“Just after nine.”
Dragging a hand over my face, I groaned under my breath and sat up fully. My whole body ached, partly from the fight and partly from what had happened in the room last night. “I ran down to the café and got you a coffee.” He pointed to the cup on the table.
I swung my legs over the side of the bed and got up. “Thanks.”
“Are you heading back home today?”
“Yeah.” I took a sip of the coffee. It was strong and exactly what I needed. “Got a shift later.”
“But you’re going to check out the first fight, still, right?” he asked.
“That's why I stayed.”
An hour later, we were inside the venue, and the atmosphere felt more like the jiu-jitsu tournament I’d seen than the underground fighting I participated in. This event had rules, official weigh-ins, and coaches in the corners instead of chaos and money being thrown around.
The fights were different too. Everyone’s movements were more controlled. They took their time trying to find an advantage or opening rather than just going in and beating the hell out of each other. I found myself sitting on the edge of my seat, locked in on what was happening inside the cage. Devon said something beside me. I think he was explaining a transition, but I barely caught his words. My focus stayed on the fighters.
After a couple of matches, he introduced me to some people he knew. I wasn’t sure if he’d told them he was trying to recruit me, but they all spoke about him like he was someone I should listen to. I could feel their enthusiasm for the sport, and it stirred something inside me. For a second, I could picture what it might look like if I did things the right way. If I trained and went legit.
Then reality crept back in.
Training took time. And time spent doing something I didn’t get income from meant less money in my pocket. If I ever wanted to stop couch surfing, I couldn’t afford to cut back on my work hours.
I drove back to Sacramento later that day, and I made it just in time for my shift at Sal’s.
I slipped right back into my same routine, but something felt off. Like I’d caught a glimpse of something better, and I couldn’t stop thinking about it.
Devon textedme three days later:
You got any plans tonight?
I stared at the message for a moment before replying:
Just work until ten
Want to hang out?
That was how ourrelationshipstarted.
I could have said no and kept my distance. I could have ignored his messages. But I didn’t.
One night turned into another. Then another.
We didn’t put a label on it. We didn’t talk about what we were doing, but we began spending a lot of time together. He’d come to my local fights or show up after I got off work, and more times than not, we ended up at his place—usually in his bed.
After several weeks, tonight was no different.
“You’re wasting time,” he said from where he sat across from me on his couch.
“With what?”
“Underground fighting.” He scoffed, as if it should have been obvious what he was talking about. “You’re better than that.”
I leaned back against the cushion. “We’ve been over this. Going legit won’t pay the bills.”
“It could.”
I gave him a look. “Not right away.”
