NINA

It’s cold and I hunch my shoulders as I bury my mouth and chin deeper into my scarf. I brace myself for the long walk to the bus stop.

Elias would be mad at me for getting the bus home at this time of night, especially now that he’s flush with money. He’s always trying to give me some. He’s always telling me I don’t need to work at the diner, and has tried to give me some admin jobs to do for him. I know it’s a ruse for him to make sure I don’t work all the hours I do, but I love my job at the diner. It’s flexible, and Frankie looks out for me, Joni is okay and the other waitresses are nice. I can’t complain. Plus, I get to do my assignments there, and Frankie won’t bat an eye.

They often joke about my night school classes—Harper and Elias, and my work colleagues, but I like learning. I want to better myself. I want to prove to myself that I can be more. Still, my waitressing work fits in nicely around my studying, and I still get to keep a roof over my head.

I don’t want him to spend his money on me. He had a chance to change his life, and he grabbed it with both fists. He did what many thought was impossible, and he turned the boxing world upside down, but who knows how long this might last? I want him to save and invest his money, and not feel like he owes me, because he doesn’t.

Besides, I’m not so broke that I can’t afford to get a bus home. As I walk along the street, I hear a commotion coming from an alleyway further down. There’s hardly anyone else around and I can feel my heart rate starting to skyrocket. I speed up my footsteps as the shouting gets louder. It’s not the rational thing to do, but I can hear a man shouting. It sounds as if he’s in trouble, and I can’t walk away. As I approach nearer, I hear the clattering rattle of iron bins being knocked about.

“Get the fuck off of me!” someone shouts.

I race down the alleyway and see a group of men wrestling. I crane my neck further, and can make out a man on the ground being attacked by two others. One’s on the ground, pummelling him, and the other one is standing and kicking the guy on the ground.

“Hey!” I shout, without thinking. “Leave him alone!” It’s an insane request, and only someone as delusional as me would make it. I don’t like those odds, two to one, and I’ve always fought for the underdog because I can relate. “Hey!” I yell out, because they didn’t hear me the first time around.

The moment freeze-frames, as the two guys turn to look at me. I whip out my phone and hold it in front of me, as if it’s a handgun. I’m not thinking straight, and I accidentally take a picture by mistake.

I didn’t mean to do that. I meant to show them I meant business and that I was going to call the cops.

“What the fuck?” The guy who’s standing looks at me. My insides hollow out. I’m tiny and this man looks pissed. The light from the street lamp is enough to illuminate his features. Terror paralyzes my muscles, and I stumble backwards, just as the guy starts walking towards me.

The other guy stops fighting with the guy on the ground, and yells, “C’mon! I got it.” He holds something up.

But the guy coming for me doesn’t listen. My heart crawls up my throat. “You little bitch. Give me your fucking—”
The piercing sound of police sirens cut into the air, loud and sharp. They’re near, and it scares the guys. They dart off, and I rush to the man lying on the floor. My eyes widen in shock. His beard is hanging off him. My first thought is that he must be in so much pain. I wince as I kneel down, over him. “Your beard,” I exclaim, and wonder at the same time why it’s come off so cleanly.
Blood pours out of his nose. “You’re hurt,” I cry, shocked, and scared, yet concerned. I examine his face; it’s bloody, but I’ve seen worse. His beard hangs off even more, and I miss a heartbeat, until I see the loop hanging off his other ear. It doesn’t make sense at first.

I must be in shock, too, and then I see that it’s a false beard. I remove the loop from the other ear and take the beard off entirely.

He groans as he clutches his sides, and mumbles something which I can’t make out.

“What?” I say, lowering my ear to his face.

“They’ve got my fucking wallet.”

“It’s okay. They’ve gone. They’re not going to hurt you.”

“I had them. I almost had the fuckers.”

I stare at him in disbelief. Two against one? I think not. “At least you’re alive,” I say. He groans again, then wipes his hand over his face, so that his hand is now covered in blood. “Owww,” he moans, as he touches his nose.

I can’t tell if it’s broken, but I’ve taken some tissues out of my bag and I attempt to wipe his face clean, as gently as I can. This doesn’t look too bad. It’s not an Elias-level injury. I won’t ever forget those days when my brother used to stagger through the door with his face mashed to almost unrecognizable when he’d come home from those underground fight clubs.

The police siren gets deafeningly louder. I glance over my shoulder and stare into a flood of lights as the car’s headlights shoot straight at us. I hold up my hand to block out the light because I can’t see into the bright lights. The car stops at the mouth of the alleyway, because it’s too narrow for the car.

An officer gets out and runs over. She takes one look at the injured man on the ground, then says something into her radio.

“Backup is on the way,” she tells me as she drops to the ground to survey the injured man. “What happened?”

“Some guys were beating him up,” I reply.

“They stole my wallet,” the guy says, slowly trying to sit up. He looks slightly familiar, but again, I can’t be sure.

The police officer is about to say something when her eyes widen. “You’re…you’re… you’re Callum Sandersby,” she gasps, and her mouth falls open. I stare from her to the guy, and back to the police officer again. Her mouth is still hanging open.

“Yeah,” the guy says, and manages to smile.

Is he for real?

The officer seems to be caught in a web of enchantment. “Callum Sandersby,” she gasps, as her professional demeanour slips away.

Callum who?

I don’t know who they’re talking about. I take another look, and now that he’s sitting up and the headlights are on him, he does look familiar, yet I still can’t place him yet.

“Sir, sir, are you okay? Are you hurting anywhere else?” The police woman’s sudden concern intensifies.

“I gave back as good as I got,” the guy replies. I peer at him, but giving back as good as he got isn’t how I’d describe it. He did well to put up a fight against the two of them, but his sudden bravado surprises me.

“The ambulance is on its way.”

“Thanks,” he says, and as the blood pours out of his nose he attempts to wipe it with the already soggy tissue.

I pull out another tissue and hand it to him. He dabs his nose again and winces in pain. “Thanks,” he says to me.

“Don’t mention it.”

“I suppose you’ll want an autograph.”

I almost choke in response.