Battered Not Broken

by Rose, Ranae

  Manny rose from the seat he’d taken at the table, leaving the dirty dish there. His head had been so cleanly shaven that it reflected the overhead light. He’d had a full head of dark hair when he’d been younger – it had curled and done the same crazy frizz thing Ally’s was prone to on humid days. He’d looked better that way. It was like he’d lost his soul along with his hair, becoming so wrapped up in his own arrogance that he thought he could manipulate anyone like he manipulated the group of men he controlled.

  “See you soon, mamá. Ally.” He crossed the kitchen and entry area, pausing at the door. “Inés is having a bridal shower in a couple months. You’re both invited to that too.”

  Ally locked the deadbolt behind him as soon as he was out the door. “If he shows up again, we’ll ignore him. This isn’t his house. It’s not even his neighborhood. Papá will be furious.”

  “Maybe we shouldn’t mention it to your father.” There was a note of anxiety in Maria’s voice. “It will only worry him, and he already has enough troubles.”

  Ally’s insides heated in protest. “He’d want to know. Not telling him would be like lying.”

  Maria frowned, little lines that weren’t usually visible appearing around her mouth.

  “Caring about someone means worrying about them sometimes. That’s just how it is.” Ally didn’t turn away from the door until Manny’s car roared down the street with an audible whine, heading in the direction of the neighborhood that had been his home for the past several years.

  * * * * *

  Ally faced Friday night with a stomach full of knots and butterflies. Ryan didn’t seem to share her worry. Instead, anticipation of the fight seemed to fill him, making his spine straighter, shoulders broader and eyes brighter. The sheer force of his focus made him seem six inches taller.

  She knew what it was like to get worked-up before a fight. But his excitement was missing an element that was always crucial to hers – nervousness. Even if she was confident, she always felt a little anxious going into the ring, knowing a few minutes or less of clashing wills and bodies would end in her being either the winner or the loser. He seemed impervious to anxiety, like someone who’d faced every demon in the world and relished the thought of annihilating a lesser challenge.

  And she couldn’t stop him from stepping up to meet it any more than she could paint the sky pink instead of blue. So she stood beside him and hoped his infallible confidence would rub off on her.

  “How did you get into MMA, anyway?” They had time to talk as they lingered near a locker room in the facility Cameron had rented. Ryan’s match – the evening’s main feature – wasn’t until later, after dozens of lesser fighters had already exhausted themselves. “You fight like you’ve been doing it forever.”

  “Not forever,” he said, leaning against the wall beside her, his arms crossed over his chest, which was covered by a black hoodie, “but almost. I was that quintessential kid who loved to watch karate movies and started begging my parents for lessons when I was about five. I got into MMA when I was a teenager. I guess everyone has to find something to do to piss their parents off around that age. But I loved it. Still do.”

  Ally thought of her mother sitting dutifully in the audience of her every fight. “Your parents didn’t like your choice of sport?”

  “They hated it. As far as they were concerned, anyone would have to be half brain-dead to want to waste their time giving out and taking beatings inside a ring.”

  The word brain sent a little ripple of unease through her every time she heard it now. No longer just a point of anatomy, it was the second letter in TBI, those three little letters she hadn’t been able to stop thinking about since Sunday. “What about now that you’re an adult? Do they still hate it?”

  He lifted his shoulders in the slightest of shrugs. “I’m sure they do.”

  “I guess I’m lucky. I originally got into MMA because of my parents. Well, because of my mother.”

  “Really?” His eyebrows rose, erasing the line that had recently formed between them.

  “Yeah. She signed me up for a women’s self-defense class when I was seventeen.” She spoke the words like the fact they were, refusing to let accompanying truths and emotions claim much of a presence in her mind. “That was mostly just being taught to shout ‘no’ and strike your attacker in sensitive areas, but it turned out my instructor was a female martial artist, and I signed up for some other classes under her. I got into jujitsu and boxing that way, and then a couple years ago I started training at Knockout.”

