by L. G. Kelso
Shane's hand moved to Will's arm. He tapped.
Will didn't let go. He tightened.
Max and his bag had gone silent.
Shane tapped again. Hard.
"Will. He's tapping," Nick said.
Will's hips raised creating more pressure.
Max bolted from his bag.
Will released Shane's arm. Shane flipped around, moving to his knees, sticking his arm out to protect himself as he jumped to his feet.
"What the hell, man? I tapped," Shane said. He clutched his elbow, rubbed it, and then rubbed his shoulder, moving it in small circular rotations.
"Is your shoulder okay?" I called out.
"I don't know. It's my bad shoulder. Shit." Shane moved it again and winced. "What's your problem? You know not to rip my damn arm out of place. I have a fight around the corner. And I tapped."
"I guess I didn't feel it. Sorry." But he had a smirk on his face. "Maybe you just shouldn't get yourself stuck."
"We let go as soon as our partner taps. Immediately," Max growled. He brushed past Shane, stopping a foot away from Will.
"Easy, man. I didn't realize you were all such pussies about it." Will raised his open hands and shrugged.
Max took another step closer to him. "You want to play all out? Let's do it."
I left my bag, but I was still too far away. For the first time ever, I felt relieved Nick was there.
"Boys, knock it off. We have work to do. We aren't here to tear each other apart," Nick said as he stepped between the two.
"Next time, you better feel the tap," Max said. He took a step back and Nick dropped his outstretched arm.
I stopped a few feet away from the two, and grabbed Shane as he walked by. "Go get some ice."
He nodded and walked off, swearing as he did so.
Nick glared at Will. Will shrugged and walked my way. I wanted to move to the side, but I kept my feet planted.
"Was that your excuse then, too? You couldn't feel me tap?" I asked as his arm brushed past mine.
"There is no excuse, just reason," he said, stopping and putting his mouth close to my ear. "Besides, no one saw you tap."
Because no one had been there.
He stalked away, his steps heavy for a fighter. I could still feel his eyes on me.
When I looked back up, Max's scrutinizing glare was focused on Will.
#
Max's shadow fell across the floor, cutting into the light that spilled from Jeff's office.
I had just grabbed a medicine ball to do some conditioning when I caught sight of Max. I dropped the weighted ball and walked to Jeff's office.
"Max?"
He jumped.
"What are you doing?" I hesitated in the doorway.
He stared at the wall above Jeff's couch. "This picture is dated. There's a few of them. Will trained here for a few years. And this one is a few months before your last fight."
Of course, another picture of the team at the time, which meant Will was there, standing next to me.
"Has he always been such an ass?"
I snorted. "Yeah."
"So, you and he were friends?"
"I didn't really know him," I said. The lie burned my throat, but the words still came out. I knew the lie was for myself. If I had known him less than maybe what happened wouldn't have scared me so much. If he hadn't been my best friend and gym partner than maybe everyone would be innocent until proven guilty, and not the other way around.
I reached out, without thinking, and touched Max's side where the Hemmingway quote was inked into his skin.
If I hadn't trained with Will for years, maybe I would give everyone a chance, like Max did. Then again, Max had much more reason than I did to be so wary of everyone, and yet, he gave everyone a shot.
"I'm starting to think he just thinks of fighting as, well, fighting. An excuse for violent behavior," Max said.
The warm air stuck in my throat, dragged down into my lungs.
"Tori. He looks at you weird. It makes me uncomfortable. And he was here…"
"What are you getting at, Max?" I pulled my hand away from him and leaned against the doorframe.
He finally looked at me.
"Something changed. Between your second to last fight and the last fight. You got scared." He took a long stride toward me, raised his hand and his finger trailed along the edge of my hair until stopping on the scar. "You can see the stitches in your temple from your weigh-in before your last fight."
"Max, we fight. We spar. We train. Sometimes, stitches are needed."
