The Fight

by Alice Ward

  Thankfully, the man spoke first, his low, velvet voice wrapping around my senses, goosebumps rising along my skin. “Hello.” He spoke carefully, as if measuring every single word before he spoke and wasted not a syllable. “Congratulations on an amazing victory.”

  From the charisma and dominance rolling off him, he had to be some sort of government official or high-level CEO. If I wasn’t so hopped up on my win, I might have even been intimidated.

  “Thank you,” I replied, equally cautious and trying not to get lost in studying his guarded blue eyes. My breathing sped up, as if I were back in the ring, adrenaline — or something — shooting through me.

  Neither of us ventured to say anything further, and Hawk looked at me then him before clearing his throat. “So, uh, Mr. Birchmeir here has an interesting proposition. One I think you’d like to hear.”

  Heat went to my cheeks. I had been fighting the prostitute stereotype ever since I was a ring girl, as all women in this sport did. Whether the male spectators knew the women weren’t for sale or not, they still jeered, perhaps in the hopes they would wear them down. “Proposition?” I couldn’t keep objection out of my tone.

  Hawk gave me an I-can’t-believe-where-your-mind-went look. “Girl, I know you way better than that. Now listen to what this nice gentleman has to say.”

  Defiance reared up in me, as it always did when I wasn’t quite certain if I was being talked down to. Yet, my gaze was drawn back to this stranger, and something in me waited breathlessly.

  The tall man’s eyes held a spark that told me he’d assessed the situation and was done waiting. “I apologize if approaching you right after your fight is a faux pas, but after you hear what I have to say, I’m sure you won’t blame me for wanting to be proactive in meeting you.”

  I tried to put on a politely blank look, but I was pretty sure I just ended up staring at him with narrowed eyes. “I suppose that depends on why you wanted to meet in the first place.”

  “Fair enough.” Unlike most people, he didn’t seem to give at my snark. Most people either got flustered or retorted back, but he just continued on as if everything was normal. It put me a bit off-balance, but at the same time made me wonder that much more about this mysterious suit. “With the skill I saw in that ring, I believe you can go pro.”

  I stiffened at that. Not because his compliment made me uncomfortable, but because I figured he was just some high-dollar salesmen trying to get me to sign onto his gym, or do some free gigs with him to help my “exposure.”

  “Thanks. Maybe some—”

  “I’d like to back you. Provide facilities, training, sponsorship, equipment, whatever you need to get you qualified to go pro.”

  I stared at him a moment, realized that my mouth was hanging open slightly. “What?” The word came out sounding breathless.

  Blue orbs seared me as he took in my shock. “I’d be your backer. I’d take care of the finances and help you pick out a coach, manager, and whatever else.”

  This man wanted to back me? To take me all the way to the pros? I had to be dreaming.

  Harsh, cold logic injected itself into my thoughts. People didn’t give something for nothing, and Mama had always warned all us kids of things that were too good to be true. “And what would you get in return?”

  He raised an eyebrow, as if he knew my question held deeper meaning. “Money, of course. And a viable new brand. You, as a female fighter, will be a prototype for an entirely new business model, so the information you provide will be invaluable.”

  “Huh,” I muttered, stalling for time to think. I knew I should probably be groveling on the ground, thanking this stranger, but it wasn’t in my nature. Between landlords, car dealerships, and basically anyone else a person could owe money to, I had long since learned that people with money never really cared about those poorer than them. “Your offer sounds absolutely amazing, but right now the money from these fights is the only thing getting my family through.” I blushed and plunged on. “I know this is a once in a lifetime opportunity, but I’m not sure if I’ll be able to take advantage of it.” I’d stated the truth, while at the same time silently holding up the fact that I didn’t trust him, without saying it outright.

  Still, as the logical side of me chorused that this all seemed so fishy, the hopeful side of me ardently wished there weren’t any strings attached to this offer. That this unusual, beautiful man who was easily inches taller than me, was only a sports enthusiast and had no ulterior motives.