  “Did you compete before you came to Knockout?”

  “Just in a few tournaments my instructor chose for me. Not for money – just to see if I could and what it was like. I liked it more than I thought I would. I started competing for money a year ago when Cameron started up his women’s nights. What about you?” She’d be damned if he’d never competed before, but suddenly found herself curious about the why and how.

  “Yeah, back in New York I competed in just about all the amateur events I could make it to.”

  “Really?” There it was again – one of those moments that reminded her how much more there was to Ryan Moore than she knew. She could now count what she knew about his pre-Marine Corps life on two fingers – he’d lived in New York and his parents hated MMA. It was better than knowing nothing, but at the same time, those two facts only inspired a hundred other silent questions.

  “Yeah. Lived in New York my whole life until I enlisted, so that was where I got into MMA.”

  “Why’d you choose to live here when you got out?” Since their first date, she’d wondered more than once why he’d chosen to take up residence in Baltimore.

  He shrugged again, his gaze drifting past her to the ring, where two strangers were locked in sweaty combat on the mats. “Had to live somewhere. Didn’t want to stay on the North Carolina coast where I’d be looking in from the outside on the Marine Corps every day, so I decided to get out of the area. Didn’t want to go back to New York, either. So I ended up here, about halfway between those places. Got an apartment and a job.” His shoulders rose and fell again. “Here I am.”

  “Will you stay?”

  “Don’t know where else I’d go.”

  Curiosity naturally prompted her to wonder about his family and former home in New York, but she resisted the urge to pry. She’d already pressed him about fighting while recovering from TBI, and it wasn’t like she didn’t understand that blood didn’t always equal family.

  She’d rather start over in a strange city too than associate with a relative like Manny, or her uncle Carlos. A little bit of bile rose up into her throat at just the thought, and she consciously worked to ease the tension in her jaw as she followed Ryan’s gaze, watching the two lightweights grapple in the eight-sided cage Cameron had acquired for the event. “Were you undefeated in New York?”

  He turned to look at her, his mouth quirking faintly at one corner. “Afraid not. But don’t tell anyone here that.”

  “Your secret’s safe with me.”

  “I know.”

  The match ended when one of the men tapped the other out, to the general excitement of the crowd, which was large. Cameron had managed to fill about three quarters of the seats, guaranteeing himself a profit.

  “Won’t be too much longer now,” Ryan said, standing tall and rolling his shoulders, stretching.

  It wasn’t much longer after that – or at least, it didn’t seem like it. The next few matches seemed to fly by. Ally resorted to mentally cursing the fighters for hitting too hard and tapping out too soon, resulting in matches that ended more quickly than she would’ve liked. The clock moved resolutely forward, and soon she was watching Ryan finish wrapping his hands, preparing for the night’s main attraction.

  “Don’t forget your mouthguard,” she offered lamely as Cameron hovered around them like a buzzing bee on speed, mumbling garbled encouragements and giving Ryan tips.

  “Got it.” He showed her the curved guard he
held in one hand, molded to fit his teeth and cushion them against punishment the rest of his mouth, face and head would be left open to.

  He had teeth worth protecting – straight and white – but the sole safety measure still seemed woefully inadequate as he prepared to face Ivanov, the undefeated fighter who’d come down from Philly. “What are you waiting for?” she asked as he stood there holding it in one cupped palm, staring down at her like he thought he could devour her with his eyes.

  “For you to kiss me for good luck.” He flashed her an unexpected grin.

  She placed one hand against his chest, letting her fingertips curl against his pec as she leaned in and stood on her tiptoes, ignoring Cameron’s continuing monologue. “I’d do a lot more than kiss you if I thought it would affect the outcome of the fight.”

  His grin stretched wider. “Why don’t you go ahead and try anyway? You never know.”

