by Ciz, Alley
He lifted her wrist a pressed a kiss to the tattoo of his name. “I have to figure out where to get my cupcake.” He waved a hand over his body.
“Ehhh.” She made a sound like a buzzer. “First thing you have to do is go out there and kick some ass to win the belt. Then, if you can manage that, you’ll have earned your cupcake.”
“It’s in the bag, baby.”
Chapter Forty-Eight
Not long after Vince’s impromptu proposal—and hold on a sec because what the fuck was that?—Holly followed the bulk of the squad out to their cage-side seats for the fight, while Rocky, Gage, Jase, Deck and Ray stayed behind with Vince. Rocky would be one of his cornermen—the people who actually went inside the cage between fights—while the rest would be his support outside the octagon while he fought.
“You nervous?” Becky asked, giving her hand a squeeze as they sat down beside Sean and Carlee.
She nodded as her eyes went to the fight currently happening. She would never admit it to Vince but she was. Violence was never her thing—no surprise, given her history.
“Don’t be,” Gemma said from her other side. “Now that you’re here, there’s not a chance he’s losing this fight.”
Though the words made her feel squishy inside, a knot of anxiety still formed knowing she was about to watch her boyfriend get beat up.
“Don’t worry, Holly.” Sean came to stand in front of her as the fight ended and everyone settled in to wait for the start of Vince’s. “O’Doyle is good, and he may get a few lucky hits on Vince, but if our boy manages to get him on the mat, there’s no way he stands a chance.”
“How do you know all this?”
“It’s what I do.” He shrugged. “I drink and I know things.”
“You’re nine. Why do you know Game of Thrones?”
“Because I’m awesome.”
With the confidence of someone three times his age, he turned on his heel, Superman cape flapping in the wind as he returned to his seat and dropped an arm around Carlee.
“We are so screwed when he actually goes through puberty.” Ryan leaned forward in his seat behind them, nodding in Sean’s direction. She agreed wholeheartedly.
“He’s not wrong though,” Griff chimed in. “Vince won state multiple times in high school thanks to his wrestling skills. If he can get O’Doyle off his feet, he’s done for.”
“Oooh, oooh.” Maddey waved her hands in the air before scrambling for her phone. “I have just the thing that will make you feel better.” She scrolled through something on the screen, then climbed onto Ryan’s lap to get closer as she handed off the phone.
Holly squinted at the image. Maddey stood between two guys dressed in wrestling singlets, one in black and one in maroon. As her fingers swiped to zoom in, she let out a snort when she realized the guys in wrestling gear were younger versions of Vince and Griff.
“Rocky and I had cardboard cutouts made of them in all their high school glory for April Fools' Day one year,” Maddey answered the unvoiced question.
“Oh my god. This is ah-may-zing.” Her eyes didn’t leave the screen. “Is it wrong I kind of want one?”
“No way. I’ll make it happen.”
“Vince isn’t going to like it.” Becky’s smile said she was fully on board with the idea.
“Especially since it’s not one of him in his little fighting shorts,” Gemma agreed.
“Eh.” Holly waved it off. “I don’t need that, I have it in real life. But this”—she pointed to the phone—“is everything.”
Even back in high school, Vince was hot. She was sure he had all the girls chasing him. As the girls played keep-away with the phone to prevent Griff’s attempts at hiding the image, she knew Maddey accomplished exactly what she set out to do—distracting her from her worry.
The hairs on her arm stood on end as electricity crackled through the audience at the Garden. The lights dimmed, the Jumbotron in the arena sparking to life with the pre-filmed footage the UFC used to promote the fight. Her eyes, along with the twenty thousand other pairs in the arena, lifted skyward to watch.
When the clip ended, the speakers boomed a remixed rendition of the classic Superman theme song. Vince and The Steele Maker team made their way down the security-blocked pathway to the cage.
Sean and Carlee stood on their padded folding chairs, flapping their own red Superman capes as countless others did the same around the arena. Vince wasn’t the champion, but it was obvious fans loved him.