  “Of course. I don’t expect you to starve while trying to hit pro, and everyone has bills. What do you need in order for this switch not to be a loss?”

  Wow, this guy really had an answer for everything. I wasn’t quite sure what to say to that, but Hawk spoke up for me.

  “She earned a stack and a half from this fight alone.”

  It took everything I had not to let my eyes bug out, and my knees buckle. Over a grand for a fight? That was insane for an underground one. But I couldn’t let this mysterious benefactor know that was out of the norm. I knew what Hawk was trying to do.

  “Fine,” the man said with a nod. “How about a three-grand monthly stipend. That should cover your needs. Then, once you are fighting, we will discuss a new compensation arrangement.”

  Three grand? A month? My breath was a sharp hiss as I inhaled, but I managed to recover my neutral expression after that. “That should suffice,” I said, my voice coming out calm as my heart beat an ecstatic rhythm. “If you don’t mind me saying, you’re willing to spend a whole lot of money on someone you’ve only seen fight once.”

  His grin was crooked as he answered, putting his expression somewhere between dangerous and alluring. “A lot of money is relative. And believe me when I say that I do trust you will make my company triple of whatever is spent on you, given the right resources. Of course, I don’t expect you to sign on to this idea right here in your prep room.” He extended his hand, which was nearly twice the size of mine, with long, capable fingers. It took me a second to realize a business card was tucked between his digits.

  “Call me tomorrow, after you’ve had a chance to go home and celebrate with your family. I’ll show you everything I have to offer, have you take a look at the contract, and we could go from there.”

  “Yes, of course, that sounds like a great plan. And thank you again.” I took the card from him and barely stopped myself from automatically tucking it into my sports bra. Not only would that be amping up the tingling attraction in the air, but I was still soaked with sweat, and it would be just my luck the ink would run. “I’m just a bit in shock. I’m sure you understand.”

  “That I do.” There was that crooked smile again. Geez, it had been far too long since a man so pretty to look at had come on my radar, and I was definitely letting it affect my train of thought a bit too much. “I hope you have a great night, Miss Cherry Bomb.”

  “You too, Mr. Birchmeir.”

  And then he was gone, leaving only Hawk and me standing alone in my prep room.

  The skinny man pinched my arm, stepping closer to me with an incredulous look on his face. “Miss Sweet Cherry Pie, what are you doing? That man comes in offering you the key to the kingdom, and you practically turned him down.”

  I pulled away, rubbing my arm. “Come on, don’t you think that was a little too convenient? Sponsors don’t just fall out of the sky offering three thousand a month.”

  “They do when they’re literally billionaires! Do you have any idea who that was?”

  I paled a bit at Hawk’s incredulous tone. He was about the chillest man I knew, and I’d never heard him sound so serious. I looked at the card in my hand, hoping it would give me some insight. Other than a name, I was still clueless. “No, should I?”

  He sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “I forget that you only moved to Louisville a couple years ago. That was Caleb Birchmeir, son of Harold Birchmeir who owns Birch Banking, the Paradise Found resorts, and about a dozen other businesses that make the
backbone of this town. Caleb Birchmeir is CEO and owner of Birchmeir and Cain, the prototype people who have that funky building over on Market and Fourth. That guy is so loaded, he buys private jets like we buy new bikes from Walmart. If he says he wants to back you, I would hold both hands out until the money stops coming.”

  I just stared at him. “Seriously?”

  He nodded and reached into his pocket, handing me two rolls of cash. “Now, if you’ve got all that idiocy out of your system, I want to congratulate you on what might be your last fight for me. You did amazing out there, just like I always knew you would.”

  “Thanks, Hawk.” I looked down at the cash in my hand to see that it really did look like one and a half grand. “Wow, you weren’t kidding.”

  “You’ve made me at least fifteen tonight already, so trust me when I say that it’s the least I could do. Now, go home, get some rest. I think when tomorrow comes, it’ll change your life forever.”

