“Leo is a hard-hitter,” he says, so low I have to strain to hear him. The fact he’s talking about the fight bodes well. Maybe he’ll forgive me after this. Me in the Ruby Knuckles is a big deal for him, and I nearly cocked it up. “I want you guarding your jaw at all times or you’ll leave yourself open for a knockout. He’s going to come in heavy with the hands, so we’re going to go the opposite route. For every punch he throws, you kick him. Got it? Aim for the body if you can, but legs will do in a pinch. If you don’t have room for a kick, throw a knee. Take him apart bit by bit, and whatever the fuck you do, don’t let him get you on the ground in a position where he can strike your head. He’s as strong as you are, so if you go down, you’d better be sure you can get him where you want him. There’s no out-muscling this guy.”
I nod, taking the instructions on board. I’ve watched enough of Leo’s fights to know he favors his fists, and rightly so. They’re deadly. Most of his wins have been by knockout, but here’s the thing: in order to knock someone out, you have to land some punches. I don’t intend to give him that chance. Impatience seethes within me, consuming me. I’m ready to get out there and do some damage, so Sydney and I can pick up where we left off.
Seth releases my hands. “After the rubdown, you can warm up and Jase will spar with you.”
He gestures to a thick towel on the floor, which I lie on while a physio rubs liniment over my skin. The liniment has a tangy scent that’s sharp every time I inhale, and it works into my muscles more deeply, warming them. He spreads the liniment over all of my exposed skin, excluding my face, and finishes with my arms, grooving his thumbs into the meaty parts. Finally, feeling loose and disturbingly languid considering what’s about to come, I get up and run on the spot. My steps are light, and I stay on the balls of my feet. A few minutes pass, and no one says anything. Even Devon is unusually circumspect.
Once I’m in a good headspace, I do a few stretches and then shove my hands into a pair of heavily padded boxing gloves—chosen to ensure Jase and I don’t injure each other before I enter the cage. We touch gloves, then move into our stances. Usually when sparring, Jase’s tactic is to bring people to the floor, but he won’t do that now—it’s too risky—which is why I’m partnered with him and not loose cannon Devon.
He launches a tentative attack, coming at me with a quick jab and a kick that would land lightly on my thigh, but I check it with a shin and respond with a push kick to his gut. He tries the arcing right-handed punch that Leo is known for, and I slip out of the way and thrust my knee into his midsection. The air leaves his lungs on a whoomph and I take advantage of his pause to grab his head and drill my knee toward it, stopping short but leaving no doubt as to the damage I could have inflicted. I let him go and he cracks his neck and sucks in a few breaths, then we continue, with him taking the offensive and me countering until Seth calls an end to it. When I’ve been cleared by the medic, I take a quick drink, put my mouthguard in, and shrug into the Crown MMA fight jacket.
Dad comes over and sets his hands on my shoulders. His eyes shine with emotion, and he squeezes affectionately. “I’m proud of you,mijo.” His voice is rough. “You’re a good man, and I’m sorry if I’ve been hard on you lately. Go out there and give it your all. Whatever happens, yourmamaand I love you so much.”
My throat thickens, and I swallow. Now isn’t the time to get emotional. “Thanks,Papa. Love you, too.”
He gives me one final squeeze, then moves away. The wait for someone to collect us is brief. A guy sticks his head around the door and gestures for us to follow. I take the lead, Seth behind me, followed by Jase and then Devon. At our gym, the fighter always steps foot in the stadium first because it gets the crowd pumped. The coach has their back, and the other corners come in order of seniority. There’s nothing random about our pre-fight rituals.
Death metal shrieks over the speakers, and adrenaline spikes in my veins as I stride into the massive space and the audience roars their approval. The crowd is intense tonight because our match has been hyped in the media for weeks. Two prodigal sons of MMA, engaging in a full-scale war. A lot of money will have changed hands. I try to ignore that. To drown out the screams and focus on the rapid-fire beat of my song. Fists wave in the air and people chant my name as I pace the length of the catwalk. My eyes automatically seek Sydney in the second row from the front, and she screams support. I hear her, clear as day, above every other voice.
Get in, bust heads, claim my girl.
When I reach the octagon, I bare my teeth for the umpire, to show my mouthguard, and he grips my fists, checking my gloves haven’t been tampered with. Then he nods, and I step up into the cage.
The song switches and the crowd turns toward the entrance, waiting for Leo to emerge. I walk the perimeter of the ring, ignoring both the audience and my opponent until he reaches the umpire, at which time I return to my rightful spot and meet his eyes as he enters. He nods, and I tilt my head, too. We may be opposing forces tonight, but I have a lot of respect for the guy, and he seems to feel the same way about me.
We’re called into the center, where the umpire gives us the standard set of instructions and disclaimers, then we each back off. Every one of my nerves is on a knife’s edge, waiting for the timer to begin. I scrape a foot over the mats, making sure my grip is solid. From here, I can see the shininess of Leo’s forehead and the determined squareness of his jaw. I can’t read anything in his expression, but then, I wouldn’t expect to. He’s too experienced to give anything away, just like I am.