  “We have a plan, remember? After the fight we go to your place and I spend the night.” It would be their first time together since their movie night, when incredible sex had left her feeling closer to him than ever – a feeling that had been quickly dampened by the disagreement that had followed.

  He nodded. “Believe me, I haven’t forgotten.”

  Cameron was obnoxiously close. Whether he was actually listening to their conversation was up for debate – could he actually hear what they were saying over the sound of his own voice?

  Still, she reined in all the things she longed to say. Like pointing out the fact that she might very well end up spending the night taking care of Ryan instead of in bed with him. Not that she would have had the heart to say that to him anyway – not before his fight.

  “Just a kiss,” she said, leaning in and brushing one against his lips. “The sooner this fight is over, the sooner we can do more.”

  “I won’t fuck around with Ivanov,” he promised, a look in his eyes that reminded her of the way he’d looked during their very first conversation. “Not when I could be doing that with—”

  “Cameron, you’re breathing down my neck,” Ally said loudly, as much to cut off Ryan before he could finish his sentence as to force Cameron to back off. “What are you doing?” She turned to find him standing behind her like a tall, overly-muscular shadow, a bottle of water clutched in each hand.

  “Hydration is important,” Cameron said, as if he were chastising a child.

  “He already has a bottle of water.” She took a bottle from Cameron. “I’ll save this for when the first round is over.” Maybe she was taking her stress out on Cameron, but that was better than taking it out on Ryan – anything was better than that. She needed him to enter the cage in the best mental and physical condition possible, and emerge the same way.

  “Come on.” Cameron motioned toward the ring as the noise level in the large, open gymnasium rose. “You’re up.”

  Ryan popped in his mouth guard and put on his fingerless, lightly-padded gloves, the finishing touch on his sparse fighter’s wardrobe. He gave Ally a last look as he turned – one she knew she’d remember, especially if the fight went badly.

  In that moment, she re-memorized every little detail about his eyes – the many shades of blue and the surprisingly fiery orange-gold rings around the pupils. Mostly, she noticed the confidence reflected in them and tried to internalize it as he entered the chain-linked cage.

  Chapter 12

  Ivanov was slightly taller than Ryan and thick, his limbs roped with muscle and his eyes dark and fierce beneath a head that was almost bald.

  Ryan faced him like he would anyone else, with poise controlling his expression, the planes of his muscles and the perfect set of his shoulders. He believed he would win, but he wasn’t like the stubbornly hungry fighters who sought to do so through sheer viciousness – he would combine the force of his will with skill and shrewd judgment. Maybe the Marine Corps had instilled the fierce brand of self-control into him. Wherever he’d gained it, it was his best line of defense against Ivanov, or any opponent, for that matter.

  There was no way of knowing if it was an advantage he held over Ivanov, though. Ally had never seen the man fight. The only judgments she could make as he faced Ryan were based on his size, build and stance – all impressive, of course. There was obviously a reason why he was undefeated.

  A ring girl paraded around the cage, her stride proud and steady despite the spike heels she wore. Ally begrudged her every measured step. With each moment that stretched by as she made her round, Ally was forced to watch Ryan stand locked in eye contact with Ivanov. Now that they were both there and ready, on the inside of the black chain-link for better or for worse, she wanted nothing more than for the first round to be over.

  Finally, the ring girl’s pacing display was over. The crowd broke out into a dull roar of anticipation, and then, in the blink of an eye, the fight was on.

  They circled briefly, neither of them lunging in for an immediate attack. As Ryan moved, the black inked-in knots sprawling across his back blended with the black chain-link walls of the cage, making him appear as if he moved in a cloud of his own personal haze, like a desert mirage.

  Cameron’s words rang in her ears – hydration is important. Her mouth was suddenly dry as she watched, waiting.

  She clutched the bottle of water tighter, resisting the urge to unscrew the lid and drink it down. Even though Cameron had a dozen more bottles on hand, she’d save it for Ryan because it was the only thing she could think of to do that felt like helping him, even if it was in such an admittedly small way. Her heart beat erratically as she gripped her modest offering, its plastic sides crackling beneath her fingers as she waited for the first blow.

