by JB Salsbury
After stalking her IG page, I see she’s also a fighter. So they probably train together, play together, and sit around and talk about fighting until they’re blue in the face.
My God, her real name is Fleur for fuck’s sake. She’s perfect for him. And I’m grateful for the selfies she’s posted of herself in her skin-tight spandex workout clothes, because knowing she has a flawless body to match her model face is as fucking comforting as a habanero enema.
“Dammit!” I toss my phone to my bedside table and bite my quivering lip.
If this is what I wanted for him, why does it hurt so fucking bad?
I want him to be happy. I just wanted him to be happier with me.
Twenty-five
Killian
Another snap sounds.
I glare at Fleur. “Would you stop with the pictures already?”
She cocks a hip and glares right back. “I am documenting your first UFL fight. You should be thanking me.”
I can’t help but grin. Fleur has become my closest friend in London. Sure she has her nipping-puppy-at-my-ankle moments, but it only seems to add to her charm. We’ve spent nearly every weekend together¸ sightseeing, grabbing a meal or two, and catching a film here and there. She’s been a great distraction from the pressure of my first fight.
She’s been a great distraction from a lot of things.
“Back off, Fleur.” Ollie shoves his little sister aside. “Annoying, une petit merde!”
She punches him in the gut, and although I can tell the hit hurt, he smiles.
I hit “play” on my iPod and close my eyes as Eminem’s “Mosh” blasts through my earphones. I move to an unoccupied part of the room and try to forget I’m at Wembley Arena in London, England, prepping for my first fight with the UFL. I pretend this is no different from any other day, that my shorts aren’t covered in sponsor logos, that my entire team who’s been there to support me from the second I got off the plane isn’t huddled together, strategizing.
In this moment, it’s just me and the music.
My muscles tingle with energy, loose from warming up. I throw punches to the air. Left—right—left. Combination. Left—right knee. Opposite. Elbow—knee. With my eyes closed, I imagine Hugo Webb’s game. Dodging, ducking, spinning. I see the entire fight behind my lids and move through it the way I want it to play out in the octagon.
I open my eyes and find Caleb standing in front of me, his arms crossed over his chest. I drop my headphones to around my neck. “Is it time?”
A slow grin pulls his lips. “Depends. You ready?”
I bounce on my toes, keeping my muscles warm. “I’m ready.”
He drops his arms and steps into my space. “You prepared to represent the US, kid?”
I nod, his words igniting my passion even more.
“You ready to get out there and drop Hugo Webb?” He’s yelling now, getting me amped up.
“Fuck yeah.”
“Fuck yeah!” He nods. “Then it’s time, brother.”
I huddle together with my team, Laise at my right, Caleb at my left, Liam, Henry, Jay, Ollie, and Fleur to complete the circle.
“We’ve done all we can to get our boy ready for his first fight,” Caleb says, and the team mumbles in agreement. “Now we let him loose to cause damage.” The team agrees again in strings of curses. “Father God, I pray you’d protect our fighter tonight and give him a warrior spirit to destroy the enemy. Amen!”
Everyone chants, “Amen,” and we break.
“For you.” Caleb holds out his phone to me, as if whoever’s on the line has been listening for a while. I grab it from him, knowing immediately who it might be.
“Yeah?”
“Killian.” Cameron’s growled voice is laced with pride. “Big night, son.”
“Yes, sir.” My heart races faster; somehow hearing Cam’s voice reminds me that not only will my fight be seen by my crew here in London, but by my UFL family back home.
Including Axelle, if she’s watching. It’s the only time I give myself permission to think about her, but not in the way I’m accustomed to. There’s no pathetic, heartsick longing, only pride that if she is watching she’ll get to see what her influence created. Beyond everything else, I want her to feel the satisfaction that she made a difference in my life.
“We’re all here cheering you on.” There are voices in the background, both male and female, but I can’t focus on that now. I have a fight to win.
“Appreciate the opportunity, Cam. I won’t let you down.”
“I have no doubt about that. Now get out there and kick some ass.”
“Will do.” I hand the phone off to Caleb, and the door swings open to reveal a stocky guy with a headset mic and a clipboard.
“You’re up!”
My team surrounds me from behind. We follow Caleb out the door and down a long corridor where a crowd of thousands can be heard from beyond it. We wait for our cue to enter, and the excited energy bouncing between us is palpable.
A hand reaches up to remove my earphones from my neck and my iPod. I pull my eyes away from the stadium to see Fleur diligently removing my music. At my quick nod of thanks, she doesn’t smile back, her fight mask clearly in place just like all the other members of our team.
The lights go dark.
My pulse pounds behind my ribs.
The ticking sound of AC/DC’s “Thunderstruck” rings through the arena and the crowd explodes.
Caleb turns to me and scowls. “It’s go time.”
“Fuck yeah, it is.”
I lead my crew into the arena filled with screaming fans for my first UFL fight, hoping like hell I don’t fuck it all up.
~*~
Axelle
Is that really him?
I squint to focus on the television in the lobby of the UFL Training Center. Cameron has a projector set up in the main training room where he’s cleared away most of the mats and equipment, and a catering company has replaced them with tables, chairs, and enough food to feed a small country.