The timer sounds, and I move. While I prefer to counter rather than stage a frontal attack, I’m also not going to stay in place and let him corner me against the wire. Leo is clever enough not to mistake my actions for weakness and rush in, as a less seasoned fighter may do. Instead, he probes at the edge of my defenses, feeling me out, throwing jabs that fall short just to see what I’ll do about it.
A hush has descended over the stadium, everyone laser-focused on us. I watch every movement he makes. After weeks of studying his fights in YouTube clips, I’ve accustomed myself to his micro-gestures and trained myself to recognize them. When his rhythm is perfectly fluid, he’s playing it by ear, but right now he has a strategy, and every time his back leg lifts, he hesitates slightly before putting it back down. He’s looking for the perfect opportunity to come at me with a kick.
Usually, I don’t mind the uncharacteristic slowness of my fights, but Sydney flashes into my head and I want this over so I can get to her. Analyzing the situation, the fastest way to do that seems to be to let him play out whatever combination of strikes he’s planned and then do what I do best: counter. If he’s going to kick, my best bet is to take advantage of that. Seth’s warning about not taking him down unless I’m sure I can finish it pops into my head but I shake it off. I’m feeling good about this.
Lunging forward, I aim a jab and a cross at his face. In return, his sturdy shin slams into my ribs, exactly as I expected it to. The impact sends a violent shockwave through me, but it’s a small price to pay to get the upper hand. Because despite all appearances to the contrary, I do have the upper hand. Before his foot can drop, I knock the grounded leg out from under him and he hits the floor with a thud, landing hard on his back. He wheezes and tries to right himself, but I’m already on him, pummeling his face. He tries to roll, but there’s no escaping me in this position. Instead, he curls in on himself as much as possible, shielding his head with his arms.
He doesn’t give up. He shifts his weight, doing his best to dislodge me, and eventually, it works. Scrambling away from him, I leap to my feet and raise my fists. Then, before he has enough time to think through his next step, I push-kick his diaphragm, and while he’s off-balance, I deliver the final blow: a flying knee to the face. Blood spurts from his nose but he doesn’t clutch at it. Instead, he drops like a rock.
Knockout.
In a career spanning years, I’ve had very few knockouts. It isn’t how I prefer to roll. But this time, I’m just glad the fight is at an end. Medics rush to Leo’s side and after a few seconds, he rouses. They help him up, but it’s all over. There’s no way he can continue. After conferring briefly, the judges make it official, and the umpire summons us to his side. Leo’s coach supports him while the umpire raises my hand. Next thing I know, a video camera is being shoved in my face and some guy in a suit is asking me questions. I answer in a daze, vaguely aware that this is something I’ve been working toward for years, and yet the victory feels unsatisfying. I guess I assumed that I’d be happy once I did what I’ve trained for, but instead, I just feel flat.
Pleased, yes. Grateful that I can give Dad something he’s always wanted. But not happy.
No, what makes me happy has big brown eyes, brown skin, and soft curves a guy could get lost in. She’s my best friend and my lover. If I have anything to say about it, she’ll stay that way.
22
Sydney
Cameras are thrust into Gabe’s face, and people vie for his attention. Meanwhile, I’m still trying to convince my brain to accept what it just witnessed. Yes, Gabe can be brutal. He has to be, in his line of work. But I’ve never seen him take down anyone like that before. Leo didn’t stand a chance. And now, everyone is rallying around him, desperate to congratulate him on his success, and he just looks dazed and bemused, like he hasn’t quite come to terms with it himself yet.
His gaze lands on me, and focuses in. Tentatively, I smile. Then someone says something to him, and he turns away. His body is still tense, because his brain hasn’t accepted that the fight is over. Mentally, he’s poised to strike. I’m not surprised, because he’s been training for this for so long and has built it up in his mind so much that he can’t comprehend it ending so quickly.
Brutal. Calculating. Efficient. That’s my Gabe in the cage.
As his eyes find mine again, something other than detachment finally flickers in them, and my stomach flutters in response. A man speaks to him, but he doesn’t take his eyes from me. Suddenly, there’s a microphone in his hand and his voice booms around the stadium.
“Thanks everyone,” he says, still staring at me. “I appreciate your support. I’m so grateful to have had this opportunity and to be able to stand here tonight as your Ruby Knuckles champion.” The crowd roars, and he waits for them to quiet before continuing. His eyes flick away from me, toward Leo, who’s standing in the corner, out of the spotlight. “Great fight, man.” Leo nods, and Gabe turns to Tomas. “Many of you know the story of how my dad’s professional career ended in the Ruby Knuckles final, but what you might not know is that he went on to become one of the best managers in the business. I’m so proud to stand here tonight as both his son and his student.Papa, you taught me everything you know, but the most important thing you gave me was heart.”
