The Last Call: MMA Bad Boy Fighter Romance (MMA Bad Boy Sports Romance )

by Nicole Bella

  ‘It’s just that…well this is no small matter. It’s the complete opposite of that in fact. It’s a whole new weight class…against the top of that class. Like if you were fighting you, only a bigger version of you.’ Charles warned in a very uncharacteristically cautious manner.

  For the last two years Jackson had been the undisputed middleweight champion of the world. There had been many opportunities for this title to be disputed of course, opportunities that he grabbed by the horns and wrestled to the ground. That was why Jackson was where he was; his never say die manner was a staple of his fighting style and it had earned him a very solid reputation.

  The only problem now was that there was no one left to fight. All other pretenders weren’t up to scratch and for Jackson to face them would only be a waste of both his and the audience's time. It was thus that Charles was presented with a very unique offer.

  The next weight class up from Jackson’s was light heavyweight. For Jackson to be considered for this he would need to gain, in his current form, twelve kilograms. But it turns out that that didn’t matter, if the right offer was made.

  The current Light Heavyweight Champion of the World was in a similar situation to Jackson, unable to find any real contenders worthy of entering the ring. He thus approached Charles with the suggestion of an ‘exhibition match.’ Him versus Jackson. Sometimes the most simple of suggestions were the most effective.

  ‘The Bull is nothing to sniff at is all. He’s paralyzed people before. Damn near killed one once.’ The Bull was the name of the fighter that was throwing down the challenge. He probably had a real name, not that he ever used it. He was a hard-hitting, MMA fighting machine. There was a rumor floating around a few years ago about a disgruntled fighter that literally smashed a brick over The Bulls head in a drunken rage, only to see it crumble and dissolve, leaving The Bull unharmed. Fighting him was no laughing matter.

  ‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so concerned before Charles?’

  ‘Well you are my friend as well as my client. Plus you had that doctor’s visit last week…which you still won’t tell me about.’ The doctor’s visit hadn’t been a good one. Jackson had a brain tumor. It’s wasn’t anything too serious, unless he aggravated it. And yes, fighting a man named The Bull did count as aggravating it.

  ‘Is the money good?’ Jackson asked.

  ‘When have you ever cared about money?’

  ‘So that’s a yes?’

  ‘Yes. It’s unbelievable. But still…you really need to think about this before --,’

  ‘Set it up. I’ll take this Bull by the horns and grind him into the dirt.’

  No more was said of the matter. There wasn’t even a chance. Jackson finished his meal and got up to leave. He wasn’t in the mood to be lectured by his manager…or anyone for that matter.

  --

  It had been two weeks since Vanessa had quite and since then Jackson had been in what some would call a downward spiral.

  First, he increased his training. Even before he learned about the exhibition match, he upped his training to two a day. This might not seem like such a big deal to anybody who didn’t know Jackson, but for those who did they would tell you that it was very unlike him. Even when he was preparing for a fight he didn’t train this hard.

  And secondly, he decided that now was the time to take a more executive interest in his son. Again, this might seem like a good thing, but that really depends how you look at it. Anthony was understandably devastated when Vanessa left. Crying and crying and crying until Jackson couldn’t take it anymore. He insisted that it was time for Anthony to ‘grow the hell up,’ as he put it. Starting the next day, he enrolled Anthony in fighting lessons. He was going to learn to defend himself, as all boys should. And despite his protests, he was going to keep at it until Jackson was satisfied.

  Yes, this made him very unpopular at home, but Jackson didn’t care. In fact he didn’t really care about anything at all anymore. Not since…

  The reason wasn’t important. Jackson was on a fast path to self-destruction and it was set to culminate at what was soon being dubbed by the press as ‘The Bull Fight of the Century.’

  *

  It was the best part of Vanessa’s day, 4:59 pm, right before she was able to go home. Every day at this time she would stop what she was doing and stare at the clock, counting the seconds until it read 5:00 pm and she could turn off her computer and dart out the door before anyone came and asked her to do more work.

  After quitting the nannying job, Vanessa had fallen into a pretty depressive rut. She didn’t want to take another nanny job, knowing that it wouldn’t be the same. So, despite herself, she took Adrian up on his offer and started a secretary job at his office.

  ‘Trust me babe.’ He assured. ‘You’ll be making more money than you ever have before. This is going to be awesome.’

  But that couldn’t have been further from the truth. From day one she hated it. She hated that she had to get there before her shift started, in order to ‘set-up.’ She hated that she was treated like a second class citizen by everyone she worked with, she hated the way that she was constantly cat-called and whistled at by a group of misogynistic men. But most of all she hated that she wasn’t nannying at Jackson’s house anymore. She missed Anthony sure, but most of all she missed Jackson.

  It had been a little over two weeks since she started at this job and the clock had just hit 5:00 pm. With the endorphin rush kicking in, she leaped from her seat and was already halfway to the elevator when she heard the commotion coming from the kitchen. So, despite herself, she veered off toward the noise, curious as to what was causing such a ruckus in a usually quite office.

