“Oh shit.” She laughs. “Damn, you don’t have to come at me like that. You don’t know.”
“I forgot you can’t take your own medicine.”
“It’s true. I’m sensitive.”
“Yeah, you’re a real flower.”
Brooklyn punches my arm playfully. “Points for bravery, Bauer, but go back to being the nice girl, jeez.”
I shake my head and throw my soap and toothpaste into the bathroom. When I come back, I prop myself in the doorframe. This isn’t some weird alternate universe that doesn’t count. This is reality, and Brooklyn is in my home. I would’ve bet any amount you gave me this would never happen, but there she is, looking completely enticing and I swear to God, flirting, all under the banner of straightness.
“You know you can tell me, right?” I say.
“There’s nothing I need to tell you, Eden.”
“Anything you say to me will be between us.”
I can’t imagine why Brooklyn would be hell-bent on being in the closet. It doesn’t seem to match her hell raising style. And how deep does it run? Does her family know? Do they help her cover it up? Is she in denial herself? Or is this all a grossly arrogant assumption?
“There’s only time for one thing in my life right now,” she says. “The belt. I promised to win it and put it in my father’s hands, and I have to deliver. That’s all there is to know.”
“All right, then. Let’s get you ready for Mendez.” I lead the way out of my room.
“Now?”
“You have somewhere to be?”
“No, but Théo and Laila won’t be here for at least an hour.”
“I know. I’ll go with you. Just don’t break my little bird neck again.” I turn back and smile to make sure she knows I’m messing around, but she doesn’t look amused. She reaches out and pulls me to a stop.
“Eden, you know I didn’t want that, right? I never thought that would really happen.”
Her expression catches me off guard, more than sincere, almost distraught.
“Okay,” I say. “Don’t sweat it. We all know the risks, right?” I slap her arm and guide her through the empty dojang to the MMA mat, pull both our wraps and gloves from the closet, and toss hers at her.
When we’re geared up, I step toward the center of the mat facing her. I don’t let myself think too much about her lethal hands or my neck or what we’ve taken from each other. It’s just me and my fighter on the mat, in my home, practicing my truest love.
“You wanted to do something more advanced,” I say. She nods. “Watch me. Stay with me.” I step toward her in a fighting stance, initiating a dance she picks up effortlessly, stepping back as much as I stepped forward, maintaining the distance. I move in and out, circling and cutting, slow for a long time. I watch her eyes for boredom, but her pupils are large and focused. Her steps are measured and precise. Soon she isn’t reacting and mirroring me. We’re moving as one.
“Yes,” I say. “Now…” I reach out with a jab while moving to my left. I throw the punch like I’m under water, at quarter speed but with good form, letting it touch her chest, just touch. “Always smooth,” I say. I move and put my right against her cheek, then circle out. She returns a cross, touching my chin and moving backward.
As she sinks into it, we move a little faster, but never give up the flow, never break the connection. She comes in. I back away. I circle left. She circles too. We trade techniques, never reaching, never competitive. It’s such a delicate ballet, when she’s off she knows it. I never say a word out loud. I just watch her soak it in, giving her a lead to follow. Soon she’s always in step and centered. We’re deep in the rhythm of the same breath. Time falls away. I don’t notice the activity in the dojang stirring up until Laila and Théo walk in together with curious expressions on their faces.
Brooklyn and I straighten up, holding eye contact a moment longer. It’s like coming out of a dream, breaking a serene trance.
Chapter Sixteen
Laila looks overwhelmed behind the front desk despite the early weekend class already being mostly cleared out, so I help the stragglers into their coats and shoes while they jabber at me.
“Miss Bauer, I’m testing for my yellow belt soon.”
“I know you are, Jordan. Have you been practicing?”
He nods and tries to wiggle into his shoes. His mom smiles at me as she guides him out the door. Once they’re gone, I go over to Laila.
“You okay?”
“Yeah,” she says. “Just busy. Brooklyn is already back there warming up. We have an extra Shaw tonight.”
“What do you mean?”
