A Story Like Ours

by Robin Huber

“You know, like Bennifer or Brangelina.”

  I scrunch up my face. “That’s because we’re not famous. At least, I’m not. And also because that’s stupid.”

  He looks up to one side and I can see the wheels turning in his head. “What about Sucy?”

  I roll my eyes, refusing to entertain him.

  “Samucy? No, that sounds too much like Shamu,” he says to himself. “Lusam…Lum…Lam!” he says with excited eyes. “Lam,” he repeats.

  “Absolutely not.”

  “Lam, the new it couple.”

  I ignore him and smooth his lapel. “I think all the Vegas glitz and glam has gone to your head.”

  “But it’s perfect. Isn’t that what Sam calls you anyway?”

  “He calls me Lamb,” I say quietly, as if someone besides Sebastian—the only other person in the room—might hear. “With a B. And you cannot call me”—I shake my head—“or us that. Like, ever. Okay? It’s weird.”

  “Okay, okay.” He holds his hands up. “I’ll come up with something else.”

  “No you won’t.” I point at him.

  He grins and narrows his eyes. “I think this pregnancy is making you feisty. I like it.”

  I sigh and put my hands on my stomach. “It’s not the pregnancy. It’s this fight. I’ve been on edge since the moment we arrived here.”

  “Yes, I’m aware,” he whispers.

  “Really? Is it that obvious?”

  “Well, maybe not to everyone else, but I know you. And I know when something’s wrong.” He gives me an expectant look. “So are we going to talk about it?”

  I look up at him and admit, “I just have a bad feeling, Bas. I don’t know why, maybe it’s some kind of weird pregnancy intuition, but I can feel it in my bones, like a loud warning vibrating through me.”

  “Warning you about what?”

  “Tonight. The fight.” I close my eyes and exhale an anxious breath. “I know I sound crazy.”

  “You think Sam’s going to lose?”

  I shrug. “I don’t know. I just don’t feel good about it.”

  “Lucy, Brody Crawford is good, but Sam is better. Far better. He’s not going to lose tonight,” he says confidently.

  “I’m not worried about him losing. I’m worried about him getting hurt.”

  He gives me an empathetic look and puts his hands on my arms. “You’ve always worried about that, Luc. But that’s why he’s been training so hard. He’ll be fine.”

  “He was upset this morning, Bas. He barely spoke on the flight here. I think going into the ring under the lights for the first time without Joe is dredging everything back up. I could see it in his eyes, festering away inside him. I just don’t know what to expect tonight.”

  “You think he’ll lose his edge?”

  “No. I think it’ll be ten times sharper.”

  “Is that a bad thing?”

  “Sebastian, before Joe, Sam used to get into fights all the time, usually over me. I know what happens when he fights with his heart instead of his head. He’s careless.”

  Someone knocks on the door.

  Bas hesitates, then crosses the room to answer it. “Hey, Miles.”

  “You guys ready?” Miles asks, walking inside. His eyes light up when he sees me, but concern quickly takes over. “Sweetheart, what’s wrong?”

  “Nothing,” I lie. “I’m ready.” I give him a small smile and grab my clutch off the couch.

  He stares at me for a second. “You sure?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You look great. That’s a hell of a dress.”

  “She looks like a pregnancy goddess,” Bas gushes, taking my hand. He spins me around to show Miles the back of my simple, backless black dress. It wraps over one shoulder and hugs my belly, which is no longer concealable, and falls all the way to my strappy stiletto-clad feet.

  Miles raises one of his dark eyebrows and gives a subtle nod, but seems far more interested in the time. “Come on, we’ve gotta go.”

  “You make seven months pregnant look hot,” Bas whispers to me, and I smile over my apprehension. He wraps my hand around his arm and we follow Miles out of the room.

  * * *

  The crowd is alive tonight at the legendary MGM Grand in Las Vegas…The younger, quicker fighter, Brody Crawford, vying for a belt he’s yet to claim…He’s got a hard fight ahead of him tonight…Sam Cole, the more seasoned boxer, is not ready to relinquish his title just yet…

  He’s not ready to retire yet either, the other announcer says, and I give Sebastian a knowing look.

