Page 62 of Falcon

Chapter 13

Falcon

“Well, well, well. The plot thickens,” my sister says from her perch on her front porch, when she spies me leaving Faith’s house after breakfast.

“You’re like a nosy old lady. Don’t you have better things to do?” I trudge up the front steps with my hands in my pockets.

“I’m doing one of my favorite things, actually. I’m making sure my big brother doesn’t do anything stupid while he’s in town.” She sips her coffee loudly with that I’m on to you gaze.

“Define stupid.” I lean my shoulder against the wall.

“Leading Faith on and breaking her heart before you leave. I know how you operate, Marco. You are a wonderful human, but you fly through women like a competitive eater flies through…I don’t know…hot dogs or something.” She flings her hand around for effect.

“Yeah, not exactly many hot dogs used in my time with women, but I see where you’re going with that.”

“Shut up, you know what I’m saying.”

“I do and I understand, but for this, for whatever it is that is happening with Faith, I need you to trust me, okay?” I say to her, as I place my hand on my chest. “I am not an asshole. You know this. I wouldn’t hurt her.”

“Then what exactly are you doing, Marco?”

“Enjoying getting to know her. Spending time with her. Doing what feels right and what we both consent to doing. That’s all anyone can ask for, right?”

She releases a heavy sigh and settles back in her seat. “Sit down. You’re making me nervous hovering like that.”

I shake my head and push off the wall then plop down in the chair next to her.

“I feel like you have one hundred things to say, just say them now so we can avoid the word vomit that will come within the next two hours after you’ve had time to stew.”

She always does this. She’ll hold something in until she absolutely explodes with a thousand accusations and questions.

“I don’t word vomit.”

“Do we need to recount the great word vomit escapades of your senior year?” I smirk as her eyes go wide.

“No. We will never speak of that again, ever, and if you mention it again, I’ll junk punch you so hard.”

I laugh loudly and lace my fingers behind my head, relaxing even farther back. “Then spit it out.”

She places her mug of coffee on the small table between the chairs and pulls her leg up so she can shift completely around to face me. “I want to talk about your injury.”

“That’s a strong word.”

“No, it’s an appropriate word. Marco, I want to know exactly what the doctor’s are saying. I’d love to read your chart, but apparently you deem that a step too far and I guess calling and threatening someone’s life for it would violate laws so…tell me.”

“Nor.”

She interrupts me instantly, “Don’t feed me the bullshit again, Marco. I deserve answers, don’t I? You’re my big brother and I need to know if you are going to be okay.”

She’s right. I know she is. But?

“The long and short of it is: I’m not ready to admit the next three fights will likely be my last. My body isn’t taking the stress well. Too many concussions. Too many ligament tears. Too many broken bones and too much trauma over the years. They are trying to tell me I need to stop before it gets to the point where something bad could come from continued fighting.”

“And you’ve been having migraines again?” She tilts her head, trying her best to keep it stoic and professional, even as my sister, so she can absorb the facts.

“Significantly more than normal, yes.”

“Have you been doing anything for that? Medication? Acupuncture? Massages? Anything?”

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