Sydney:I need a hot date for a wedding tomorrow night. You free?
Her reply is instantaneous.
Lena:Absolutely. Need Jase to beat someone up for you?
Sniffing, I wipe my eyes. Thank God for girlfriends.
Sydney:No. Just wear the blue dress. I want the hottest girl there on my arm.
Lena:You got it, babe. XO
17
Gabe
I look up from my phone, which is connected to the livestream playing via the stadium’s audiovisual system, as Dad enters the white-walled room and closes the door with a snick. On my phone screen, the first fighters of the night are circling in the ring.
“You spoke to Darius?” I ask. Darius is the guy responsible for the event.
“Yeah. He’s changed you to fight number six. Couldn’t get him to go any earlier.”
I nod. I know he would’ve done the best he could. “Thanks.”
Sydney may have told me not to bother coming to the wedding, but I still intend to be there as soon as I can. My suit is hanging against the wall, waiting for me to change into it once the fight is over.
“Let’s wrap your hands,” Seth says, dragging a chair over to sit opposite me, then straddling it backward. I lay my phone on the bench beside me, and out of the corner of my eye, I see Jase, Devon, and Dad bend over it to watch the action. They stay quiet, knowing that silence is what I need to get into the right headspace.
Meanwhile, Seth starts wrapping my hands and murmurs, “You made a good choice. You’re ready for this, and you’re gonna kill Ricky tonight. You’ve got it in the bag. Just do what you’ve trained to. Go in slow, don’t let him rush you, and pick him apart like you do best. You need this win, Gabe.”
He’s right, I do, which is why I ultimately decided to take the fight. I’ll have plenty of opportunities to make things up with Sydney, but I’m at a once-in-a-lifetime point in my career and if this is what it takes to get me back on track, then it’s what I have to do.
“I got it,” I said. “He’s going down.”
Seth nods, and we remain quiet while he finishes with my hands, then I skip for a few minutes to warm up, and stretch. The boys lay a towel on the ground and I lie on it while a physiotherapist rubs my muscles with a combination of liniments that will keep me warm and supple. The familiar scent helps me focus. Once I’m done, Jase hands me a pair of padded gloves and dons another set himself. We don’t fight in these—we’d look ridiculous—but they ensure I won’t get seriously hurt while we spar beforehand.
Jase and I fall into a rhythm. The sparring is intended to get me in the zone, get my limbs moving in the correct ways, and perhaps most importantly, get rid of the shock factor when the first strike lands in the octagon. That’s a dangerous time, because too many people let that first punch or kick shake them, and once they’re on the back foot, it’s nearly impossible to recover.
Jase and I circle, and he comes forward aggressively, trying to mimic Ricky’s fighting style. Ricky is from the “never take a backward step” school of thinking, whereas I’ve found that sometimes a sly and strategic retreat is the key to winning. He strikes and I slip out of the way and counter with a kick. He lurches forward and I plant my foot above his diaphragm and push. The breath wheezes from his lungs, but he doesn’t let up, keeping the pressure on. After a couple of minutes, Seth separates us, and Jase swaps places with Devon, who doesn’t have to pretend to be crazy aggressive because that’s his natural state. He throws wacky combinations that many martial artists would shake their head over, but somehow he makes them work. I suspect it’s because he has an innate sense of balance and timing that allows him to move like a fucking cat. He has nine lives like one, too. As he charges, I dance out of the way and hit back with a counterstrike. We go on like this for only thirty seconds or so, by which time sweat is beading on my hairline and Seth is satisfied that I’m ready for battle.
“Kick ass, bro,” Jase says as a messenger comes to collect us. It’s nearly go-time.
“You got this,mijo,” Dad adds.
Seth settles our gym’s robe over my shoulders and double-checks the items in his bucket. “Stay calm, and break him.”
“Embrace your inner psycho,” Devon advises with a maniacal grin. Somehow, I think his advice is the least helpful.
Rolling my eyes, I follow Seth to a door that separates the back rooms from the stadium. I can hear the crowd, but I tune them out, counting my breaths. My music starts to play—a death metal song that always gets me pumped—cuing my entry, and I stride out, staring straight ahead at the cage. The audience doesn’t matter. I’m here to prove something to myself, to Seth, and to my next opponent, then I’m gonna get out of here and track down my girl. At the cage, someone checks my mouthguard and gloves before letting me in. I roam around the outside. Not to pump up the crowd, although it also seems to serve that purpose, but to re-familiarize myself with the size and feel of the ring.
When Ricky’s song comes over the speakers, I return to my place and wait for him to arrive. He’s a big guy—bigger than me—and he moves with the kind of swagger that lets you know he’s used to being the alpha in every room he enters. But if he believes I’ll submit to him, he’s got another think coming. He leaps into the cage and circles the interior. The umpire calls us to the center and outlines the rules. We bump gloves, back off, and the timer starts.
Ricky comes forward hard, just as I expected him to. Pivoting to the side, I dodge out of his way and slam my shin across his stomach. First point of the match goes to me.
Damn right.
The fight continues in the same vein. He attacks, I evade and counter. He’s getting frustrated; I can tell by the way his nostrils flare and his face flushes. But there isn’t much he can do about it because I’m used to guys like him who think they can bash their way out of any situation, and I thrive on knocking them down blow by blow. A few of his shots land, but not enough to do any real damage, and finally, three rounds in, he reaches the point where his desperation to win overcomes his good sense. He charges forward, retribution in his eyes, and with a quick, easy movement I sweep him to the ground, then wrestle him into a choke hold. The ground isn’t my favorite place to be, but Jase’s ground game rocks, and a little of that rubs off on me. Enough that Ricky DeSilva submits.
Everything passes quickly after that. I’m clapped on the back and congratulated. Before long, Seth puts himself between me and the screaming audience, allowing me to leave the cage. I hurry out back, where I whiz through the shower and dress in my tux. Then I’m on the way to the wedding.
