The Clinch

by Nicole Disney

  “I haven’t done her any favors,” I say. “This was all business to help her career. This is the best thing for her career now.”

  Laila looks equal parts concerned and confused. If I didn’t know better, I’d say she knows about me and Brooklyn too. Secrets are never as secret as you think. “So, you want this?” she asks.

  I keep my voice dead and measured. “I’m ready to move on from competition. This will be my last fight. It’s just as well it’s a massive one. It’ll be a payday that means the gym never worries about money again. We can run it exactly how we want, take care of our kids. We could even expand it, make enough room for a full facility, redo the student housing and scholarship them out to people in need. Like Mateo.”

  Jin squeezes my shoulder. “And Brooklyn?”

  “She made her choice. We’re competitors again. We won’t see her here anymore, and yes, it sucks, but I can’t have her breaking my neck again. We’re going to train hard. You’ll be my corner?”

  “Of course,” Laila says.

  Jin doesn’t answer. He’s deep in thought, and he somehow looks closer to no than yes. I can’t imagine training without Jin, nor can I imagine him turning me away.

  “Jin?”

  “If we train, we train to win, not to survive. If you fight without heart, you’ll get hurt. I won’t take part in that.”

  He doesn’t trust me to really go after Brooklyn, and he doesn’t trust her not to really come after me. I know exactly how he feels.

  “I understand,” I say.

  “And?”

  “We fight to win.”

  He studies me, looking skeptical.

  “If she’d rather fight me than work with me, that’s exactly what we’ll do.” I know he switches out “work with” with “be with” easily enough.

  He nods. “When it hurts, we train harder. I’ll make the schedule. Today, ten rounds on the bag with a mile run after each. You have two and a half hours.”

  It’s an aggressive first exercise, but I never got back to competition shape since my neck. I’m fit, very fit even, but not nearly fit enough. He’s right to hit hard. His time window allows for ten-minute miles between five-minute rounds, not a particularly fast pace, but by round four it’ll feel like it is.

  I’m already in sweatpants and a hoodie, so I move to complete his task without ceremony. I wrap my hands and put on gloves while he sets up a timer, then step up to the heavy bag and hit it with a hard, crisp combo that rattles the chain. It’s not good practice to just start wailing on the bag without loosening up first, but damn does it feel good. I throw a kick and receive a thunderous smack that fills the room as a reward. My body reacts with a shot of energy, elation even. I go after that bag as hard as I can and let Brooklyn pass in and out of my mind as she pleases. It hurts, but every twinge of pain also makes me feel stronger. I know this person. She’s lonely and hurt and a little battered, but she’s a fucking savage. She’s the person I made when people let me down, and I need her now.

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  I throw myself into training in a way even I never have. Everyone takes notice, the students, Laila, Jin, the guys at both my Muay Thai and Jiu-Jitsu gyms as I’ve started spending two hours at each every day on top of everything else. Training with Brooklyn has made me exceptionally better at Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu. I can throw around people who used to have their way with me. Soon the reporters are finding creative ways to get pictures. I’ve always been private about my training, haven’t wanted others to know how prepared I am and for what, but I don’t care if Brooklyn sees. I want her to know I’m not still some injured little bird.

  The speculation runs wild, that we hate each other again, that I want revenge, that Brooklyn betrayed me by leaving my school, that I betrayed her by coming back to fight, that Théo and I couldn’t get along, that I’m training so hard because I’m afraid, that Brooklyn needs to be afraid because she doesn’t understand how hard I’m training, and yes, even that we’re secretly lovers with theories both that we’re together still and that we’ve split. All the buzz means we’re on track for the kind of viewership everyone wanted. I wonder how Brooklyn is handling people poking their noses so close to the truth, but the nice part is I don’t have to care. It’d be a lie to say I don’t, but I find moments where I can file it under “not my problem,” and it feels good when they come.

