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keep me going.

Chapter Seven

    I keep Hudson at my house, letting my mother know he’s staying over. She’ll freak if she sees him bloody and bruised.
    I check his pupils and wake him every few hours to make sure he’s all right. I wish Doc were with us. Hudson refuses to get checked out at the island hospital, because then Mom will know. All night I feel this terrible tug between what Hudson wants and what I think is the right thing to do.
    But I’ve been on the wrong side of the right thing for most of my life, so I don’t rat him out or haul him to the medics. I’ve seen fighters hurt way worse than him get back in the ring for another round. Heck, I have gone into a fight with more injuries than his.
    But this is my baby brother.
    He crashes out on the red sofa. I prop my feet up on the coffee table. I didn’t sleep well in the big bed without Colt, so the overstuffed armchair is fine by me.
    Daybreak on Oahu is different from LA. The colors are warm and golden. I sit by the window, waiting for Hudson to wake up. I don’t feel tired. I’ve had too much adrenaline in too short a period. It will take some time to come down.
    I don’t know what this fight means for Hudson’s career. What his trainer Akoni will say. Or Mom. We can’t hide this. In the light of morning, the scrapes and bruises are obvious. I can get the swelling down, but we’ll have to keep working on it. As soon as we take the ice off, it will puff out again as it heals.
    He’s going to have to own up to what he’s done.
    I decide to tell the only person I trust. Colt. I pick up my phone and text a quick note that Hudson held an off-the-books fight against the wishes of his trainer and got pummeled.
    It’s a couple hours later there, but he has the day off from training since his match is in two days. He’ll only do light afternoon workouts until the big day. I feel a small stab that I will miss the challenge match. I know every ritual, every step he’ll take. He seems so far away.
    I have a response within minutes.

    Whew. Is it bad? You need an off-the-books doc?

    I hadn’t even thought of that. I tap back a quick yes and take note of the name and number he produces. I remember this doctor from when Colt was in rehab.
    I am grateful and relieved. I’ll call his office the minute it’s a decent hour and arrange an appointment. I assume both of us will skip training.
    Hudson stirs, and I sit on the coffee table to wait for him to wake.
    He groans as he comes around. When he sees me, he covers his eyes with his hands. “Tell me we just got drunk on bad liquor,” he says.
    “You’re underage,” I tell him. “No chance.”
    “Great,” he says. “How bad do I look?”
    “Bad enough,” I say, standing. “I’m going to make you some breakfast. You’re going to need to heal.”
    He fumbles as he tries to sit up. I know he’s hurting.
    “You can cook?” he asks.
    “Not really, but I make a mean smoothie and I can boil an egg.”
    He nods, then winces at the motion. “I think I need some painkillers.”
    I raise my eyebrows. “I think you need to feel every bruise. Then you’ll know what you didn’t protect.”
    He sits with his elbows braced on his knees, his head bowed low, like he can barely hold it up. “I sucked in there, didn’t I?”
    I’m not sure what to say. I don’t want to discourage him. He’s just got a long way to go. Finally, I tell him one simple fact: “You didn’t protect your jaw under pressure.”
    He opens his mouth and pushes against his chin. “Yeah, I’m figuring that out.”
    “This is what sparring is for,” I say. “You learn what you need to work on before somebody clobbers you over it.”
    “I’ve been sparring,” Hudson grumbles.
    I don’t say any more. I’m sure Hudson’s progress in sparring matches is what led Akoni to tell him he wasn’t ready for an official fight. But Hudson is hopefully realizing this for himself.
    He doesn’t mention my attack on all the spectators