Thankfully, he also has the fight pumping into every television in the place, including the small lobby where I can recline on a comfy couch and watch the fight without an audience.
Killian walks—no, walking is too tame. He prowls through the crowd to the octagon like a man who’s done this a thousand times. I recognize Caleb closest to his side, but everyone else is a stranger to me.
All except Fleur.
I’ve never met the girl, yet I’ve stalked her on every available social media site, which makes me feel like I’ve known her for years. I know she drinks wine, red mostly, that she indulges in reality television, and that she hits a French bakery for chocolate croissants that remind her of home.
Her brother, the tall blond with the light brown eyes is Olivier. He fights in Killian’s weight class and has only lost one fight out of seven. Fleur hasn’t had an official fight yet, but that’s only because the female UFL team hasn’t quite taken off in the UK yet. See. We’re practically best fucking friends.
Killian rips his shirt off and my jaw falls wide open. Holy hell, he’s grown. I mean he’s always been big, but he’s more defined now. His muscles seem to stand out more than before. I growl as the camera shot moves to Hugo Webb as he enters the arena. He dances around and plays to the crowd. What a cocky asshole! I hope Kill destroys him. He points to Killian and laughs, making the crowd erupt in a series of cheers and boos. Blake always told me the fighters with the biggest show have the least amount of talent. I hope he’s right.
The shot goes back to Killian, and my entire body warms upon seeing him. He looks prepared, confident, as if every single day of his life has been in preparation for this moment.
My chest swells with pride. “I’m so happy for you, Kill. You deserve this more than anyone.”
“You know he can’t hear you, right?”
I jump at the sound of Ryder’s voice. His crooked grin and barely concealed laughter make me want to backhand his pretty face. �
�Of course I do, idiot.”
“You’re talking to a television in a room alone, and I’m the idiot.” He drops down on the couch next to me, his eyes on the screen. “Damn, can you believe he made it?”
“Yes. Absolutely. He wouldn’t give up until he did.”
“I don’t know about that,” he mumbles. When I look over at him, he pulls his eyes from the screen, and I see sadness in them. “He would’ve given it up for you.”
I hurry and look away before Ryder can read me. “No, he wouldn’t have. He’s smarter than that. And besides, I wouldn’t let him.”
The fight commentators go through Killian’s and Hugo’s stats where we learn that they’re nearly perfectly matched in height and weight, but that Hugo has a little longer reach on Kill.
Killian’s expression is cold, and I recognize the look of him being in the zone. Hugo flaps his arms to rile up the crowd, but none of it seems to faze Kill.
“Fuck, you guys beat me to it.” Jonah drops down on a chair close to us, leaning in over his knees to study the television. “Need a little privacy to watch my boy’s first fight. Loud as hell out there and—”
“Shhh!”
Jonah grins at me, popping both dimples. “Guess I’m not the only one.”
“Dammit, you assholes.” Blake drops into a seat opposite Jonah. “Didn’t think anyone would be in here.” He squints at the television. “Killer looks fucking lethal. Hope they have an EMT close by. Something tells me Webb’s gonna need—”
“Oh my God, shhhhhhh!”
Blake’s eyes widen at my outburst and Jonah simply chuckles.
The announcer does his spiel, but I’m deaf to most of what he says because I’m stuck on Killian. He’s shaking his arms out, rolling his head, and staring at Hugo as if he could knock him out with mind power alone.
The ref directs them together and gives them the “fight fair” speech. Killian lifts his fists to touch knuckles, but Hugo tells him to fuck off, which I can see by reading his lips and his pretty obvious hand gesture.
A slow evil grin spreads across Killian’s lips, flashing his black mouth guard, and my heart pounds in my chest, and heat pools between my legs.
He’s deadly and powerful and… I miss him.
With a swipe of the ref’s arm, the fight is on.
“Get him, Killer!” Jonah’s nearly out of his seat, glued to the screen.
Killian remains calm while he and his opponent circle each other. Hugo taunts Kill. I can’t tell what he’s saying, but his lips are flapping. Killian remains focused.
Hugo swings. Kill dodges the hit and goes back to circling.
“He’s waiting for his in,” Blake says.
“Yeah, he could take that clown down, but he’s waiting for an opening to jab.”
Ryder and I share a quick glance, not fully understanding the conversation between Blake and Jonah.
Hugo swings and connects with Killian’s face, but he bounces right back like he’d never been hit.
“Come on, Killer! Take the shot!” Blake’s standing up now.
I chew my lip, hoping Killian isn’t getting stage fright. “Come on, Kill. Hit him,” I whisper.
They circle each other, Hugo’s taunts getting wilder.
“He’s gonna drop his hands,” Jonah says.
I don’t know who he’s talking about, but tension between Jonah and Blake strings tight as they hover close to the television.
“That’s it.” Blake says. “He’s waiting for him to—”
Hugo drops his hands.
Killer swings.
Connects to Hugo’s jaw.
The guy drops.
“Holy fuck!”
“Knock out!”
Blake and Jonah are yelling in unison while the roar of cheers from the training center are almost deafening.
