Free Breakfall by Kate Pavelle Page A

response, meeting Nell’s eyes.
    “Sean. I need you to move.” Her voice was hypnotic against the din of the others.
    He made an effort to stand.
    “Sean. I need you to let go of Asbjorn’s hand first.”
    He walked out of the circle and sank into a folding chair. There was activity around him. Adrian Rios helped Don clean up. The older man’s white, black-rimmed muscle shirt was red with blood.
    “I had it coming,” he heard Don say, his voice a flat monotone.
    “Maybe not so much,” Adrian replied, fussing over Don’s nose with ice packs.
    “Cut it out, Adrian. It’s not like I’ve never had my nose broken before. I have a fucking court date on Monday. The jury’s gonna love that.”
    A thin, silver-haired man appeared behind Adrian’s shoulder. “You worry too much. With me as your opposing counsel, Don, your case is doomed anyhow.”
    “Fuck you, Fred.”
    “What? Maybe I should go get a black eye tonight so you don’t get all of the jury’s sympathy.” Fred’s lips were stretched in a wide smile, but his eyes were nothing but cautious under his bushy eyebrows.
    “I just wish my ribs weren’t fucking cracked.” This time Don growled, and Adrian slowly turned his back on him, letting him vent at his colleague.
    “Are you all right?”
    Sean realized his former opponent was talking to him.
    “Yeah. I guess. Just a little cold.” He shivered suddenly.
    “I take it you haven’t seen much blood before.” There was no judgment in Adrian’s calm voice, no ridicule.
    “N-no. Just a few black eyes. Some sprains—during practice, you know. But nothing….” He eyed Adrian. “Why did they fight like this?”
    Adrian sighed, pressed a bottle of beer in his hand, and filled him in.
     
     
    T HE FIRST sensation that reached Asbjorn’s consciousness was the cold smoothness of the concrete floor. It drained his body heat and distracted him somewhat from the dull and incessant throb in his head, the rib broken by Don’s kick that reacted to every shallow breath, and the alarming, sharp ache in the right side of his jaw. Compared to that damage, his swollen knuckles were just a minor irritation.
    He willed his eye to open. The right was swollen shut already, but the left one was good. Nell-sensei bent over him, mopping up what was left of the blood.
    “Bjorn.” Her voice murmured behind his head, sounding resigned but not reproachful. “I should’ve seen this coming.”
    “Why didn’t you tell me?” His voice was but a croak.
    The silence between them stretched like the salt-water taffy Tiger used to buy him for his birthday every year.
    “I…. It was hard to talk about, Bjorn. For both of us.” Nell’s voice grew husky, and he recognized the way she was controlling her breathing.
    Suddenly ashamed of his weakness, Asbjorn pushed himself to a sitting position, suppressing the waves of nausea and the throbbing headache. “I’m sorry, Nell-sensei. Tiger wouldn’t have wanted me and Don to fight. I just….”
    It was as though I was sixteen again and my father was just buried and there was nothing but my fists and the faces of those who would taunt me.
    “Ass-bjorn, show us your ass—Bjorn!”
    It was as though all the pain and blame in the world could have been pinned on one single, white-haired lightning rod.
    “I felt so alone again. I’m sorry, Nell. I should be a support to you, not a useless wreck.”
    “Bjorn.” She sighed, shook her long, honey-brown hair out of her eyes, and tried again. “Look. You need to get it out of your system. I know. I… I cried a lot. Maybe you should try that .”
    “Tiger would never cry.”
    Nell met his bloodied gaze solemnly. “You are very much mistaken, Asbjorn. Tiger was known to cry, given cause. Do you think seeing this would make him laugh? You’re the younger brother he never had. Don’s his best friend. If he saw the two of you bloody one another in anger over something you cannot change, do you think he would not cry?” Nell met