  She didn’t have to wait long. Ivanov slid forward, his movements smooth and quick as he threw a jab toward Ryan’s face, following it up with a punch aimed toward his ribs.

  Ryan dodged the first one, bobbing to the right, and the second one glanced off his side.

  There was hardly time to breathe a sigh of relief before Ryan retaliated with a left hook.

  Ivanov leaned but wasn’t quite quick enough to avoid the blow entirely. Ryan’s fist clipped the top of his head, the blow less powerful than it could have been.

  Had Ivanov fought many left-handed opponents? Maybe that was an advantage Ryan had. Some fighters were subconsciously used to most punches and elbows being thrown from the right, a reflection of the majority of the population’s right-handed tendencies. When that was the case, a left-handed fighter was granted a taste of the crucial element of surprise.

  But Ivanov didn’t seem surprised by Ryan’s next left-handed punch, which cut through the empty space where Ivanov’s head had been half a moment before.

  Several more strikes were thrown on both sides. Some landed and some didn’t, but none hit Ryan above the neck. That had quickly become the fear that Ally’s perception of the fight centered around. More than anything, she wanted the match to end before Ryan could sustain a blow to the head.

  Watching him fight wasn’t like it had been before when she’d enjoyed admiring his technique and powerful body. Instead, dread leant a sharp edge to her observations, fueling the kind of fear she hated the most – the kind that if justified would hurt her by hurting him, like a bullet passing through two bodies in a row.

  She flinched when Ivanov threw a knee at Ryan’s washboard stomach.

  Ryan had thrown a punch, leaving his left side partially exposed. Ivanov had chosen to take the blow to the jaw in order to take advantage of the opening. The two men collided, perhaps with a little less force than they would have if Ivanov hadn’t just absorbed a hard strike, but still.

  Though Ally had felt a knee to the ribs before and knew how painful it was, a part of her was relieved that he’d been hit there instead of in the head.

  He doubled over but straightened more quickly than the average fighter might have, resuming a solid stance for half a moment before throwing himself forward, wrapping his arms around his opponent’s body, cutting into Ivano
v’s personal space with a hip thrown hard against his.

  Even Ally was surprised. She watched, spellbound along with everyone else as Ryan sent Ivanov flying in a small arc, then crashing onto the mat a moment later.

  Ivanov fell like any decently-trained fighter knew to, with an arm striking the mat with a smack that rose above the sound of his body’s heavier collision. But Ryan was already on him, assuming a side mount.

  Ivanov had landed on his side and hadn’t had time to roll onto his back before Ryan had descended. Beneath the weight and force of Ryan’s body, he was caught with his back to his opponent – the last place a fighter wanted to be when the match ended up on the ground.

  Ryan didn’t waste the opportunity. He snaked an arm around Ivanov’s neck, drawing it tight.

  With his chin tucked hard against Ryan’s forearm, Ivanov looked surprised as his face grew a startling shade of red. Within moments, he was crimson.

  Ally’s heart fluttered with relief. Ivanov wouldn’t be able to hold out much longer. He’d run out of oxygen and tap out, resulting in a victory for Ryan.

  Ryan would be safe – the match would be over.

  But it didn’t happen that way. Instead, a timer went off, signaling the end of the round.

  Ally’s stomach plummeted as Ryan was forced to relinquish the choke he hadn’t been able to bring to fruition in time.

  Ivanov rose, red-faced and sweaty, having held out long enough to escape a loss.

  The prospect of a second round was frightening, but at least Ryan had made it through the first without sustaining a serious blow to the head.

  Ally’s entire body hummed with the relief of temporary reprieve as noise rose from the crowd, surrounding her and filling the large, open room, echoing off every cinderblock wall as the two fighters retreated to opposite sides of the ring.