  ‘We’ve got four to one odds on The Bull! Four to one! Who’s in!?’ Adrian called over the room as he stood on a chair, holding a fistful of dollar bills in his hand. ‘Come on! Those are the best odds you’re gonna get all day!’

  ‘What’s the point!’ An unseen voice called. ‘He’s gonna win anyway. He can’t not!’

  ‘Don’t be so sure. Remember who it is we’re talking about here. This guy doesn’t go down. Ever!’ Another voice retorted.

  ‘Yeah! Unless he’s fighting someone twice his freaking size!’

  ‘What’s going on?’ Vanessa asked one of the random office workers who was standing closest the door.

  ‘Shit don’t you know? The Bull Fight of the Century!’ The office worker said in clear disbelief as if there was no way she could not know.

  ‘I honestly don’t.’ Vanessa said, quickly losing interest once she realized it was about fighting.

  ‘The Bull, the Light Heavyweight Champion of the World has chosen his next victim.’

  ‘Oh.’ Vanessa said, now having lost all interest. She was about to turn and go when the office worker dropped one more vital piece of information on her.

  ‘Yeah he’s taking on Jackson ‘The Last Call’ McCall. I mean the guys good, but he’s half his size. Sounds like more or a suicide mission than --,’

  ‘What?’ Vanessa exploded, sure she had misheard.

  ‘Jackson McCall. He’s fighting him. Someone above his weight class too. Word is he isn’t even trying to gain weight for the thing. Going in as is. Don’t know what the hell he’s think --,’

  Vanessa didn’t stay to hear the random musings of the office worker. She was on the elevator a second later, with only one destination in mind.

  *

  Jackson was taking one of his very rare breaks when he heard the gate buzzer ring. In the kitchen, swinging a protein shake, he had to double take when he saw on the security camera who it was that was so relentless with the buzzer; Vanessa of course, in her beater of a car, at the gate trying to get in.

  BUZZZZZZZZ!

  BUZZZZZZZZ!

  ‘Come on Jackson! Please let me in!’ She yelled into the speaker. ‘Please!’

  Jackson didn’t make a move to let her in. Staying exactly where he was, watching the security monitor.

  ‘Please! Yo
u don’t have to do this fight! You don’t!’

  Still he didn’t move to respond. A deadpan expression as he watched her.

  ‘I don’t know why you’re doing this for but think of your son! Think of Anthony! Do you really want him to grow up without a father? Do you really want…’

  Jackson didn’t hang around to hear the rest. Finishing his protein shake he exited the kitchen and headed back into the ring, the closing of the kitchen door being more than enough to drain out the sound of Vanessa’s voice.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  TheBull Fight Of The Century

  As the sun set slowly over the horizon, the matte black, 2016 Audi R8 puttered through the sparsely populated traffic like it didn’t have anywhere to be. This was despite the fact that, as per usual, it did. This time however, its passenger, Vanessa, didn’t mind the ungodly slow pace of the car; in fact she relished it as she had no real desire to end up at their destination.

  Tonight was the night of the fight. It was something that she had been dreading for the last few weeks. Unable to take her mind of Jackson’s impending doom, she felt physically ill every time she thought of it. Today was no different; even considering calling in sick from work, lest she would be forced to put up with the entire office, jabbering non-stop about how much Jackson was sure to be bent and broken.

  So, in a very uncharacteristic manner, Adrian had offered to take Vanessa out to dinner as a way of taking her mind off the event. She of course agreed, seeing it as a better option than sitting at home, mind racing with thoughts of what would happen.

  ‘You look nervous.’ Adrian commented stupidly, knowing full well why she looked that way.

  ‘Do I?’ She offered, not feeling up to the task of creating a dialogue, especially with Adrian. If you asked her why she was still with him, she really wouldn’t be able to tell you. Call it a deep seeded fear of being alone; or a distraction from the person she really cared about. Either way she had little to no feelings for the boyfriend currently puttering through the empty streets. She reasoned with their relationship the only way she knew how, by claiming that she didn’t deserve to be happy. For this line of thinking Adrian was really the perfect partner.

  And if she hadn’t hated him before, tonight was going to seal the deal in a way that even she couldn’t have predicted as a few minutes later the car came to a sudden, unexpected halt. This halt wasn’t out the front of the restaurant that he had promised to take her too. No, instead it was in the parking lot to the sports arena where the fight was taking place.

  ‘Surprise!’ Adrian chorused, as if this wasn’t the most detestable thing he could do. Even though it would be revealed in a matter of seconds that this was only the second most detestable thing he had done tonight.

  ‘What the hell are we doing here?’ Vanessa spat, unable to believe it.

  ‘The fight. It’s tonight. What? You didn’t think I was going to miss it did you? I have hundreds of dollars riding on this thing.’