“Her brother Leandro is back there too with Théo.”
“Did they say why?”
Laila shrugs. “Her fight is real soon. I figured he was here to support her. Jesus, he’s a big motherfucker. Is he serious with that ‘I’m all-natural’ stuff?”
“Shh!” I slap her arm and chuckle. “You coming back? I could use you for a few rounds. Fight week. All hands on deck.”
“Sure, boss.”
“Hey.” I grab her hand. “You haven’t asked for one-on-one mat time in a while. You know you still can, right?”
She waves her hand. “It’s okay. You’re busy with the prodigy.”
“You think I can only handle one prodigy?” I wink at her, ignoring her sour mood.
“Oh, don’t be a suck-up.” She laughs.
“When have I ever not had time for you?”
She shrugs. “Okay, okay, I get it.”
“I’m sure Brooklyn will roll with you too if you ever want to practice some Jiu-Jitsu here instead of driving across town.”
“You’ve really changed your mind about her, haven’t you?” She looks a little sad even though she seems to have warmed up to Brooklyn too.
“I guess,” I say. “She’s driven and loyal. She’ll help you if you want, I’m sure.”
“Jeez, picture that.”
“She would.”
When Laila and I get to the back, Brooklyn is already geared up and roughhousing with her brothers. Leandro’s giant hands are pinning Brooklyn’s wrists crisscrossed over her chest from behind while Théo punches her in the stomach.
“Jesus, it all makes so much sense now,” I say. They make mock guilty faces and disentangle.
“Don’t worry, we didn’t hurt her,” Leandro says as he shakes my hand.
“You better not have,” I tease him. “We ready to rock? We’re down to a week. This’ll be our last blowout. I want it looking tight.”
“Give me your worst,” Brooklyn says.
“We’re sparring all night. Laila and Théo will alternate.”
“Hey, let me at her,” Leandro says. He’s only ever been in Jiu-Jitsu matches as far as I know, but I nod.
“Sure, you can rotate in after Théo. I want her exhausted, but not hurt, guys. No injuries. Hard but safe. Don’t forget she needs to be able to get in the octagon in a week. Laila.” Laila steps in with Brooklyn. I start the first three-minute round and off they go.
Brooklyn looks like a different person out there, relaxed and loose instead of pure barreling aggression. Laila is missing more than she’s landing, a new and welcome dynamic. Brooklyn used to be willing to leap off a cliff if she thought she could clip you on the way down.
“Good, Brooklyn,” I say as the timer buzzes. Laila jumps out and Théo takes her place. His style is a lot like Brooklyn’s old one, aggression at all costs.
“What’re you waiting for?” he taunts her.
“Watch him, don’t chase him,” I say.
Théo springs forward and comes after Brooklyn hard. He pops her in the gloves once, then shoots, lifts her legs, and slams her down onto her back. Watching two Shaws grapple, the best two, is a piece of art. I don’t even notice I’ve crouched down for a better look until I’m inching forward to see every grip, every movement.
Théo gets her in a position called knee on belly, which is exactly what it sounds like and a disadv
antaged, not to mention hellacious, place to be. She works on curling her body out from under him, shoving his knee away. He hooks under her shoulder and swoops his foot in an arc around her head, yanking her arm straight as he leans back into an attempted armbar, but she gets her leg free of his other hand in time to back roll over her own shoulder and alleviate the lock. He scrambles for her back. She turns and wraps her arm around his neck, but he grabs her ankle and pulls, pushing his weight forward to flatten her again. She puts her shin across him and floats him right over the top of her and ends up in mount.
They’re so much more mobile than other Jiu-Jitsu grapplers I’ve watched. So often, you see people spending many seconds to minutes working their way through a single position, but Théo and Brooklyn make it look so easy and flow from one position to the next. The second one of them looks screwed, somehow it flips.