  I’m not pushing so hard because I’m afraid, though I am a little, or because I’m mad at her, though that’s there too. I spend all my time training because when you can get deep enough, when you can work so hard your body descends through pain and into something else, your mind peels back and a vast sky of peace settles on you like falling snow. It doesn’t hurt anymore. My heart feels mended because there is no Eden Bauer, and every time she comes back, I’m off for more.

  In just a couple of weeks, my body transforms. I’m stronger and faster and can go not just longer, but harder than I ever have, and my real fight camp hasn’t even started yet.

  I trot to a stop in front of Emerald Tiger, just shy of fifteen miles after spending all morning running. I’m about to go around the block to round it off, but I notice Mateo sitting on the mats inside, alone, and open the door instead.

  “Mateo?” It’s two in the afternoon, an exceptionally dead time of day with no classes scheduled soon. “You okay?”

  He nods but looks sad. Finally, I piece together that it’s Thursday. He’s here for his Jiu-Jitsu lesson with Brooklyn, who isn’t going to show. His disappointed face is crushing. I walk over and sit next to him.

  “I’m so sorry, Mateo. I forgot to tell you—”

  Rattling bells cut me off, and Brooklyn is standing in the doorway in shorts and a sleeveless shirt, looking a little breathless and infuriatingly gorgeous. The shock of seeing her makes it impossible to come up with anything to say.

  “I’m so sorry,” Brooklyn finally says. “I wasn’t sure if I should—”

  “You should.” I stand and back away, remembering I’m absolutely soaked in sweat from my run and too flustered to trust myself with conversation. “Have a good class.”

  “Eden.”

  I’m already almost to the door to the back even though I’m covering the distance mostly by way of awkward, stumbling backward steps. I wave her off, gesturing between her and Mateo, trying to force her attention to him where it belongs, but she keeps chasing me across the mats and catches me at the door.

  “I’m sorry,” she says again. “I didn’t mean to just drop in on you. I tried calling like six times to ask what you want me to do.”

  “I wasn’t here. I went on a run.”

  “I see that.” Her eyes move over me, taking in my sweaty racerback tank top and tracing over my chest and arms, wandering like she just can’t control herself. It sends a maddening lightning bolt of stimulation through me, but I push it violently from my mind.

  “Wow,” Brooklyn finally says. “You look good.”

  This isn’t the tone I expected from our first conversation since splitting up. It’s almost like it didn’t happen. She’s just here, being thoughtful with Mateo and looking at me like her clothes are going to burn off of her skin, and damn it, are those my weaknesses. That doesn’t mean I forgot the last weeks.

  “Your body, I mean,” she says, then scrunches her face at her own comment. “Your abs. Arms. Muscle. Fuck, you know what I mean.”

  I want to laugh or say something flirtatious, but I can’t. Brooklyn isn’t mine. It’s only painful to play at it.

  “Thanks.” She looks good too, but that’s nothing new. Even when I didn’t know her as anything other than the woman who talked shit about me all the time, her body demanded notice.

  “You must be hitting it really hard, huh?” she asks.

  I shrug. “Of course. You didn’t expect me not to, did you?”

  “No,” she says quickly. “No, I know Eden Bauer, record holding champ, doesn’t play around.”

  She’s obviously trying to be nice, but i
t just reminds me of what’s important to Brooklyn, and my anger flares. “Just go enjoy your session.” I turn to walk away, but she speaks again in a hurried string of words like she’s using them to lasso me before I can escape.

  “Can we be friends?” she asks. “This fight doesn’t mean I want to hurt you or that I don’t care about you. It’s just bus—”

  “It’s not just business, Brooklyn. We’re competing, but this isn’t fucking tennis. We get in a cage and try our hardest to hurt the other person badly enough they can’t continue. That’s what we just signed on for, and it’s not a joke. It’s not a game.”

  She looks a little stunned and somber. “I’ve never heard you talk about it that way before. You’re everything that’s beautiful about martial arts. What’s all this cage and blood stuff?”

  “It’s reality.” She’s right. I’ve always known the dangers, but I’ve never seen this as malicious or barbaric. I don’t know if it was getting hurt so badly or falling for Brooklyn that’s made it all so different.