After Vince’s entrance and what she was told was an inspection by a UFC official, he stepped inside the octagon, prowling around it like a lion inside a cage.
The arena lighting dimmed a second time, the rings separating the different levels of seating flooding with the green, white and orange lights of Ireland’s flag as “Shipping up to Boston” by the Dropkick Murphy’s played, announcing Kevin O’Doyle’s entrance. The crowd cheered for their champ.
O’Doyle went through the same pre-fight formalities as Vince before also stepping inside the cage. The two fighters paced the space on their respective sides, Vince grinning around his mouth guard.
“I swear.” Nick chuckled. “Vin is the only person I know who could pull off looking like a kid in a candy store before a fight.”
“True,” Damon agreed. “Everyone else goes for intimidation with a hard ass scowl, but not our boy.”
“Are you kidding me?” Jake shifted to see the fighters behind them. “Why do you think him and Jase are BFFs? He’s the same damn way out on the ice. Unless the Storm are playing the Bruisers and he’s up against Bishop, he smiles the entire time he drops the gloves and goes for it.”
“For real.” Skye shook her head. “Do you know how many memes trend because of it?”
“It’s scary how much they think alike. There are times I question which one of us is Jase’s twin,” Jordan added.
Holly let the mindless banter of her friends distract her from what she was about to witness.
“Ladies and gentlemen.”
The main ring announcer's voice boomed through the arena.
“This is the main event of the evening.”
He ran down the list of judges, introduced the referee, and ended with the sponsor of the fight.
“Aaaaaaand now. This is the moment you have been waiting for. Live from the sold-out Madison Square Garden in New York City, we have a fight to decide who will take home the UFC Light Heavyweight Championship belt.”
The crowd of thousands let out a deafening cheer.
“Introducing first, fighting out of the Blue Corner, coming in with an undefeated record of seventeen-and-oh. Standing at six foot four inches, coming in at two hundred and three pounds, fighting out of The Steele Maker in New Jersey, the challenger, Vince ‘The Man of Steel’ Steele.”
Capes waved in the air as the roar from the fans greeted the announcement.
“Now fighting out of the Red Corner, also with an impressive undefeated record, standing at six foot three inches, coming in at two hundred and five pounds, fighting out of Dublin, Ireland, I present to you your current, reigning, undisputed UFC Lightweight Heavyweight Champion of the World, Kevin ‘The Knockout’ O’Doyle."
Jase, Deck and Ray hung over the top of the cage, fists pounding on the black links that made the walls. The guys dropped to join Rocky, Gage, Vic and Mick outside the cage.
The referee called for the time to touch gloves, and both fighters stepped forward. Eyes wide, heart in her throat, Holly prepared herself for battle.
THE SPARK VINCE had been missing during the four days Holly was gone now surged through him like he was Thor first getting his lightning powers. Fighting was in his blood—literally, coming from a line of Judo and boxing champions—it bubbled through his veins as he waited at the mouth of the entrance to the Garden. The belt was so close he could practically taste the leather and gold on his tongue.
With Holly watching, there wasn’t a chance the night would end without him crowned the newest Light
Heavyweight Champ.
He didn’t posture to the crowd as he walked to the octagon, but he did exchange a few fist bumps along the way to those stretching their arms out, his smile in full bloom. Most fighters went for the tough guy scowl—one of the best in the biz was Ronda Rousey when she fought—he, however, preferred the mindfuck of a happy grin.
He kicked off his sneakers, grabbed his black and gray Superman t-shirt from behind the neck and tossed it to the ground before stripping out of his joggers, leaving only the white fight shorts of the challenger.
He stepped up for inspection, allowing the UFC’s cutman to apply a layer of Vaseline to his face, making the skin elastic and slippery to minimize the amount of tearing caused by hits.