  The arena rumbles with cheers. and my chest vibrates from the music echoing off the walls. I mindlessly rub my stomach, wondering if the music’s vibrating her too.

  His pregnant fiancée, Lucy, is looking anxious for the fight to begin.

  “Camera’s on you,” Bas says to me, and I smile reflexively.

  Sam has said that he can’t wait to be a father…I sure hope it’s not a girl. One of the announcers laughs. God help the boy she brings home.

  I try not to smile at the thought I’ve had a hundred times, but the corners of my mouth turn up defiantly.

  The lights dim and the spotlights cascade across the crowd like rays of sunlight filtering through the dark. They move from one corner of the arena to the other, lighting each section to the beat of the music, which grows louder. My heart grows louder too, pounding away inside my chest against my will. I take slow, deep breaths and try to relax. He’s going to be fine, I repeat like a mantra, again and again.

  Sebastian reads me and says, “He’s going to be fine.”

  I nod and fight back the fear that retaliates when Sam begins to make his way toward the ring. My pulse races and pounds behind my ears when I see his new coach leading him through the crowd, and suddenly I’m caught in unexpected storm of grief and anxiety. I work hard to keep it off my face, but it’s so strong I could drown in it. “This isn’t right,” I say to Sebastian, who gives me a worried look. “He’s never fought without Joe.”

  “He’ll be fine,” he says, but it does little to reassure me.

  Sam Cole is being led by his new coach, Chris Torino, following the death of his lifelong coach and mentor, Joe Maloney, in March…Our hearts go out to him and his fiancée, Lucy, who was also involved in the tragic car accident…She was lucky to come out of it with only minor injuries.

  “Minor injuries?” Bas scoffs.

  Tonight will be the first time Sam has entered the ring without him.

  Or Tristan Kelley, the other announcer adds, his longtime trainer and friend…He has his work cut out for him tonight. We’ll see how he does without them.

  “I don’t feel good about him,” I say to Miles, eyeing Sam’s new coach as he climbs up into the ring after him.

  “You don’t like him because he’s not Joe. You’d feel that way about anybody right now.”

  “He doesn’t care about Sam, he barely even knows him.”

  “He’s a good coach, one of the best. And he cares about winning. He’s good for Sam.”

  “Is that what you care about?” I ask, clapping numbly with the crowd. “Winning?”

  “Hell yeah, I care about winning. How do you think he got this far?” He gives me an incredulous look.

  “It’s not just about winning, Miles.” I look up at Sam, whose face is frighteningly calm. His whole body is calm, a stark contrast to the energy that usually exudes from him before a match. He’s not cheering or enticing the crowd, he’s not bouncing from foot to foot. He’s saving every last ounce of it for the fight, like an animal before it attacks its prey.

  “You think you’d be moving into that beautiful house if he didn’t win? You think you’d be staying in that suite or wearing that dress?”

  “You know I don’t care about any of that,” I shout over the noisy crowd.

  “Easy to say now.”

  “God, Miles, do you even care about Sam?” I yell at him over the announcers, who are talking about Brody Crawford as he approaches
the ring.

  “Do I care about Sam?” He raises his eyebrows and gives me an exasperated smile. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

  “It’s a simple question.”

  “Lucy, that’s enough,” Bas says. “Now’s not the time. Cameras, remember?”

  But I don’t care about the cameras. Sam is about to go into battle without his brothers, and Miles looks happy about it.

  “Lucy, you know I love you,” Miles says, swinging his arm around my neck. He kisses my cheek. “I love Sam too.” When I don’t respond, he looks at me and says earnestly, “Yes, I care about Sam.”

  “And when he loses…will you care about him then?”

  He pulls his arm away and claps with the crowd. “I thought you knew me better than that.”

  “I do.”

  “No.” His face is a mix of disappointment and hurt. “If you knew me, you wouldn’t be asking me that.”

  “You’re right, I’m sorry.” I reach for his arm. “Hey…” I tug on it until he looks at me. “I’m sorry.”

  “Yeah”—he gives me a halfhearted nod—“okay.”