  I grinned, but the effort felt shaky. If anyone had ever believed in me, it was Hawk. “This means a lot to me. If that deal turns out to be a hoax, I’ll be back sooner than you know it.”

  “It won’t be. I have a feeling in my bones about this, and I’m never wrong.”

  “If you say so.”

  “I do.” He reached out to ruffle my hair, which didn’t work well considering it was slicked back in a tight ponytail. “Now stop trying to get the last word in and go treat your family.”

  I laughed, and he gave a little wave before exiting. I looked in the mirror one last time before changing for my walk home, noticing my hazel eyes were huge and I was glowing. While I’d been hoping that a win would push me toward pro, I hadn’t thought it would happen literally five minutes after the fight.

  My thoughts all wrapped around themselves on my trek home, vacillating between daydreaming about the incredible offer being dangled, to being absolutely sure that it was some kind of cruel hoax. I was so full of my own thoughts, I barely felt the cold night air biting at my exposed face.

  By the time I finally arrived at North 23rd Street in my Portland neighborhood, I was thoroughly exhausted, both mentally and physically, and finally feeling the cold. Although I hadn’t really acknowledged it at the time, Andrew had hit hard and fast. I was definitely going to have some bruising tomorrow. That, on top of the offer Mr. Birchmeir had thrown at me, left me feeling more like a shaken up bag rather than the triumphant victor of an impossible fight.

  Standing on the sidewalk, I stared up at the tan two-story shotgun house, the yellow light of the windows casting a homey glow despite the decrepit feel of the street. We were packed into the small three-bedroom house, but it was warm and inviting. Home.

  Soon, I would buy my mother a much better place. A safer place.

  As soon as I opened the front door and stepped into the living room, a sort of peace fell over me. Sure, things were always tight, making the days stressful, but there was a certain kind of happiness in knowing I always had people there for me.

  I shut the door as quietly as I could behind me, knowing almost everyone would be asleep by now. Sure enough, Colby was on the couch in front of the TV, dozing heavily, a PlayStation controller still in his hand. I grabbed a blanket from the back of the chair and laid it over him. Once I was sure he was truly settled, I crept up the stairs and down the narrow hall leading to the bedroom I shared with Clementine. Colby and Sage shared a room on the left, while Honey, the youngest at five, slept with Mama or wherever she ended up.

  The story went that after Dad named me, the oldest, while he’d been experimenting growing cherry trees on the farm, he began naming each consecutive child after whatever product was new that he’d been trying to make profitable. He used to joke that Honey had been the most painful to come by and Sage the most fragrant.

  Thinking of my eldest little brother made my stomach twist. After taking a year off from school to work, Sage had managed to save a little and also acquired enough financial aid to go to college, and I didn’t want him to worry about money. Sage had always been the most serious one in our family. Born with auburn, almost red hair and green eyes, he looked like a carbon copy of my father and almost nothing like my dark-haired, dark-eyed mother. He had a long, slender build like the rest of us, but unlike the rest of us, my brother was wicked smart when it came to mathematics. Borderline genius level. Not that any of us were stupid, but Sage… well, he was on a whole other level.

  When he took a year off after high school to work and help the family save money, I was absolutely pissed. Sure, I had dropped out of college almost before I began for financial reasons, but I wasn’t like him. I didn’t have the grades or talent that he did. I badgered him until he got it together to start the next semester, but I could tell he was still worried about dropping his hours at his hardware store job and how we would afford to pay the bills.

  If this thing with the sponsor worked out, then he wouldn’t have to worry. In fact, he could probably drop his job entirely and devote all his time to his studies. And I was absolutely invested in helping my brother make his own legacy.

  That thought filled me with warmth as I jiggled the tight doorknob of my room. It had a tendency to get stuck when it was humid. Or cold. Or really just when it wanted to. I should’ve replaced it, as the landlord didn’t do anything but dodge phone calls, but I was always either too tired or too broke.

