My Undead Heart

by Kacey Shea

  “Oh, okay. I get it.” And I do, but it’s starting to feel as if our Halloween tradition is lacking the tradition. If we’re not going as walkers, and Rae and Jared are doing their own thing, it seems less significant for me to bail on Matt’s fights in place of the party. “You’re still having your party, though, right?”

  “God, yes!” Jared laughs. “Hey, Rae, did you call your DJ friend?”

  “Yes, and he’s good to go. Won’t even charge us for it. I always knew that blow job would pay off.” She smiles with satisfaction.

  Jared nods and lifts his cup. “BJs are never wasted.”

  Our server interrupts with plates of food and drink refills. Rae and Jared dig in and the conversation steers toward lighter territory. I join in, but a nagging feeling in my gut won’t allow me to relax until I set things right with Matt. I like him, I do, in a more-than-friends kind of way. And even though I’m not ready to take a stab at relationshipping, I might be ready to dip my toe in the waters. Pulling out my cell, I type out a short message and leave the device on my lap to wait for his reply.

  Mia: Save me a ticket.

  It’s no declaration of love, but it’s a huge step for me. His answer comes a few minutes later.

  Matt: It’s already yours. Thank you.

  That heart of mine must not be totally dead because his message warms me more than these space heaters. I pick up the phone and respond.

  Mia: And find your sexiest Catwoman costume because we have a party afterward.

  Matt: Done. You might need to help me with the fishnets and garters.

  A giggle leaves my lips and I glance up to find Jared and Rae staring. Jared lifts his brow with a smirk. Whatever. I’m sure he’ll give me crap about this later, but I don’t care.

  Mia: Rae wants you to dress up as Thor.

  Matt: What do you want me to be?

  You. I want Matt as he is. I’m not ready to say good night so instead of answering his question I take a dangerous step.

  Mia: Come over tonight?

  Matt: It’ll be really late again. That OK?

  Mia: Just come over. I’ll be home.

  Experience has shown me that sometimes in life, when times are especially difficult, there are unexpected glimmers of peace within the adversity. A light to the darkness. Solace amongst madness. That’s exactly what Mia has become for me. She’s the home I look forward to every night after work.

  Okay, sure, I’m officially homeless at the moment, but she doesn’t know that. It’s not the reason she invites me over to make love and sleep by her side until I have to leave again. I actually don’t know her reason for welcoming me in, but I’m not a fool to question the good thing we have going. I like to think it’s because I give her the same consolation she provides me.

  Besides, if I show her exactly how I feel in these dark, honest moments of night when her limbs wrap around mine, maybe—just maybe after this fight goes right and I’m making a solid wage with the gym—there will be a right time to ask her for more. God, do I want more. I want her body, I want her heart, and most of all, I want her commitment—the one that says I choose you and let’s build a life together.

  But I’m not a complete fool. Mia’s sketchy about that stuff, so I won’t push. Not yet. Besides, we haven’t even finished our bet.

  The week passes quickly with all the extra training I have to put in to prepare my guys for their fights. It’s the first time in almost a month I’m not working either of my extra jobs, but I’m still as busy. On top of that, Ricky started the week ten pounds over, so all of Thursday and most of Friday I’m by his side as he sweats and sweats and sweats to make weight.

  Friday evening the weigh-ins go well and everyone goes home for a night of rest. Xavier’s focused and eerily calm for a man with his burdens. He acts so much older than his peers, but then that’s part of the reason he rises above. The young man he’s paired against tomorrow has him beat in height and experience, but there’s no doubt in my mind Xavier will walk out the victor. Maybe that’s wishful thinking, but I believe it’s fate. No one is as hungry for this win as my guy.

  Mia sends me another text, as she has all week, inviting me to come over. I’m not sure my bike could turn in any direction other than her place. Especially tonight, the eve before such a crucial turning point for my business. My nerves are already begging for a hit of the relief that comes from being in her arms. For the first time this week, I don’t have to warn her I’ll be late. Her reply is still the same.

  Mia: Come over. I’ll be home.

  If only she knew how true that was.

  I rise early Saturday and go through my fight day rituals. It’s kind of superstitious, especially since I’m not the one fighting, but for most of my life it led me to victory so I go with it. I don’t think about the one time my process failed me because that wasn’t entirely my fault.