Would he think less of me? He had gone on and on about me being a strong woman. Would he think that if this conversation kept going? Worse, what would he think of me if I froze and failed? Maybe I wouldn't have to walk away from him if I froze; maybe he wouldn't even want me.
"Should Will be here?" he asked.
Heaviness clenched my chest, making it hard to breathe.
"Tori?"
"Why not?" I licked my lips, and then pulled away from Max's touch, before walking out of the office.
#
We were down to just over three weeks before Max's fight and my fight, and just a day away from Shane's fight.
Shane hadn't stopped moving all morning. Even as he downed his water bottle, he paced across the gym. He had already made weight earlier this afternoon, and he worked to rehydrate.
Rehydrating and dancing. Lots of dancing. According to Max, that was how Shane psyched himself up.
"Shane, maybe you should rest for a minute," I said, probably for the first time ever.
"I can't. This fight...STRIKERS is going to have a scout there. They sent a scout out to one of my past fights, specifically to watch me, and I lost that one. I can't lose this. This is my chance. Plus, it's my last contracted fight with Ring MMA. I need them to renew my contract or I need STRIKERs to pick me up. And I need the money from the fight. Tomorrow is my last day to make rent."
I grabbed his arm and squeezed. "It'll be all right, Shane. Just don't think about all of that while you're in there."
I sat down, and pulled my knee brace on. Since we had upped the training, my knee had upped the aches.
"He's got a long reach. Crazy reach. Like he's a freaking gorilla. I'm going to have to eat a few hits to get a good takedown. If I can keep him down, it'll go all right."
"Try to stick with the plan. It'll keep you from worrying about the scout," Max said. "And same to you, when you're up."
I nodded. Without Nick's help, since he seemed to have zero interest in my training, Max, Shane, and I had come up with a plan for my fight with Tiffs. My groundwork had improved, but not enough that I could pull off three rounds all on the ground. I'd try to keep her up for round one, and land my strikes. Hers were sloppy, and I'd work to evade or block them. I'd attempt some kicks, depending how she responded to them. Ideally, I'd have striking points by the end of that round. Same for round two, if possible.
I knew, though, that the fight would end up on the ground. As long as I could postpone it until at least midway through round two, preferably round three, I could possibly work with that. And if I could get the takedown, instead of her, that'd help me out.
Once the fight moved to the ground, I needed to protect my back since she had a habit of getting back guard and doing rear naked chokes. She also routinely went for arm-bars.
If I got the striking points in the first two rounds, got takedown points, and could keep from tapping in round three, then the fight might be winnable.
And, since Nick wasn't too crazy about keeping me in the loop, we had come up with our own training schedule, alternating jits, boxing, and kickboxing, no-gi grappling, and putting it all together in the MMA classes, as well as cardio and strength conditioning.
Pretty much, I lived at the gym.
"I just want to go in there and knock him out," Shane said.
"With that idea, you'll probably get yourself knocked out," Max replied. "If you get a clear chance, and you think yo
u've got it, then sure. But don't go in there with the only goal and strategy being to knock him out. Mistakes get made that way. If you're ahead, don't take the unnecessary risk unless you know it's there."
Max held up the mitts again, and nodded to me. "Make the next two rounds speed rounds."
I nodded and started throwing jabs and crosses repeatedly, the goal of the movement speed.
"I know, man, I know," Shane said.
"I wish I could come up with a game plan. Not knowing who I'm fighting is driving me crazy," Max said.
"Yeah, we could tell. That's probably why our game plans are so awesome," I said.
"It's the only times I get nervous. Walking into a fight without a strategy. Even if I have to scrap that plan and go with something else mid-fight, fine, but at least I had an idea when I walked in there."
"I hate losing my game-plan in the middle of a fight," Shane replied. " You're just lucky your brain works that way and you can re-strategize while in the action."
Max shrugged. "Get your gloves on, Shane. You're up next. Tori, when you're done, while Shane works, I want you to alternate between ten pushups, ten squats, ten frog sprawls."