Walking inside the cage, he circled it while waiting for O’Doyle to make his entrance. Unlike when Gage had defended his title the year before against Curtis “The Cutter” Cutler, there was no bad blood between him and the Irishman he was about to fight. He had met the guy a few times through the years and respected the hell out of him. However, that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to enjoy taking the belt from the current champ.
Scanning the audience, he searched for his girl and found her amongst their rowdy group of friends. She probably couldn’t tell he was looking at her, but the sight of her was enough to fuel him for what was to come.
He’d been so caught up in the fact that she was back, he never got the chance to question why she left. The time for that would come later.
He stayed loose, shaking out his arms, hopping from foot to foot.
He tapped gloves with O’Doyle and dropped back into his fighting stance, bouncing on the balls of his feet, keeping his limbs fluid to react at a moment's notice.
The months of training.
The hours of watching footage of O’Doyle’s previous fights.
The numerous strategy planning sessions.
It all played through his mind at warp speed as he waited for O’Doyle to make his first move.
Thanks to his Uncle Mick, his boxing skills were ranked amongst some of the best, but O’Doyle didn’t earn the moniker of “The Knockout” by not being one of them as well. The guy had one of the deadliest right hooks in the world.
He struck out with two jabs in rapid succession, then dropped back onto his right heel as O’Doyle faked left then tried to come at him with a right, his own weight barely shifting enough to avoid contact.
Another circle of the cage.
He blocked a jab.
Took a cross to the ribs.
O’Doyle tried to back him against the fence with a flurry of punches. At the last second, Vince was able to duck under, reversing their positions so O’Doyle’s back was to the covered links.
Jab-jab-cross.
He grabbed O’Doyle by the shoulders to deliver two quick knees to the gut before his opponent managed to break the hold and shoved him back.
Again they circled.
Back and forth punches were traded, some blocked, some connecting.
As his sister called out the time left in the round, O'Doyle's lethal right hand connected with his temple, and Vince had to shake off the cartoon birds flying around his head. He didn’t go down but was dazed. Thanks to Rocky, he knew he only needed to last a few more seconds before he’d get a minute break he could use to get his bearings.
He managed to land a powerful right hook of his own before the ding-ding of the bell sounded, announcing the end of the round.
Acting as his cornermen, his sister and father entered the cage as he dropped onto the stool set out for him. Rocky immediately placed a gallon-sized bag of ice over his throbbing temple.
“You’re a great boxer, Vin, but you’re not going to beat this guy boxing.” His dad jumped right into fight strategy, the minute timeframe not leaving time to waste on pleasantries. “Take him down to the mat. Make him fight you on your turf.”
He nodded.
“Seriously, bro.” Rocky pushed harder on the ice held to his face. “Why do you think I spent so much time watching you grapple with Gage? As hot as I think it is to see my husband in action, it loses a little bit of the appeal with my brother in the mix.”
Leave it to his sister to give him shit in the middle of the biggest fight of his career.
“Love you too, Rock.”
She puckered her lips at him.
“Go for a single leg takedown to his right leg. With his right cross being his best weapon, it leaves that leg slightly more vulnerable than the other,” Papa Steele said.
“Careful of leaving yourself open to being hit while he’s on his back though,” Rocky added. She was their secret weapon—the amount of information she retained on other fighters was unparalleled.
“Your sister’s right. Get behind him if you can.”
“Rear naked choke it up in here.” Rocky did a little jog of excitement.
“You’re a nut, you know that?” There was no stopping his grin at her ridiculousness.
“I know.” She shrugged. “You love me anyway.” She held out a fist to bump twice and exited the octagon for the second round.
O’Doyle came at him with a storm of punches as soon as the round started, obviously changing up his strategy as well. He blocked as many as he could and ducked those he couldn’t, waiting for his opening to go for a takedown.
He fell back a step.
Waiting.
Watching.
There.
O’Doyle shifted, leaving his leg open as his dad predicted. Vince dove down, wrapped both arms around O’Doyle’s calf underneath the knee, lifted it toward his chest, dropping his shoulder, then released his right arm to hook behind O’Doyle’s left knee, taking them both to the mat.