  “Is that you, my little fighter?”

  I turned and looked toward the end of the hall where Mama was standing just inside her doorway, her eyes heavy with sleep, exhaustion weighing at the well-earned lines in her face.

  “Yes, Mama, just me. Go back to bed, you have work in the morning.”

  “You were out so late, I was worried.”

  A wave of guilt layered over my elation, even though we’d had this conversation many times. There was just something about a worried mother that could cut right through a child, no matter how old.

  “You don’t have to worry, Mama, I can take care of myself. And all of you too.” I walked toward her and pulled the two tightly rolled wads of money Hawk had given me out of my bra. I handed it over to her with a bit of a flourish, and her eyes went wide.

  “These are all singles, right, Cherry?”

  “No, Mama, those are twenties. And a couple of hundreds too, I think. What you’re holding there is our rent payment for the next two months. And I might have a job lined up that will pay even more.”

  “Oh… oh goodness.” I could tell that she was looking for the right words to express what she was feeling, but the emotions warred on her tired face. Although she was proud of me for helping out and taking the lead so much, she didn’t like her daughter getting in the ring to fight. Thought it unladylike, not to mention crude. As if slinging cow shit had been dainty. She shook her head. “But, Cherry, it’s so dangerous. This other job, it’s not fighting?”

  I ignored her talk of danger like I always did. “Someone wants to take me pro. They think I can make it with the real leagues.”

  Her face fell. It was no secret that Mama wanted me to do something else with my life. She never told me I couldn’t do it, respected my choice since I was a grown woman, but I could see in her face at times that she didn’t like the idea of her little girl being pummeled in a ring. “And that is a good thing?”

  “Yes, Mama. A very good thing.”

  “Then I’m very happy for you, my Cherry Blossom.” Her statement of happiness didn’t reach her face as she stared at the rolled bills like they might rise up and bop her in the nose. “But now we should both go to bed.”

  I laughed and pulled her in for a quick hug. If there was anything that could cheer me up, or make me more certain, it was the love she gave me by not standing in the way of what I loved. “Goodnight, Mama.”

  “Goodnight, my fighter.”

  I let her go and returned to my room, much of the stress and distrust about this Birchmeir fellow fading away. Either he was telling the truth, and my life was going to change
forever, or he wasn’t, and I would stick to underground fighting and building my brand. Either way, things were looking up. The dream of going pro was within my grasp. I needed to stop side eying it and grab it by the horns.

  Starting tomorrow, of course.

  I fell into bed but didn’t sleep for a long time. A pair of cool, excited blue eyes burrowed into me every time I closed my eyes.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Caleb

  The next morning, I woke early, sun streaming in my bedroom window, stabbing me in the eyes. I hadn’t drunk too much last night, but enough that I felt heavy and lethargic. It was Saturday, and I wanted to turn over and go back to sleep, maybe sleep all day, but an image of last night’s Cherry Bomb flashed through my mind.

  She’d been beautiful, entering the ring with so much confidence. Then making that backflip and actually beating the crap out of Andrew the Giant. I snorted. I wasn’t sure if even I could knock down that guy.

  I couldn’t believe I’d offered to sponsor her, had told her she’d be a prototype. What had I been thinking?

  I knew exactly what I’d been thinking.

  My cock jumped as if to agree. I’d been thinking with my dick. And I needed to stop. Chances were good that she’d call, and I’d actually sponsor her, or my company would. She could be an interesting new investment that opened the door to similar investments. Investments in people. I liked it.

  I’d had an interest in investing in people ever since that fateful day of the accident. Up until then, I’d been a spoiled brat who couldn’t see past his next party-boy weekend and barely realized other people had feelings and hopes and dreams, most of which they would never achieve due to finances.

  My thoughts went back to Cherry again, and I wondered what it was about her that made me act so impulsively. It was more than that she was drop-dead gorgeous. I’d met plenty of beautiful women in my life. There was something else about her. Self-possession. Pride. Hope.