I nodded. The fact that my arms didn't want to fall off yet was rejuvenating, since I was hours into my training of the day. It meant I was improving, even if I didn't always feel it.
The timer went off and my speed round ended. Max didn't move away. "Tori, wait a second. We need to talk. Things have been off the past few days. I know you're stressed about the fight, and I have no problem waiting until it's over and you're ready to, well, do whatever it is you want to do."
I still wanted to do him, but I had a feeling that wasn't exactly what he meant.
"I like where things were going, Max. I'm just distracted with the fight right now."
It was partially true. I was also distracted by the assclown contaminating my gym with his douchiness, but that would lead to questions.
"And that's okay. I don't want you to be distracted from the fight." He leaned down, so his lips hovered against my ear. I was already sweating, and his breath made my skin even hotter. "When it's over, can we get that pie?"
"You two better not be saying nasty things to each other. Now, move over. My turn," Shane said.
I pressed my lips to Max's cheek before saying, "Definitely."
"All right, boys and girl. I have the final card announcement," Nick said, holding up a piece of paper as he walked out of Jeff's office.
He unfolded it, and frowned. "Well, this complicates things." He handed it to Max.
Max slipped his hand out of the mitt and took it. I peered over his shoulder, resting my chin on him.
Shit.
The Main Event: Current Champion Will "The Killer" Bennet vs. The challenger Max "The Lobo" Estrada for Title Fight.
Max's shoulder stiffened under my chin.
"Apparently, I'm challenging the title. And Will," he said. Then, under his breath,"Damn."
I couldn't get any words out in reply.
Damn was right.
Chapter Twenty-Five
The trail of blood led me to the bathroom. I kicked a crushed paper towel, spotted with crimson stains, to the side and yanked open the door.
The first stall reeked of acidic bile and metallic blood. No way was I going in that one. Luckily, the other stall was puke and blood free. I cursed my bladder and thanked my quads as I peed. There was so not going to be any butt-to-toilet contact here.
I didn't bother playing minefield in the bathroom as the two girls who tiptoed in did. They tried to avoid the drops of blood as though it would kill them on the spot. By the lipstick clutched in one of the girl's hands, my guess was they wanted the mirror.
I washed my hands in the cleaner of the two sinks. One of the girls made it to my side, her heels tapping.
She looked down and shrieked. "Oh my God! This is disgusting." She looked at me and gestured. "Don't they have some kind of code they have to follow?"
"Code?"
"Yeah, you know like health codes. This is a total hazard." She pointed to the sink full of bloodied rags and paper towels.
"This is fighting." I shrugged.
"The bathrooms in Vegas were spotless," said her friend, who still stood by the door.
"I hate to break it to you, ladies, but this here is what a lot more fighters fight in than Vegas."
I dried my hands and tossed the towel into the trash. The girls made a point to glare with their scrunched up noses before abandoning the bathroom. A boy a little taller than I was rammed into me as I opened the door.
"Sorry," he said. Bright red liquid accumulated along the edge of his hand, cupped around his eye.
"No worries." I snagged a handful of towels off the counter and handed it to him. "Your eye okay?"
"Yeah. Probably. Maybe."
I stepped out of the way, and he hurried into the bathroom, followed by a paramedic.
I walked back toward the octagon, where Shane had just entered by dancing. The cage stood in the center of the small room. This casino wasn't as nice as some of the other casino auditoriums I had been in. There were no chairs, and it was standing room only. Even though Ring MMA was a decent local fight organization, the locations were always a bit hole-in-the-wall.
Two ring girls sat in chairs near the side of the cage. One looked petrified.
I squeezed into the spot next to Max, at Shane's corner.
"So, no Nick?"
Max shook his head.
Shane's opponent entered the cage. He stood probably two inches over Shane, and looked a little bigger. He grabbed the side of the cage, beat on his chest, and roared.
