving each other. Papa and Memaw share more than the same last name, they share a heart. And tomorrow, she’s burying half of it.

  “Hey, gorgeous.” Blaze embraces me from behind and places a soft kiss behind my ear. “How are you feeling?” Covering his hands with mine, I rest my head back on his shoulder and shrug. “I’m okay. I’m going to miss him, but knowing he’s up there with Momma, Daddy, and Eli looking down on us makes missing them all a little easier.” He takes a few steps back and lowers us down on the wicker sectional. “How about you? How do you feel?” He has apologized over and over, blaming himself for Papa’s death and Memaw’s heart attack. He gathers my hair to one side and trails the tip of his nose up my neck. With his lips next to my ear, he softly asks, “Where do I begin?” I shiver when his warm breath grazes my neck. “Wherever you want to,” I whisper, turning myself sideways and cuddling against him.

  “This morning I woke up lying next to one of God’s most beautiful angels, and right now, she’s wrapped in my arms. I’m able to shower you with kisses and drown you with love. Baby, every second spent with you makes for a wonderful day.” I turn my face to his and say, “I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve such a love, but I can’t imagine my life without it.” Intensely gazing into my eyes, he lowers his lips to mine and promises, “What have you done? No, baby, it’s me who doesn’t deserve the love you give. I promise you this, as long as I have a say in this life, you’ll never know a world without me loving you.” Blaze slides out from underneath me and positions us so I’m lying on my back. With his body hovering above mine, he slips his hand under my shirt and rubs my bump with his thumb. “I love you, Madisyn, so much.” Running my fingers through the back of his hair, I tell him. “I love you, too, baby.” His eyes fill with water, but he doesn’t dare let it free. “You shouldn’t,” he rasps. I urge his face all the way down to mine. “I should, I do, and I always will.”

  When the sun fully sets, Blaze and I force ourselves apart to go inside and check on Bentley. I enter his room and see he’s lying in bed looking at the wall. I walk over and climb in bed behind him. “Hey, bud, are you hungry? Blaze is downstairs ordering pizza. Would you like an order of those chocolate dunkers you’ve been asking for?” He’s been brooding over Papa’s death and hasn’t eaten much of anything. He shakes his head no. “No? Are you sure?” I ask, taken aback by his shocking response. I’ve know this boy his entire life and he’s never turned away a sweet treat. Jokingly, I place my hand on his forehead and ask, “You feeling okay?”

  Bentley turns over to face me and tucks his hands under his cheek. “Did it hurt when Papa died?” This is a question I’ve asked myself. Papa was a Godly man. Both he and Daddy raised Dawson and I to believe God is compassionate and gracious. Therefore, I can’t bring myself to believe he let Papa suffer. “No, Bent. I don’t believe Papa didn’t feel any pain.” He closes his eyes and I lift my hand up to rub around his head. Soft prickles of his hair tickle my palm and I reminisce on the early years, the years before cancer.

  He was born with a headful of dark brown hair. As his hair grew longer, so did the curls. When he was one, he’d wobble from one side of the house to the other, destroying anything he could get his hands on. And those curls of his, they’d bounce with every step he took. When I’d rock him to sleep at night, I would capture one of his ringlets between the pads of my fingers to gently straighten and release it. No matter how many times I’d straighten the twisted strands, they’d bounce back to their natural form. Once we found out he had leukemia and would need chemotherapy, Blaze went ahead and shaved both of their heads. Blaze buzzed and I cried. I still have Bentley’s curls stored away in a Ziploc bag.

  Bentley’s breathing shallows as he drifts to sleep. I lower my hand from his head and slightly shake his shoulder. “Bentley, you need to eat something.” He groans. “But, Aunt Maddie, I’m sleepy.” Standing from the bed, I pick up the blanket at the foot of his bed and cover him with it. “I’ll make you a deal. You can take a short nap, but when the food arrives, you have to promise me that you’ll eat a slice of pizza. What do you say?” His eyelids remaining shut, he nods his head and quietly speaks, “Deal.” Tucking the blanket around him, I kiss his cheek and go down to find Blaze.

  Once I make it down to the living room, I call his name, but he doesn’t answer. I check in the kitchen, bathrooms, and garage, but I don’t find him. Going down to the lowest level of our home, I check the guys’ game room and peek inside the theater. Still, nothing. Finally, I hear his muffled grunts coming from the only room I haven’t checked. I look over and notice the door leading to our gym is ajar. Walking over, I open the door and step inside. He has his back to me, wireless Beats on his ears, and he’s striking the half bag like a mad man. Momentarily, his punches come to a halt as he swipes the sweat from his brow. “Agh!” He scre
ams out and goes right back to bashing the bag. The sound of his bare fist violently smacking the leather causes me to cringe.

  Standing back and watching him inflict pain on himself tears at my heart. His technique is all sorts of wrong, and I can’t stand by and let him break his wrists. “Blaze,” I shout, desperate for his attention. But, thanks to the headphones covering his ears, he can’t hear me. Blaze is a striking extraordinaire, and stepping in front of a bag he is attacking would be foolish… Correction. Stepping in front of a bag this man is beating isn’t even an option. If his fist were to accidently miss the bag and come in contact with my face, not only would I be lying unconscious on the floor, but Blaze would never forgive himself for harming me. Therefore, I’m left with no other choice than to take him down like he’s my opponent.

  Avoiding his jabbing elbows, I squat down and decide to take him down with an outside foot sweep. Gaining a steady balance, I extend one of my legs and kick his back. I can’t help but laugh when he falls to one knee, snatches his headphones off and tosses them across the room. When he realizes it’s me who took him down, his face turns so red it looks almost purple. “What the hell, Madisyn? What were you thinking? I could’ve hurt you and the baby!” he scoffs. Like I had a choice? Call me moody, but his response rubs me the wrong way. Wiping the smile off my face, I lunge and tackle him to the ground.

  Willingly, of course, he lies flat on his back and lets me trap his hips with my thighs. “I could’ve gotten hurt?” I huff. I grab one of his battered hands and place it between our faces. “You see the blood, Blaze? Your hands aren’t wrapped, your wrists were loose, and you had no control over that bag. You were two punches away from breaking one of your wrists,” I hiss, frustrated by his recklessness. Realizing my anger is getting the best of me, I inhale through my nose and exhale out my mouth. I lower my voice and ask him, “Why would you do this? You’ve never been so careless.” He closes his eyes and swallows hard. “Hey, look at me,” I coax, running my finger back through his hair. “Tell me.” My heart contracts and plummets deep within my stomach when he opens his eyes and chokes out, “I couldn’t take the guilt anymore. I had to let it out, Mads. I had to.” Positioning myself on my side next to him, I ask, “Did it help? Did you get it out of your system?” Stabilizing his breathing, he nods, “I think so, yeah.” I angle my face up and kiss his cheek. “Good. Don’t let it back in.”