  ‘I know where we are. I asked what the hell we’re doing here. Why would you think that I would even want to come to this…this…this detestable blood sport?’

  ‘Ease up on the hyperbole babe.’ He said, not surprised at all. ‘I didn’t think you wanted to come at all. But I needed you here. I only got tickets because of you.’

  ‘What do you mean...?’

  ‘I borrowed your phone earlier. Called some dude named Charles. He was able to hook me up -- us up.’ Adrian said excitedly, not seeing just how putrid this act was.

  ‘You called…you took my phone! How could you!?’ Vanessa screamed, not caring that she was making a scene. She felt that this was a moment that deserved it if there ever was one.

  ‘OK, OK, keep it on will you? I just borrowed your phone. I knew it would have someone I could call. You did used to work for the guy after all. And lo and behold I was right. Everyone wins.’

  Vanessa didn’t say anything. What could she say? Instead she fixed Adrian with such a glare that she was sure it would be enough to convey her point. It was one so fiery it would have melted ice, it would have effortlessly burnt through steel beams, and it would have even started bush fires capable of devastating entire continents. But of course it had little to no effect on Adrian.

  ‘Come on,’ he said. ‘We’re late already.’

  *

  Jackson tried his best to block out the constant words of warning and caution as he sat in his dressing room, waiting for the fight to begin. The majority of them were coming from Anthony of course, who most unusually insisted that he be allowed to come.

  ‘Dad, please. Don’t fight. You can still cancel this thing.’ Anthony begged, close to tears.

  And it wasn’t just Anthony who was warning against him, but Pete and even Charles. Both his trainer and manager, two of his staunchest supporters, had both come to him at different points in the night in an attempt to stop him from fighting. It wasn’t about winning or losing, they had both echoed in a similar fashion, it was a matter of health and safety. This was a literal suicide mission that both could only see one end too.

  Pete thought so strongly of this point that he refused to attend the fight at all, not wanting front row seats to his student and friend kill himself for no reason at all.

  Of course they didn’t know the real reason why Jackson was so eager to face his doom. No one did. Charles of course suspected, and Anthony was pretty sure, but none of them truly knew just how hurt Jackson had been when Vanessa had quit. He hadn’t been this hurt since his wife had died and just like that night it once again proved what he had always said; why take things safe when it’s the unexpected in life that’s going to get you killed.

  For the first time in his life Jackson was going to lose…and he didn’t care one little bit.

  --

  Most fighters choose a specific song to enter the ring too. This has a few purposes. Not only was it meant to pump the fighter up, getting them in the mood, but it was supposed to set the tone of the fight to come, by letting the opponent know what he was going to face.

  Jackson could hear The Bull’s song from his change room. It was Sabotage by The Beastie Boys. An obvious choice, Jackson thought. No subtlety; just like The Bull himself.

  When it came Jackson’s turn to enter the ring, no music played. Stone cold silence greeted him as he stepped from the dressing room. He had no posse to walk with him, no friend or compatriots to guide him, as was customary. This was by choice. Just him and him alone.

  He could hear the mutterings and musing of the crowd as he walked through the backstage toward the arena; their confusion at the lack of music was pretty clear, even from behind closed doors. But when the doors swung open and he stepped into the area, the deafening roar of the crowd erupted, drowning out the silence like a tidal wave washing over a calm shore.

  ‘Last Call! Last Call!’ They chanted as he made his way toward the ring.

  ‘Last Call! Last Call!’ They cheered in ecstatic bloodlust as he slowly sauntered toward his doom.

  Jackson could see his opponent in the ring, waiting for him. He was a hulking mass of knotted muscle. Standing a good foot taller than Jackson, shoulders as wide as a pickup truck and a jaw that looked like it was chiseled from granite; The Bull was one mean looking dude.

  ‘Last Call! Last Call!’ The voices continued to chant. Over and over again.

  ‘Last Call! Last Call!’

  ‘Jackson...!’ A voice rang out, breaking up the repetition. ‘Jackson, please!’

  Usually this solitary voice wouldn’t have been heard. The arena was far too grand in size and the audience far too many. But the lack of music and the melodic repetition of his name allowed for it to break out in between chants.

  ‘Jackson, please don’t do this!’ It called out again.

  Almost at the ring now, Jackson turned and looked back for the source of the voice. Of course he knew who it was before he saw it; Vanessa. Seated at the very front of the ring, the space beside her empty, she tried
to call out again. This time though she was drowned out by the incessant chanting of the crowd. Some were calling his name, others were screaming for The Bull.

  Deciding it was best to ignore her, Jackson turned his back on the crowd and stepped into the ring, ready to meet his maker.

  Walking to the center, he was greeted by the Referee and The Bull, even bigger in real life; standing over him like a great oak, with no sign of being able to be chopped down.

  ‘Gentlemen. I want a clean, fair fight. Understand?’ The Referee asked, as was formality.

  The two fighters nodded as they held their gloves up, touching them together in a fist-bump.