Gripping the mat with his toes, he scrambled around, wedging himself behind O’Doyle when he lifted his body to strike. He took a few punishing hits to the ribs before he was able to seat himself behind the champ, but finally got in position for one of his favorite submission moves—second only to the arm bar Rocky was also partial to—the rear naked choke.
His legs went around O’Doyle’s hips before hooking over his legs so his feet could anchor themselves under the champ’s knees to give him control over his lower body. At the same time, his right hand sliced underneath his jaw, keeping his arm as tight to his neck as possible, as his left hand came up to join in a classic seatbelt hold over O’Doyle’s chest.
Every muscle in his body bulged and flexed as he tightened his hold, continuing to slide his right arm around until he had his opponent’s throat in the crook of his elbow, eliminating any space he could use to gain a hold for an escape.
O’Doyle bucked his massive body against his, trying to break free, the two of them rocking back across the mat.
Thanks to sweat and blood, O’Doyle was a slippery motherfucker, but he held firm, determined to come out the victor.
His left arm continued to snake its way up O’Doyle's sweaty chest, curving behind his neck and wrapping onto his right bicep.
He squeezed.
And squeezed some more, not allowing any oxygen to fill O’Doyle’s lungs.
More thrashing from the champ. Every last-ditch effort thrown that could possibly break him from Vince’s python hold.
In his black latex gloves, the referee hovered over them, watching for either the moment O’Doyle tapped out or passed out. Whichever came first.
Then, right as Vince was sure the champ would pass out, he felt the tap-tap on his forearm and instantly eased the pressure on O’Doyle’s windpipe.
He flopped back onto the mat, taking a second to lay there and allow the fact he was now the new Light Heavyweight World Champion of the UFC to sink in.
He won.
Seconds later, he popped to his feet. The ref raised Vince’s arm and the declaration came and made it official. Jase wrapped the belt around his waist, it's heavy weight barely registering.
He and O'Doyle shared a handshake and a one-armed hug as journalists circled them for interviews and s
ound bites of their reactions.
He moved to the entrance of the cage, leaning a shoulder against the padding looking out at his girl. She beamed at him from across the space.
He pushed off to go to her but she was already running to him, leaping into his arms.
“You won.” Kisses rained all over his face.
“Did you doubt me, Cupcake?”
“No.” Forehead kiss. “Still.” Nose kiss. “Wow.” Finally the lips.
Holly’s lips on his was better than the belt around his waist.
“I love you so much, Cupcake.”
“I love you too, Stud Muffin.”
He’d done it.
He’d accomplished the goal he dreamed of practically his entire life.
He’d get to sponsor the women’s shelter.
But what he didn’t expect?
None of it meant as much as the girl in his arms.
He’d taken a lot of hits in his life, but Holly was the one he never saw coming.
Stunned, knocked out, down for the count—for life.
Epilogue
Hours later, after the interviews, clearance by medical staff, and all the other hoopla that apparently came with the aftermath of a UFC fight, Holly and Vince retired to his hotel suite along with the rest of their friends. It didn’t bother them one bit that it was after two o’clock in the morning, none of them seemed ready to call it a night.
“Hey, Gem,” Vince called out while pulling Holly down on the couch with him. “Were you able to get the stuff I asked for delivered?”
“You questioning my power, cuz?” Gemma retorted as she disappeared into the suite's kitchen.
Vince’s body bounced under Holly as he chuckled—at least until it broke off into a groan of pain. Why wasn't he sleeping? He may have won the fight, but even a novice like her could tell he took a beating on his journey to champion.
Her fingers skimmed beneath the hem of his shirt to trace along the bumps of his abdominals, the muscles twitching under her touch.
“Perfect.” This time when Vince groaned, it sounded like a different kind of pain. He lowered his mouth to her ear, inhaling deeply. “Mmm. You have no idea how much I missed your scent, Cupcake.”