Ryder tackles me from the side as I watch a startled Hugo stagger to his feet only to fall again.
“He did it!” Ryder shakes me from my shock. “His first fight and he knocked the guy out in thirty-seven seconds!”
Jonah’s hands are in his hair. Blake’s are propped on his hips, and all of us stare at the screen with grins so big we can hardly contain them.
“He did it.” My voice shakes with the powerful emotions swirling inside me. “I knew he could do it.”
The announcer holds up Kill’s hand, and I can’t help but laugh at the mix of joy and shock on Killian’s face. Something tells me he thought he’d have to work a little harder for this win.
Caleb wraps him in a hug and says something in Killian’s ear that makes him nod. Then Kill disappears behind bodies as his training crew surrounds him in congratulatory hugs.
All of them, including Fleur.
She winds her way through the bodies and presses her front to his. The camera zooms in, and I don’t miss the way all the guys back off a bit to give them space. In what seems like slow motion, I watch as Killian curls his upper body around her. I swallow hard when he closes his eyes. Time freezes as I bear witness to the intimate embrace.
The volume comes back as they rip apart and Killian pulls a shirt on over his head and pops on a hat when a mic is shoved into his face.
“Knockout in thirty-seven seconds, Killer. Can you walk us through that fight?”
He looks almost embarrassed. “Yeah, uh… I thought he’d come at me more aggressively, so I was waiting for him to charge, but…” He’s still breathing heavily. “He never did, so I waited for a clean shot.”
“Everyone thought you’d go for the takedown. Is there a reason why you didn’t?”
“I expected the fight would end up on the ground, but I wanted to keep it a standup as long as I could.” He chuckles. “Guess it worked.”
“It certainly did. Excellent fight. I predict we’ll be seeing a lot more from you.”
“I hope so.” Killian’s eyes come to the camera, and I flinch at the intensity of his stare. It’s as if he’s looking right at me, right through me.
“Killer McCreery, the UFC’s next superstar…” The announcer goes on, and Killian lifts his fist to his chest.
With his thumb up, he traces an “X” over his heart.
Cross my heart.
He brings his fist to his lips when someone pulls on him from behind.
Was that for me? Was that our cross your heart?
My pulse pounds, and just as I’m about to grab my phone and text him to confess how much I miss him, how I love him and will wait for him until he comes home, he gets knocked into by a blur of dark blond hair.
Fleur.
She hops into his arms, and he wraps her up tight, smiling down at her. I watch in horror as she tilts her head and presses her lips to his.
I suck in a breath, and the camera shot moves to the commentators, cutting me off from the view of Killian and his…his…girlfriend?
“Kiddo?” Blake looks down at me, concern pinching his features. “You okay?”
I sniff and realize a few tears escaped my eyes. “Of course.” I push back my shoulders, which only makes Blake scowl. “I’m so happy.” I force a shaky grin. “I’m really happy for Killian.”
All three men in the room study me like I might be unstable, and I’m grateful Blake’s the only one of the three who knows about my condition.
I blow out a breath and stand, patting my pockets for my keys. “That was some fight. I uh…” need an excuse to leave. “I’m tired. I’m gonna go ahead and head home.”
Blake steps closer. “Axelle—”
“Could you tell Mom I’ll call her tomorrow?” I make my way to the door. “Please?”
Blake nods and Jonah and Ryder watch me with curiosity.
“Great, um…” I lick my lips. “Awesome fight. I’ll uh… I’ll see you guys later.”
I whirl around and beeline to my car, barely holding back the torrential downpour of tears.
Twenty-six
Killian
My life changed dramatically in the span of thirty-seven seconds.
<
br /> I walked into that octagon a nobody and walked out a fucking rock star. I have a publicist, an assistant, and an accountant. I don’t even have to talk to them, and they all manage my shit behind my back.
I’ve got a bank account filled with money, a new wardrobe that won’t even fit into my closet, expensive sunglasses that I’m ashamed to say I fucking love, and it’s only been one week since the fight.
For the first few days after the fight, I couldn’t even walk on the streets of London without getting stopped for a photo and autograph. The front doors of the training center were littered with paparazzi every morning when I arrived and every evening when I left. Caleb even had black-out curtains put in because they were snapping photos of us training.
All for me?
Seems ridiculous and at the same time gratifying.
I’ve done interviews, photo shoots, but the most shocking of all is the women. They show up at our penthouse, stop me on the street. There was even an actress who went through my publicist to see if I’d be interested in a date. If someone had told me six months ago that I’d one day be turning down some of the most beautiful women in the world, I’d have told them they’re insane. And if things aren’t crazy enough, Cameron’s already lined up my next two fights, warning me I’m being catapulted into superstardom.
It’s everything I ever imagined being a UFL fighter would be and so much more.
I’m fresh out of the shower and digging through my plentiful wardrobe when my phone rings. It’s probably Fleur asking where I am. I was supposed to pick her up for dinner and a movie ten minutes ago, but I had a telephone interview that ran late.
I pull a pair of charcoal gray slacks from my closet, snag my phone, and hit “accept.”
