Still. I wanted Caldwell’s ass. I wanted this win more than I wanted my next breath.
The only thing standing in between me and the W was this fucker. For that reason, he had to be taken down. Nothing mattered more than the W once I stepped inside the cage.
I moved in quickly, more determined this time. I rained blow after blow, ignoring the pain from the punches he was able to land to my mid-section. Yeah, I’d have some bruises in the morning, but Caldwell would be limping away from this fight.
Right when I felt Caldwell’s energy waning, the bell signaling the end of the first round went off. Stepping back, I found myself surrounded by Lenny and Marshall.
“Ah fuck,” I grunted when Marshall pressed the cold enswell to the side of my face. The reduction in swelling would allow me to keep fighting, but I always hated those fucking things. “No.” I shook my head, frowning, when Lenny offered a bottle of water.
“How’re you feeling?”
Deepening my frown, I glared at Lenny. As far as corner’s went, he sucked. He was a hell of a lawyer and manager, but sucked as a trainer. It was moments like this where I missed Banks’ presence more than ever. I didn’t let myself dwell on that. I went over what I knew about Caldwell and his fighting style. Replaying the first round of the fight in my head, I chose what minor adjustments needed to be made.
“All right, minute’s up,” Lenny said as the bell ending our break sounded.
I nodded and clapped my hands in front of me before moving to the center of the cage, on guard.
“Ready?”
I tipped my head.
“Ready?”
Caldwell did the same.
“Fight.” Big John jumped back.
Caldwell charged and moved in, right into my left uppercut, followed by a right hook to the jaw. He went down. Again, I moved in to begin pummeling him into submission.
I was ready to end this fight, but Caldwell’s legs were strong. He wrapped me up in a leg lock. I struggled to land my blows where I wanted them to go. I thought to do a spin move that would land me on my back, and reverse the leg lock he had on me. It was a risky move, but one I’d practiced in training, though never used in a fight.
Just when I made the decision and began to execute it, Caldwell moved again. This time, twisting me up in some locking maneuver I was a stranger to. Somehow, he’d left my right arm free and I pummeled him with right arm strikes, causing him to break the hold. The bell for the second round went off and we separated.
The one minute break felt like an eternity. I was antsy to get this motherfucker wrapped up and have this W under my belt. As soon as Lenny and Marshall exited the cage, I advanced to the middle, arms up. My aim had been to end the bout early, but I could just as easily put Caldwell on his ass in the third round as I could in any other.
We circled one another. I watched as blood from a cut on Caldwell’s lip dripped to the floor. Caldwell dipped his upper body and attempted to wrap me up for a takedown.
I sent an elbow to his back, breaking his tenuous hold and causing him to stumble forward once I leapt out of the way. He quickly recovered before sending a right hook in my direction. I narrowly missed the assault. We ended up on the ground again, both of us striking and kicking. The bell for the third and final round sounded in the distance and we pulled apart from one another.
Once the points were totaled, Big John raised Caldwell’s arm, declaring him the winner of the bout.
“What the fuck?” I demanded.I should’ve won this fight, I kept telling myself. Caldwell was skilled, but I was fucking better. I knew it in my bones.
Pissed off, I stomped out of the cage, pushing past Lenny and heading straight for the back room to get my shit and get the hell out of here. Of course, luck wasn’t on my side that night because a fucking reporter with a cameraman behind him came barreling down on me.
“Luke, do you want to tell us what happened in there tonight? Is it true what everyone’s been saying about you? That, at thirty-four, you’re washed up and need to retire? What about the loss of your trainer—” The motherfucker couldn’t get whatever question he’d been about to ask out before I lunged in his direction.
“Luke, man, don’t,” Lenny, urged in my ear as he held me back. “Your career,” he reminded me.
“You don’t want to do this man,” my cutman added on top of Lenny’s pleas.
The pounding of my own heartbeat in my ears nearly drowned out their voices. I wanted blood and was ready to take it from anyone at this point. Fuck my career.
“Banks wouldn’t want you to do this,” Lenny said.
That’s the comment that finally gets me to calm down.
“Stay out of my way.” Glaring at the reporter, I pulled away from Lenny and my cutman and proceed to the back of the arena.