  “But you’ve fought people you knew before. Friends, training partners. Right?” she asks.

  “Yes.”

  “Why do we have to be so different?”

  “You know why.”

  “Even people you didn’t know or like, you were always respectful at least.” Something vulnerable floods her eyes.

  “I respect you, Brooklyn.”

  “But you don’t want to be my friend.” She says it flat, with no question in her voice.

  “You know what I want.” It comes out with more snap than I intended. I feel so naked letting her have the benefit of the present tense. Of course, I want to be her friend, but you can’t remotely describe my feelings for her with that word.

  “You know I wish things were different,” she says.

  I try to dissect what that means, exactly, before deciding it doesn’t actually mean anything. It means in a perfect world that gives her anything she wants, I’d be somewhere on the list, but in a real world that requires choices and action, I don’t make the cut.

  “Mateo is setting a record for the most patient kid ever,” I say. “Go do your lesson.”

  “Eden.” Frustration bubbles up in her voice as I turn for the door again. I look back, exasperated because I can’t keep this up much longer. There’s a pained look in her eyes that makes it feel like I’m breathing broken glass, and I want to make it stop, but I can’t. We’re already doing it her way. What does she want from me? She can’t possibly think trying to be friends is going to make it easier or that it won’t end with us right back in bed.

  “What, Brooklyn?” My voice comes out quiet and soft, the only way I can keep it from shaking. I hold her gaze even though it’s burning me up inside. All of our closeness is right there showing in her raw eyes, and at the same time, she’s across the ocean and drifting farther away every day. The silence is agonizing, but I wait. She has nothing to say, not really. No plan, just a feeling.

  “I’m sorry,” she finally says.

  I just sigh, exhausted. “Do what you gotta do, Brooklyn.”

  This time she lets me go. I can still feel her on the other side of the door as I stand there in the dark. A few minutes later, I hear Mateo’s musical laugh.

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Mateo doesn’t live far, but I opt to drive. It feels unprofessional not to. Brooklyn’s visit rattled me in a way only she seems to be capable of, but if there’s anything that can shove her out of my mind, it’s this. Mateo’s father’s name is Eddy, and after weeks of trying, I finally got him to agree to meet with me. Even when I assured him Mateo was far from in trouble, he seemed convinced I couldn’t possibly have good news.

  Everything I know about Eddy makes me picture something in the realm of my own childhood, but I try to hold out the possibility he could be a better guy than it seems. My stomach knots when I pull up outside. He could be offended by my proposal. What if he doesn’t even want Mateo coming back to Emerald Tiger after this and I just make everything worse?

  I walk up and knock with my heart in my throat. The door swings open and a thin, shirtless man answers with a cigarette in his mouth. He looks like he’s in his fifties, but I suspect it’s a result of the way he lives more than real age.

  “You’re the instructor?” His voice sounds like an engine chewing something up.

  “Yes, my name is Eden. It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Perez.”

  He squints before he turns and walks back inside. “Come on.”

  The house is still a mess, but that’s no shock in a home with boys. He shoves clothes off the couch to make room to sit. It feels a little strange to sit beside him, but there aren’t any other chairs.

  “He break something?” Eddy asks, a repeat question from our talk on the phone.

  “No, Mateo is very well behaved.”

  He chuckles and taps his cigarette on a plastic white ashtray that looks like it was stolen from a restaurant. I can’t remember the last time I was even in a room that smelled so strongly of stale smoke.

  “Then what’s this about?”

  “I’m not sure how much Mateo has told you about the school, but we teach Taekwondo and mixed martial arts. It used to be fairly common for schools to have living facilities for their most dedicated students, a little like dorm rooms.”

  I expect him to pick up on where this is going and react, but he doesn’t.

  “You don’t see it much anymore,” I go on. “But we do have four rooms like that at Emerald Tiger, and we’re beginning a renovation soon to make them nicer. We’re planning to offer three of them to some of our students we think would be good candidates. I wanted to talk to you about the possibility of Mateo being one of them.”

