The Clinch

by Nicole Disney

  “You’re my family,” he says. “We live in the same building, and I’ve seen you every day for more than half of your life. You think I don’t see when something changes?”

  I sigh and shake my head. “What did you see?”

  He shrugs. “I saw nothing, and I saw everything.”

  I shake my head, but I’m relieved he knows, even if his conclusion is characteristically vague. She’ll do right by me. What does that mean? Or is that the point? She’ll leave or she’ll stay, and either way will be right.

  “I wish her family could just see like that,” I say. “Preferably a decade ago.”

  “The pieces will move without your interference.”

  I pull into the hospital parking lot and swoop into an empty space, then turn in my seat to face him.

  “She won’t risk her family for me. When the pieces start moving too much, she’s going to break my heart.” It hurts just thinking about it.

  “She’s a fool if she does.”

  I shake my head. “She just loves them.”

  “She knows you aren’t the problem. Have faith in her.”

  God, I want to, but that sounds like emotional suicide. It’ll be hard enough to lose Brooklyn if I see it coming. If I let myself believe she’ll stand by me it will obliterate me.

  He puts his hand on my knee. “She will rise if you believe in her.”

  Jin has a beautiful way of seeing the world, but the child in me remembers how fruitless it was to have faith in my mom, to wait and starve when I should have found a way out of that house and helped my damn self. That’s what I’m good at. Helping myself. Helping others, too, but not waiting. Not trusting. What is there to trust? She’s made no promises.

  “Let’s get inside.”

  He sits in the waiting room while they do their scans and measurements. Once they’re done, they let him in to wait with me for the results. Six months of recovery. It feels like a lifetime, and like nothing at all. I feel better than I ever expected to, but I can also believe a nasty punch in the wrong spot could still take it all away. That’s what they’ve been saying, which isn’t comforting as a professional martial artist’s coach and main sparring partner. Brooklyn has grown exponentially in her control and care. She doesn’t take stupid risks anymore, for herself or me, but that doesn’t change the fact that it’s a contact sport. Am I tempting fate? The door finally opens as the doctor knocks.

  “Well, Eden, let’s take a look,” he says. Dr. Crowe is a thousand times more positive than the ER doctor who promised me the worst, but he hasn’t been a barrel of sunshine either. “You’ve healed beautifully. Phenomenally, really. I’m sure that’s thanks to you being so healthy.”

  “So, I can coach full time?” I ask. “I can spar?” I’m already doing both, but he doesn’t know that.

  “It’s as safe for you as the next person. I’ll clear you to get back to competition.”

  Jin and I lock eyes. Dr. Crowe doesn’t seem to realize competing isn’t something I had on the table for myself.

  “I can compete?” I ask. “Like, full contact?”

  “Yep. You healed properly, have your muscle strength back, posture looks good. I see no reason to keep you from what you do. Send over the papers any time. I’m happy to sign.”

  I walk back to the car in silence. It’s like I’m walking through space, floating and falling at once. I don’t know what to make of this lack of emotion, or maybe it’s every emotion, which makes them all meaningless. I’m relieved, but also afraid. A piece of me isn’t quite buying all this.

  It’s one thing saying you don’t want to compete when you can’t anyway. It’s another doing it now. Part of me feels the need to rise, to overcome, but I’m suspicious that has more to do with concern over the way people see me than what I really want.

  I’ve built a new life already, one I love. If my first doctor hadn’t been so negative, would I have done this differently? Would I have done it at all? Brooklyn and I certainly wouldn’t be what we are, and as much as I miss the action, the heat, the thrill of finding out how deep your will runs, I’ve done all that, and I wouldn’t give up what I have now for it.

  “I’m not going back,” I say once Jin closes his door. “I can’t. I’m Brooklyn’s coach. I promised her. We talked about this before we started. I can’t do that to her.”

  He nods. “What do you feel?”