The round ends and Leandro leaps in to replace Théo before they’ve even completely separated. He doesn’t have the finesse of Théo or the timing of Brooklyn, but he has a confidence in his approach, a methodical, precise pressure. I wish I could see the last Shaw sibling, Nicolau. The timer goes off, and Laila cycles back in. Brooklyn stands back up, clearly tired. She’s on her fourth round, which is draining against someone who’s doing it with you, but a nightmare against fresh opponents.
“Quit panting, you’re fine,” Théo says. “Go get her.”
He’s right about half of it. Breathing through your mouth is dangerous and leaves the jaw vulnerable, a good way to get knocked out. “Close your mouth,” I say. “Stick to the plan.”
The plan is to save her power for good openings she creates with movement, angles, and setups, not to charge into fists like she has her entire life. If you want to land a giant cross, you hit them with your jab first. Once you land a good one, it won’t be long until they throw one back, subconsciously trying to even the score. When you know it’s coming is when you can find that big shot. Brooklyn’s so dangerous she’s never had to think like that, but she’ll be a nightmare if she does. The other part of the plan is to get to the ground where her expertise is, not to risk everything to make some kind of point.
“Go! Go!” Leandro says, and Brooklyn lunges at Laila swinging. Laila eats one, but dodges the next and cracks Brooklyn with a solid right.
“Counter!” Théo yells. “Cross!”
Brooklyn tries, but Laila moves and hits her with a jab.
“Kick!” Théo yells.
Laila hits Brooklyn with a three-punch combo, landing all of them.
“Back her up!” Théo is losing patience.
“No, get out of there, Brooklyn,” I yell. “Reset.”
Brooklyn bounces in and out of the pocket, undecided.
“Suck it up and go get her,” Théo says.
“Théo,” I snap.
“She’s getting muscled.”
“She knows what she’s doing.”
“Doesn’t look like it.”
“Stop,” I say. Brooklyn is getting sloppier and sloppier, but everyone does as they tire. Théo isn’t helping, but I can’t tell how much is him and how much is Brooklyn’s own instincts re-emerging. When you’re fatigued and feel like you’re in danger, you go back to what you know best, even if it’s wrong.
The timer buzzes and Théo leaps in with a vengeance, hitting her hard. “Come on, kid,” he says. “How bad do you want it?”
“Théo, back off,” I say. “That’s not how Mendez fights.”
He ignores me and pops Brooklyn in the nose. Brooklyn retaliates with a vicious windmill of a punch.
“Don’t lose your cool, Brooklyn. You set the pace, not him.”
“Come on,” he says. “Let’s see it.”
He responds to her blocks by trying to hit through them with more power. Body, head, body, head. A glove gets through and impacts hard enough Brooklyn’s head snaps back.
“That’s enough,” I say. Théo tags her again and anger shoots up my spine. I storm up behind him, wrap my arms around his chest and pull him away. “I said that’s enough. What do you think you’re doing?”
“I think I’m coaching my sister.”
“We’re supposed to be polishing this plan, and we’re getting further and further off track.”
“Tell me about it,” Théo says. “Why do you think I’m going after her? She’s not ready. I’m not letting her out there like that.”
“I know you want to help, but you’re making it worse.”
“You think she’s going to be able to ask Mendez nicely to back off in there?”
“Of course not, but she needs to handle this with technique, not fear. I need you to stop trying to force her to brawl.”
“She can get me off her any way she wants, bottom line is she isn’t doing it, and I’m not easing up until she does.”
“Théo, I think it’s best if Brooklyn and I finish this session alone.”
He breaks into a smile like he thinks I’m kidding. “Are you crazy?” he lashes out. “You can’t even fight.”
“I can fight enough. I don’t know why you think going full contact and trying to hurt her is necessary, but it isn’t.”
“I’m not trying to hurt her. I’m trying to protect her before another chick kicks her skull in.” His eyes are full of anger, burning into me. I let a long pause pass before I speak again.
“I understand what you’re doing, but you two have fought so many years you have patterns we need to break.”
“You’re throwing me out of my sister’s last training session?”
“I’m nicely asking all of you to leave so I can work with my martial artist one-on-one.”