  “So, like a boarding school for Karate?”

  I smile, relieved his first reaction isn’t that I’m insane. “Yes, that’s a great way to put it. I know it would be difficult not to have him here, but we’re just up the road.”

  “I don’t have money for something like that.”

  “Oh, no,” I say. “It wouldn’t cost you anything. It’s more like a scholarship. We would provide his meals and room. He would be expected to help out, but they’d be tasks similar to standard chores. As he gets a little older and more advanced, he’d start helping teach the beginner classes.”

  “So, what? You think Mateo is going to be the next Mike Tyson or something?” His raised eyebrow and curled lip communicate how far-fetched he thinks that is. He’s right that the arrangement I’m proposing is more generous than the traditional ones, and such offers usually go to the phenoms.

  “I think he could be a talented martial artist and patient instructor. He has character.”

  “You’ll feed him?”

  “Yes.”

  “And he sleeps there?”

  “As often as he wants. We can arrange for him to come home on weekends or something similar if you like.”

  “No, take him.”

  It’s so abrupt it takes me a second to process. “The renovations are scheduled to be finished in three months. If you’d like a tour—”

  He starts laughing a breathy, silent laugh. “Is it going to be worse than this?” He motions around the apartment.

  That’s an awkward question to answer, but I just power through it. “No.”

  “I didn’t even know he did Taekwondo, but if you want him, take him.”

  It’s jarring to hear him say it that way. Take him. Like he’s an object. Even though I knew it was unlikely, I hoped to find a loving family just on hard times here, but Eddy doesn’t care at all. Mateo is a burden, and the relief is all over his face. It makes me angry on Mateo’s behalf, but I’m not going to argue when I’ve just gotten my way.

  “I’ll let you know when it’s in order for him to move in.”

  As I leave, it hits me just how much this will turn my life upside down. I knew it was a big commitment, but this makes me all but a parent, and I haven’t looked at it quite like that. I’m responsi
ble for him now. That’s scary, but Mateo deserves it. I can finally really help him. That’s more important than any win in the octagon. This is Jin’s legacy.

  ✥ ✥ ✥

  I’m so happy on the drive home it feels like sunlight is exploding out of me. As much as I’ve always wanted to duplicate what Jin did for me, a part of me always felt like we were a fluke. It’s hard to imagine someone letting their kid go live at a Taekwondo dojang with someone they’ve never met. My mother only did it because she was strung out and couldn’t stop me. Or maybe she did know and did care how dangerous our situation was. I’ve never entertained giving her any credit for letting me go.

  I’m still riding high on my image of the future starting to become real, and I don’t want to lose the momentum. I pick up my phone and dial Arlo. He answers on the first ring, a pleasant surprise given most people are afraid of the phone these days.

  “Motherfuckin’ Bauer,” he says. “How the shit are you? Please tell me you’re calling for tips on how to crush Shaw, because I’ve got them.”

  Just her name is enough to put a damper on my mood. That we would talk about the fight didn’t even occur to me. How silly. I want to tell him no, but that’s equally stupid. I need everything I can get to defeat Brooklyn, even though I don’t love the idea of defeating her. I’ve taught her everything I know for months. Her early fears that I would hold information back or limit her in some way were beyond false. I gave her all I had, and she learned well. If she was a millimeter from beating me before, how the hell do I expect to even be competitive now?

  “Not exactly, but do tell,” I say.

  “Kicks all day, girl. She’s going to be terrified of them after last time.”

  My stomach turns thinking of kicking Brooklyn in the head again. It hit me with a nasty dose of dread the first time I knocked her out with a kick, and I didn’t love her then. I didn’t even like her.

  “Fancy kicks,” he says.

  “Fancy?” Taekwondo is full of fancy kicks because their tournament rules forbid punches to the head, meaning people had to master the use of their legs, so I can do fancy, but you mostly only see the basics in MMA.