  “I…” I stare out across the parking lot at the deep gray asphalt against the deep blue sky, a string of pigeons parting directions. “I’m fine. I already made peace with not competing. I like coaching.”

  “It’s rewarding,” he agrees. “You have an excellent mind for it.” Jin knows this transition as well as I do. He went through it himself.

  “I’m not going to tell anyone about this,” I say. “They’ll try to make me come back. I’m sending over my retirement. It’s time to make it official.”

  “Be sure,” he says.

  “What do you mean?”

  “You won’t be able to compete forever, Eden. Imagine it every way it can go and make sure your heart isn’t heavy with regret. There’s no worse feeling.”

  If I stay out for Brooklyn and she leaves me, will I wish I’d gone back? That’s the scenario I imagine he means. It would complicate my feelings. I can’t pretend it wouldn’t, but I want something richer than glory now, deeper than fame or gold or achievement. I want the look of joy on Mateo’s face when Brooklyn made him chocolate chip pancakes. I want training sessions that go deep into the night and turn into horseplay and belly laughs. I want the bond of talking my martial artists through the fire when they’re afraid they’re not enough. I want to watch my students feel strong for the first time in their lives. I went pro to represent Emerald Tiger, to honor Jin. I’ve done that. Now I want to come home.

  Chapter Twenty-five

  The entryway of the dojang where students take off their shoes is packed with seven- and eight-year-olds, probably the most challenging age group, but also one of the most fun.

  “One minute!” I warn them, and they all spring onto the mat. Just as I’m about to call them to attention, the front door swings open so hard it slams into the bench next to it, and I cringe, half expecting it to break. The bells rattle and a breeze rushes in. Brooklyn is standing in the frame with white-hot fury in her eyes. She steps toward the mat. I can’t imagine she intends to scream at me in front of my class, but that’s exactly what it looks like.

  “Laila,” I say. She reads the situation with wide eyes and takes my place as I step off the mat to meet Brooklyn before she gets any farther.

  “You’re coming back to defend the belt? Are you fucking kidding me?”

  “Brooklyn!” I flash my attention to the kids just ten feet away.

  “You’re unbelie—”

  “Not here,” I say between my teeth and walk out the front door. If she wants to do this, she’ll have to follow me. I walk around the building, then in the back door to the backmost, vacant student room. I turn in and close the door before I finally face her.

  “Have you lost your mind? You can’t act like that around them.”

  “That’s all you have to say to me?”

  “I don’t even know what you’re talking about. You just come in here freaking out?”

  “You said you wouldn’t do this shit. We talked about this. This is exactly what I was worried about. Everyone thought you were above it, but here you are. You spend months figuring me out, seeing everything there is to know, changing everything about the way I work, and then suddenly your neck is all better? Just in time to rematch me for the belt and make me look like a complete jackass? Fuck you, Eden.”

  It’s like getting sucked up into a tornado and whipped through a house. Just as I was getting my bearings, the “fuck you” rips away my equilibrium.

  “Fuck me?”

  “What’d you think it was going to be, Eden?”

  “I thought you would know me better than this by now, or that maybe you’d ask
me if it’s true before you flip the fuck out. Where’d you read this shit, TMZ? Is that what we’re doing?”

  “I know it’s true, Eden. I have a fight offer sitting in my email right now. Is this what you meant when you said a better fight was going to come along soon? This is why you wouldn’t let me sign with Karinov?”

  “Wh—” I stop myself to rub my eyes and gather myself. “Brooklyn, please, for the love of God, listen to me.” I pause to see if she’s paying attention at all, and she is. I speak slowly and deliberately. “I have no idea what the fuck you are talking about.”

  Now she’s the one who looks spun as she examines me. “I got a fight offer this morning for the title. Against you.”

  “Did you bother to check for my signature? Because it’s not there.” If it went anything like her last fight offer, she probably hasn’t even seen it. Samson manages her, and I can’t help but wonder if he created this conflict on purpose. Did he get word the reporters were asking about Brooklyn and me? Did he want to blow up the arrangement? Brooklyn’s stunned face confirms she hasn’t seen it herself.