The way Théo’s gaze is burning into me makes his face look even more predatory than usual. “Is that what you want, Brooklyn?”
“It’s not up to her,” I say before Brooklyn can answer him. Of course, it’s up to her, but I don’t want to put her in that position. I don’t particularly want to be the bitch that threw her brother out, either, but if those are the only options. “I need you to go.”
“If you’re wrong, and she loses, this is over.” He jerks his head to motion Leandro to follow him out. “Get your shit together, Brooklyn!” he yells back, and the front door slams. The silence feels heavy. I avoid Brooklyn’s eyes and turn to Laila.
“Right.” Laila springs back to life, moving for the door. “Call if you need anything.” She touches my arm before she goes. I turn to Brooklyn and try to read her face.
“You didn’t have to throw him out,” she says.
“I did have to, but I’m sorry. I know you two are close.”
“We’re closer than close, and he was right. I’m not doing well.”
“He was right that you’re off, but bleeding isn’t going to fix it. He wasn’t helping. Put it out of your mind, Brooklyn. He’s mad at me, not you. You’ll talk to him about what an ass I am tomorrow and have a good laugh. Right now, we have work to do.”
“And you’re going to be the one?” she asks. “You’re going to risk that? You’re crazy. He was right about that too.”
I wrap my hands in a kind of meditation, around the wrist, around the knuckles, between the fingers, wrist, hand, until the wrap runs out and I slip my gloves over them. We usually spar with sixteen-ounce boxing gloves because they’re bigger and less dangerous. The extra surface area means it’s easier to block and the impact disperses more when you do connect, but this close to the fight, we need to mimic the real deal, so I put on the four-ounce, fingerless MMA gloves.
“You need to learn control,” I say. “Fighting someone you could break may be the best thing for you.”
“Fuck, Eden, I don’t want that responsibility.”
“Look at me.” She rolls her eyes before she does. “I trust you.”
She shakes her head and sighs. “Everything’s open?” she asks, referring to takedowns and grappling.
“Everything’s open. Execute the plan start to finish.”
She moves at a more rational
pace from the jump. We trade shots, much harder than we usually do, but still short of what Théo was doing. She lands a cross to my eye that sends a jolt into my neck and a tingle of fear through me, but as I circle out and check in with my body, it’s fine. The fracture is healed. I have to stop acting like I’m hanging by a string. I’m strong.
As we get deeper into the round, her technique fades again. She’s swinging hard but wild. It’s a little disconcerting she’s not concerning herself more with my safety, but she shouldn’t have to. That’s my responsibility.
“Don’t force it,” I say. “You have plenty of power. You don’t have to sacrifice your balance. Move your feet. Don’t lean to reach me, use your length. Full extension.”
She ignores me and continues, which would be fine if she improved, but she gets wilder, taking bigger swings. I escape and land some stern counters. She lunges for a takedown she isn’t in position for that I easily sprawl out of. I shove her back to her feet and jab her, leaving a hook open if she wants it, but she doesn’t react in time. She gets annoyed and rushes forward again, following her entry attack with three more. I absorb them with arms and gloves, deflecting all the damage.
She should cover up before I make her pay, but she pushes me backward instead, insisting on a takedown now. Being on the receiving end of all her power is always a little shocking and nerve-racking. It’s hard to believe we’re in the same weight class.
She pushes me into the fence that lines the wall, and I wrap her up in a clinch with both my hands around the back of her head and neck in a double collar tie, a hold that breaks her posture and gives me control of her balance. She fights for underhooks, a smart move for her since she’s shorter and wants to set up a takedown. She tries to slide her arms under my elbows, but I keep them locked against me and yank her off balance to stop her. Only now with her so close do I realize how exhausted she is. She’s slick with sweat, heaving for breath, and using bursts of power because she can’t sustain more.
Her skin is hot, her body solid and flexed. She’s let me break her posture to the point her forehead is on my chest. The feeling of her struggling in my grip but being unable to control me the way she wants is surreal.
The Clinch Page 12