  “Half of his family is missing right now, Miles. I’m just a little protective. And worried.”

  “I’m worried too, but it won’t do him any good if he knows. So put a smile on your face, please.” He glances up at the ring and I see Sam looking at us.

  I smile at him over the anxiety that’s now cemented around my heart and see the animal inside him subside for a fleeting moment. But when Brody Crawford takes his stance in front of him, I watch it return.

  I hold my breath as the fight commences.

  Crawford throws the first punch, but Sam blocks it and returns a jab and a fast left hook.

  We might be seeing something new from Sam tonight…He isn’t wasting any time…Ohhh!!

  Sam takes a punch to the face that happened so fast I barely saw it.

  Brody Crawford is making sure we remember just how fast he is…I don’t think anyone saw that coming, including Sam.

  The referee steps between them for a moment, then they begin again, returning punches back and forth, until they’re dripping with sweat. Neither one of them is letting up, and neither is the crowd.

  “There you go, baby!” Miles shouts when Sam throws a left hook that leaves Brody stumbling backward.

  But seconds later Sam takes a hard blow to the jaw, and I watch the light leave his eyes for a moment. When it returns, he inhales a deep breath and explodes at Crawford, giving him everything he’s got, but Crawford gives it right back.

  I proceed to watch the next several rounds between my hands, praying that each one is the last.

  By the eighth round, they both look as horrible as I feel. Brody is bleeding from his mouth, and Sam’s left eye is completely swollen shut. He’s taken too many hits to count.

  “Get your gloves up! Protect that eye, Sam!” Miles screams at him.

  When the bell rings, I drop my face to my hands and exhale.

  “Are you kidding me?” Bas screams when the ref gives the round to Crawford.

  Sam Cole is looking the worse for wear…

  Brody Crawford wins the round, but he doesn’t look much better, the other announcer says. I don’t know if anyone expected Crawford to last this long, especially not Sam…This is not the Sam Cole we’re used to seeing…You can’t help but wonder if the loss of Joe Maloney is taking its toll on him tonight.

  When the ninth round begins, the baby starts rolling around inside my stomach, reminding me of everything that’s at stake. I close my eyes and pray, Please God, don’t let him take another hit.

  By the looks of it, Crawford has won most of the rounds tonight…And that’s another hit to the head for Cole!

  The air rushes out of my lungs on an emotional wave that rushes up to my eyes. I pull hands up to my face and hold my breath until it goes away.

  Miles leans over and says, “He’s all right. He can take it.”

  “Well, I can’t.” I turn to Sebastian, but Miles grabs my hand. “You gotta be stronger than that, Luc. He can’t see you upset right now. You gotta be strong for him, okay? You hear me?” he shouts over the crowd.

  “Yeah, I hear you,” I shout back. I inhale a shaky breath, sit up straight in my chair, and force myself to watch. “Come on, Sam!”

  And that’s the end of round nine, going to Sam Cole this time…By the looks of them, I can’t believe either one of them is still standing.

  Sam falls into his corner and slouches on a stool while they tend to his eye and give him water. When he spits it out, it’s full of blood.

  Sebastian takes my hand and squeezes it in his. “He’s okay.”

  “Sam,” I call, and he looks up at me with his good eye. I love you, I mouth.

  He stares at me for a long, silent second and then gets to his feet again. He stands across from Crawford on tired legs, his overworked blood vessels stretching across his exhausted muscles like roads on a map. He turns his head to the side and spits blood out of his mouth.

  “I can’t watch this,” I say, looking at Sebastian.

  “Yes!” Bas shouts when Sam blocks a jab.

  Sam Cole might be getting his second wind…I didn’t see that coming, but he sure did.

  Sam throws a left hook, a right hook, and another left hook that leaves Crawford hanging off him. Sam pushes him back against the ropes.

  “There you go, Sam, there you go!” Miles screams. “Show him who the fucking champ is!”

  Crawford pushes off the ropes and throws two punches at Sam’s ribs, but Sam lowers his elbow and protects himself. “That’s right, baby,” I whisper beneath my hands. But Crawford punches low, connecting with Sam’s hip near his groin.

  That was a low blow for Crawford!

