The Song of David(54)

I KNOCKED ON the Anderson’s door at a little after seven on Sunday evening, but it took some persistence to get anyone to answer it. I’d almost given up when Henry pulled it open and hesitated, as if not sure whether to greet me or not.

“Hey buddy. What’s up?”

He shrugged.

“Can I come inside?”

Henry moved aside and let me in, his eyes on the floor. He shut the door behind me, but he didn’t make eye contact, and I could tell he was still pissed.

“Henry?” I nudged him softly with my fist, the softest punch I’d ever delivered. His fists balled immediately. Yep. Still mad.

“Prior to 1900, prize fights lasted up to one hundred rounds,” Henry said woodenly.

“What round are we on, man? I don’t think I can go a hundred rounds with you. I’m tapping out. You win.”

“No tap-outs,” Henry said, his jaw tight, repeating something I’d told him in the gym.

“No tap-outs. Except when you’re wrong. And I was wrong. I’m sorry, Henry.”

“Amelie?” he asked. I wanted to hug him. He didn’t want apologies, he wanted answers, and I respected that.

“Amelie is special. She’s not like other girls. She’s not like any girl I’ve ever liked. And I like her, Henry. I like her a lot. But there’s an extra responsibility that comes with loving someone who will need you in a different way, who will rely on you in a different way. I have to be sure I’m ready for the responsibility. Do you understand?”

“Pig’s bladders were once used as rugby balls,” Henry said softly.

“Are you calling me a pig, Henry?”

Henry started to grin, his eyes darting to mine before he gave in, making pig sounds and giggling.

“You are!” I laughed with him. “I think that’s the first time I’ve ever heard you make a joke!” I went to sling my arm around his neck, but he did a duck-under and shot in on my legs, just like Cory had taught him. I whooped, leaning over him and wrapping my arms around his thin back and lifting his legs off the floor, his arms still wrapped around my thighs so he was hanging upside down.

“Pound for pound, the best fighter in the universe! Say it, Henry. Say, ‘Tag, you’re the best fighter in the universe!’” I demanded, laughing.

“Georges St. Pierre is the best fighter in the universe!” he squealed, releasing his grip on my thighs.

“St. Pierre!” I roared, and dangled him higher. “Say Tag Taggert is the best fighter in the universe.”

“Chuck Liddell is the best fighter in the universe!” he cried, wheezing.

“What? He’s old news!” I protested, though I’d do just about anything to get Liddell in my gym.

“Tag Taggert is the worst fighter in the universe!” Henry was laughing, a full-out belly laugh, and his face was as red as his hair. I flipped him upright and he swayed on his feet, still laughing. I steadied him and gave him a fake glare.

“The best. The best fighter in the universe. You hear?”

“Ronda Rousey is the best fighter in the universe,” he gasped, still-giggling, not giving in.

I hooted, throwing up my hands. “You might have me there, kid. Speaking of gorgeous, badass females, where is Silly Millie?”

Henry froze, listening, and then pointed at the floor. Now that I wasn’t making so much noise, I could hear the bass thumping faintly from the basement.

“Downstairs? Show me the way.”

Henry turned and padded through the foyer, across the kitchen and dining room, and into a large laundry room. It was neat and organized, like the rest of the house, and I took note of Millie’s Braille stickers on the laundry baskets—a big white one and a bigger red one. I’d never been in this part of the house, and when Henry pointed at a door and immediately retreated, I decided he wasn’t interested in whatever Millie was doing downstairs.

The door opened above a narrow flight of stairs that immediately made me nervous and dizzy. I didn’t like the idea of Millie navigating them, and images of her tumbling head over heels seared my brain before I forced them back. Millie had grown up in this house, she’d probably been up and down these stairs a million times, and she wouldn’t appreciate me going all caveman over them. Still, I clung to the railing as I descended them gingerly, wondering at my sudden light-headedness. The music was so loud Millie wouldn’t hear me coming, but as I reached the bottom of the stairs, the music ceased abruptly, and someone started clapping and whistling. I halted, surprised, still hidden around the corner.