  “You’re telling me you had nothing whatsoever to do with this?”

  “Zero,” I say. “I didn’t offer you that fight, Brooklyn, and I would never take it. The matchmakers just want to see it. My manager probably agreed to float it by me and they put together an offer, but it means nothing. I say no and this goes away. I would have done it already, but I had an early class and haven’t touched base with Taylor yet.”

  She’s much calmer, but her body is still taut with tension. “Why would the matchmakers randomly think you’re coming back?”

  I sigh. “I went to a follow-up doctor’s appointment yesterday. They said I can fight if I want.” Her face lights up to respond, but I power on before she can. “But I’m not coming back. Not to fight you or anyone else. I didn’t even want anyone to know. I don’t even understand how they do. I should sue the shit out of that hospital for giving out my information.”

  “You’re serious, aren’t you?” Brooklyn’s face finally softens.

  “Yes.”

  “Jesus.” She takes a breath. “You probably signed something allowing the hospital to release your shit to the UFC so they can cover the bill. That’s how they found out you’re cleared.”

  She’s right, and I should have seen it coming, but I’m too rattled to switch to casual talk so abruptly. She picks up on it and steps closer, taking my hand in hers.

  “I’m sorry,” she says. “I should’ve asked you. I just thought you were screwing with me this whole time, and I kind of lost it.”

  “You thought I had some scheme all along? What, to spy on you? Teach you bad moves? Mess with your heart?”

  “Believe me, I realize how stupid that sounds now.”

  “Brooklyn, I would never do something like that to you.”

  She looks down. “I know. I’m sorry.”

  “I don’t think you do know. I love you, Brooklyn.” It comes out so naturally it takes me a second to realize what I just did. Brooklyn freezes. My stomach drops as the silence builds. I don’t need to hear it back. I barely even meant to say it, but it’s true, and it’s too late.

  “You can’t love me, Eden.” Of all the things she could’ve said, I didn’t expect that. “I can’t tell my family about you.”

  “I didn’t ask you to.”

  “Not just now, but you have, and you will again. You ask me every time you look in my eyes.” She touches my cheek. The tenderness of the gesture mixed with what she’s saying is so confusing I have to pull away to hear her.

  “Come on, Eden. You need that. I can see that you need it. And I am so sorry, but I can’t give it to you. I shouldn’t have let this go so far.”

  Even when she burst through the door in a rage, I never guessed this conversation would end up anywhere near here. I knew it may happen someday at either of our hands, but not so soon. It’s like she’s knocked the wind out of me. I can’t even speak. She shouldn’t have let it go so far? What was supposed to happen? She just wanted to work me out of her system?

  “You should just forget retirement,” she says. “Maybe we should do the fight after all.”

  “Are you fucking crazy?” I snap. “I’m not going to fight you.”

  “It’s just business, Eden. You deserve your career back. You don’t owe it to me to stay retired.”

  “You were just screaming at me about this and now you want me to do it?”

  “I was screaming because I thought you lied to me. I’m not mad at the idea. I don’t want to hold you back. I’ve been sick for months about hurting you and screwing up your life. Now we can make it right. I’m not going to mess it up for you again. I can’t let you give this up for me. Please just come back.”

  “I don’t want to come back, Brooklyn. I want what I have now.” Had half an hour ago anyway.

  “Of course you want to come back.”

  “Do I seem like the kind of person who doesn’t know what she wants to you?”

  “You’re a champion, Eden. That doesn’t just go away. It’s still your belt. No one could take it from you, and you can still defend it.”

  “Fuck the belt. What is it with you and the stupid belt? There’s more to life, Brooklyn.”

  “Yeah, easy for someone who has it to say.”

  “Believe me, I wish I didn’t.” I turn away, raging with the question of whether or not she would even like me if I wasn’t a champion. Does she measure people the same way her father does? “Do you really want to punch me in the face, Brooklyn?”