  Sam stumbles back and Crawford takes the opportunity to hit him again before the referee intervenes. The ref grabs Brody’s arm and pulls him over to the side of the ring, giving Sam space and a minute to catch his breath. “That’s one point. Low blow. One point,” he says, holding up his gloved finger.

  One point for that low blow. Crawford is losing a point.

  The ref puts his hand on Sam’s shoulder and asks, “You all right, you ready?”

  Sam nods and puts his gloves up in front of him again.

  “Okay. Time in, let’s go.”

  Sam stands across from Crawford and the energy in the arena swells. But the cheers and jeers of the crowd turns to white noise in my head when they start throwing punches at each other again. After a few seconds, they bear-hug each other, waiting for their energy to return, until the ref breaks them apart. Then suddenly, like two sharks attacking each other, they explode with wild energy, throwing punches back and forth so fast, I can’t tell who’s punching who, until Crawford connects with Sam’s face so hard it sends him flying backward onto the bloodstained mat.

  Everything falls silent as I watch the referee stand over Sam and start counting. I see his mouth moving, but I can’t hear him. Sebastian squeezes my hand and I glance up at his horrified face. I look to my left and see Miles screaming, the blood vessels in his red neck bulging with every word I can’t hear.

  The baby kicks hard and the sound of the electrified arena rushes back into my ears, forcing the air out of my lungs.

  Sam Cole is not getting up. I don’t believe it. Cole is not getting up, ladies and gentlemen…This might be it.

  The referee keeps counting, Seven…eight…

  This is a sad moment if you’re a Sam Cole fan…And a scary moment for his fiancée, watching from beside the ring…He is out cold.

  “Ten!” the referee shouts, and it rings through my ears like a gun firing. The accompanying cries from the crowd pierce through me like the bullet it released.

  And that is it. The belt goes to Brody Crawford, the new light-heavyweight champion.

  The doctor rushes over to Sam and puts his hands on his shoulders, but Sam doesn’t move. He puts one of his gloved fingers inside Sam’s mouth and removes his mo
uth guard.

  Miles rushes to the ring and climbs up between the ropes. “Get her back to the dressing room,” he shouts at Grady, who promptly takes my arm.

  “No!” I shout, watching them hold smelling salts under Sam’s nose and pat his cheeks before Sebastian drags me away.

  * * *

  I pace around the dressing room in my bare feet, practically drowning myself in a bottle of water. “I told you I had a bad feeling, Bas. I knew it was too soon for him to be fighting again after losing Joe.”

  “It was the way he fought,” Bas says, shaking his head. “He put everything into those first few rounds.”

  “Why would he do that? He never does that.”

  “That wasn’t him. That was the coach. Joe would have never let him do that. He would have tired Crawford out first and then finished him in the last few rounds.” He drops his head back against the wall he’s leaning against.

  “Lucy,” Miles calls, walking into the room, and I rush over to him.

  “How is he?”

  “Doc’s finished with him. He says he’s all right.”

  “As in, he has another concussion, all right?”

  “No, no concussion this time. The doctor said he was lucky. He likened it to hitting your funny bone. Said it was temporary nerve trauma near the base of his skull, but it’s fairly common with knockouts and relatively benign.”

  Tears fill the rims of my tired eyes. “He’s really okay?”

  He shakes his head. “This one really messed him up, Luc,” he says disheartened, and the disappointment is reflected in Sebastian’s eyes. “The only person he wants to see right now is you.”

  I hurry to the adjoining room, leaving Bas and Miles behind me.

  “Grady will wait outside until you’re ready to go back to the suite.”

  “Okay,” I say over my shoulder, closing the door behind me.

  I walk into the messy room and find Sam slouched in a chair with his head hanging. “Sam?” I walk over to him and he slowly lifts his head, but barely enough to look at me. He mumbles something, but I don’t understand him. “What?” I bend down and put my hand on his face, and he groans softly. “I’m sorry,” I whisper, and he mumbles something again, but I can’t make out what he’s saying. “Sam, hey, look at me,” I say, squatting down in front of him, and he looks at me with one eye. The other is swollen shut and purple all the way to his temple.