If I weren't so worried for Shane, I would have laughed my ass off. However, being the smallest in the ring was never good.
Shane assessed him in stride. If he was scared, he didn't show it. Not that I expected him to. Instead, they hit gloves, fell apart, and the bell rang.
In Shane's last match, from what I had gathered, he had been knocked out in round two. The way Shane moved now indicated he had no interest in another KO. He had a different sort of aggression than Max fought with. Max's aggression was tame, but there, below the surface, making him controlled and even more frightening. Max's ways highlighted his technique and skill but always showed the intense drive behind it, while Shane's way was all technique.
He was beautiful to watch, but it felt like a piece was missing. I hadn't been able to figure out how to fix that yet.
Shane's shoulder had been bothering him more since sparring with Will, even though he wouldn't admit it. I could see it when he threw the jab, and his hook didn't have the power it normally did.
Max called out a few suggestions, and during the break between round one and two, we huddled with Shane and gave him a quick rundown of what we saw. His opponent had strong striking skills, but his ground skills lacked. One of the ring girls, the petrified one with high cheekbones and long hair walked across the ring, holding up the round card. She trembled slightly, and I wondered if it was her first time.
Round two started with a hook to Shane's face that made me clamp my hand over my mouth. Shane recovered almost immediately, but his lip busted open.
We iced it between round two and round three, and I rubbed down his face. Max suggested he take the fight to the ground pronto.
In round three, Shane got him to the ground using a sacrifice throw.
By the last bell, we were sure Shane had won.
However, leaving possibilities to the judges was never a good idea.
The judges discussed, and the winner was announced.
I squeezed Max's shoulder, anxiety making me feel sick.
"Your winner by split decision, 29-28, 29-28, 28-29, is Ray Garcia." The judge grabbed Shane's opponent's hand and raised it.
Shane had lost. Narrowly, supposedly, but a loss was a loss.
"Shit," Max groaned. "The scout was here."
Shane left the cage, and bolted toward the back room. Max and I foll
owed, shoving our way through the worked up crowd. Shane sat on one of the few benches, head in his hands. Red splotches covered the knuckles of his MMA gloves, and when he looked up, I noted the bruises along his right cheekbone and jaw, the scrape on his left cheek, and his swollen lip.
Even though I had grown to know Shane relatively well, I wasn't sure how to handle the post-loss Shane. I didn't know if I should expect him to break something or just sit there. Or, if he liked his personal space like I did, especially after a fight. Max, though, sat next to him. I took the spot on the other side of him and touched his arm.
"Shane." There was no point in bullshitting and saying that the scout would still give him a chance. There was no point talking about how close it had been. There was no point in consoling him like you would someone who had lost his bike or failed a test.
This was his life. One couldn't say anything to make this right.
"You'll fight again. We'll all train harder next time, and you'll win," I said.
I couldn't make out the noise or the word that came muffled through his hands, but I didn't need specifics to know he didn't agree.
I yanked his hands away from his face, grabbed his chin, and forced him to look at me.
"Or you won't. Maybe you'll lose again. I don't know. The only person who knows is you. The only person who can make you win is you. But you have our support and our help. Your opponent had skills. You didn't lose to shit. He was good and his head was in it. Accept it and move on."
"Says the girl who won't fight again after one loss."
I jumped, yanking Shane's chin to the side as I turned my attention to the door.
"What the hell are you doing here?" I asked.
Will sauntered over, shrugging.
I stood, not liking how his shadow fell over me and his face angled down.
"You should leave."
"You going to make me?" He smiled, but even in the shitty lighting, I could see the slithering irritation in his eyes. His lips turned into a sneer.
"Maybe," I said.
"Haven't you already figure out you aren't a threat to me?" he asked.
"You tell yourself that to make yourself feel better," I answered.
He took a step toward me, with his stupid puffed out chest, making me feel like an ant, and stroked the outside of my arm with the back of his hand. Max moved behind me.