  She rolls her eyes. “Of course not.”

  “Then what are we talking about? Think about this.”

  “It’s not real, Eden. It’s just competition. It’s just our sport. We do it in training all the time.”

  “Not even close to the same.” It’s not just that we don’t go full contact in training, sometimes we do come close. But in training, when someone’s hurt, you back off. In competition, that’s your cue to go harder. I can’t do that to her anymore. But more importantly, in training I’m not trying to pry her dreams from her fingertips.

  “It just makes sense, Eden,” she says. “It’d be the fight of both our careers.”

  “Oh my God.”

  “What?”

  “Oh, Jesus, I just got it.” I feel sick. “You want the fight. You don’t want me to have my career back. You don’t want it for me, you want it for you. You want your loss back.”

  “I do want it for you.”

  “No, you want to win the belt, and you want to win it from me for your stupid legacy.”

  “Eden…”

  I can barely look at her. I’m on the edge of breaking down, and I can’t stand to let her see it. I turn back abruptly.

  “You want the fight, Brooklyn, you can have it, but don’t think winning is going to make you feel good enough for them. You’re still going to know in your heart they don’t accept you.”

  I leave her standing there. Hot tears roll down my face as I blast outside and down the street, putting as much distance between us as I can with each stride.

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Taylor and the matchmakers all apologize when I chew them out for mentioning a potential fight to an opponent before even feeling out if I wanted to come back first, particularly since they know Brooklyn and I work together now. It’s true Taylor wouldn’t be much of a manager if he shut down a fight this huge without at least trying to talk me into it, but there was no reason to send it out to Brooklyn before I’d shown viable interest. They do say they’re sorry, scramble to toss the blame around, hit all the notes of a good apology, but they clearly don’t grasp how much it’s messed with my life.

  It goes a lot like our conversation about my first match with Brooklyn. It’s what everyone wants to see. The sales will be enormous. It’ll be the fight of the year. Only now the numbers will be that much bigger after our first encounter and my quasi-retirement.

  I give up the idea t
hat anyone will understand. My world is one of elite competition with absolute studs. Not one of them can wrap their head around the idea that this is anything other than a dream for me. Any one of them would kill for a rivalry that brings in half the attention Brooklyn and I seem to. It strikes a little doubt. It’s not like me to lead with the heart, and it’s not like Brooklyn to lead with cold hard numbers. Maybe that means she’s right.

  I pull up the fight contract that’s been in my email for three days. Brooklyn’s signature showed up yesterday. I wish I could take comfort that she hesitated, but I suspect it was only for my benefit. Brooklyn cares about her career first through ninety-ninth, then whatever’s left. How can I be so surprised?

  I have the power to take away an opportunity that means everything to her. She can not only be the champion, but go on to be the best ever, something she thinks is impossible so long as her loss to me is unanswered. She can defeat “the best.” I can’t bear to think of myself that way, but that’s what they’ll say if she does it, which seems likely since she’s already shattered me. No one can make you fight, but I can’t take this from her.

  I click to fill in my signature boxes and finalize the document. It’s real now. Just days ago, Brooklyn and I were wrapped in each other’s arms sharing all of ourselves. Now I suspect the next time I see her, it will be with gloves on, trying to stop her from getting everything I want her to have.

  I send a text to Jin and Laila to meet in the MMA room in ten minutes. I don’t have to say it’s urgent. I never talk to them like that. When I go to meet them ten minutes later, they’re waiting for me with concerned faces. I’m sure they’ve heard the buzz, but I haven’t talked about it.

  “Brooklyn and I are fighting for the belt in three months. I need your help.”

  Laila’s eyes go wide. “I thought those were just rumors.”

  “So did I.”

  “She really wants to do this? Who’s going to coach her?”

  “I’m sure Théo will. And it’s a title shot. Of course, she wants it.”

  “But after all you’ve done for her?”