  My feet hit the pavement outside Mia’s and I cue up my playlist, the one that simultaneously pumps me up and clears my mind. It’ll be hours until the fight, but a good five mile run to the gym, a shower, and then hanging with my boys as they warm up and get into a good mental headspace is all part of the equation to success.

  My run is therapeutic, and by the time I get to the gym I’m ready to take on the world. There’s so much pressure on my fighters. They’re the ones who have to fight, but it’s my responsibility to lead them to victory.

  I open the gym door and disarm the security system, and my phone buzzes in my hand. Just seeing Mia’s name light up the screen with a message is cause to smile. Today’s gonna be a great day.

  Mia: I fell asleep next to this hot guy but he’s gone missing.

  Matt: Maybe put a tracker on him?

  Mia: He keeps coming back.

  She’s not wrong. I can’t seem to stay away. All week I was worried it’d be too much, spending every night in her bed, but for once I’m not worried she’ll run.

  Matt: Just got to the gym. Pre-fight night rituals.

  Mia: If you need any animal sacrifices I can bring Rick.

  I laugh.

  Matt: Poor kitty.

  Mia: Don’t get me started. Meet you tonight?

  Matt: Your ticket will be at the door. Text me when you get there.

  Mia: OK. Don’t forget your costume.

  Oh, I won’t. A surprise I whipped up last minute because of how much love she has for zombies. I only hope it makes her smile. The front door swings open and I lift my gaze to see Ricky and Xavier saunter in.

  “What’s this? Early?” I tease and they both grin.

  “Didn’t want to risk it. I’m too excited,” Xavier says.

  “And I didn’t want to spend the day eating my feelings.” Ricky laughs, closing his eyes to groan. “Xavier wouldn’t let us stop to get donuts on the way.”

  “Tomorrow, man. Tomorrow.” Xavier shakes his head. “Eye on the prize. Right, Coach?”

  “That’s right. Let me catch a shower, then we’ll grab some real food,” I say and they nod. I grab my clothes from the office and think how damn lucky I am to have made it here. To this day. After such an uphill battle, I know whatever happens after this is meant to be. Whichever way the dice fall, I’m at peace with that.

  “Matt!” My brother waves through the steady stream of people. They opened the doors minutes ago and the seats around the cage are beginning to fill up. This older warehouse has been transformed to a makeshift showground for the night. Tables, chairs, even a VIP section with free food and drinks; Kyle Ramos sure knows how to sell out an event. My guys, both those fighting and the others here to support, all arrived over an hour ago. We’ve got a room in the back that provides them the space to focus until it’s time for their event.

  I glance beyond the judges and refs to find a familiar set of faces. UFC scouts. The same guys whose eyes I caught in an event much like this in what feels like a lifetime ago. For the first time tonight my gut churns with anxiety. It all comes down to this and what happens in that octagon.

&nb
sp; “Hey, Danny. Thanks for coming.” I clap my brother on the back before greeting Nikki with a wave. “You too, Nikki.”

  “This is so exciting!” She glances around with wide eyes. “Where are our seats?”

  “Here.” Danny hands over the tickets. “Why don’t you go find them and I’ll grab drinks.”

  “You’re the best, baby,” she mutters and kisses him on the mouth.

  My brother squeezes her ass. “You too, baby. I love you.”

  Nikki kisses him once more before sauntering away.

  “So, how are your boys feeling tonight? There are three on the card, right?” Danny asks.

  I nod, unable to hold back a smirk. “They’re feeling pretty good, baby.”

  “Aw, come on, man! Don’t you give me shit about that, too.” He laughs and shakes his head. “My friends have stopped calling me Danny.”

  I laugh and offer him the obvious solution. “Maybe you should stop saying baby.”

  His smile doesn’t fade and he clasps my shoulder with his hand. “You’ll understand one day, man. If she’s the right girl, you’ll do whatever she likes just to see her smile. I don’t give a fuck what anyone thinks.”

  “You’re a good boyfriend, Danny.” I grin because he’s head over heels for his girl. “I better get back. Keep an eye out for Uncle Jimmy. Mia, too.”

  His brows rise at that. “Ah, so you do know what it’s like to be hooked by a woman.”

  “No way, man. Not me. Mia would stab me if I tried to call her baby.”

  He shakes his head and begins walking toward the concessions. “Whatever. Good luck tonight.”

  “Thanks.”

  It doesn’t take long for the seats to fill. Kyle runs these things like a well-oiled machine, so as soon as the onsite medical staff arrives, a runner comes back to our locker room with a five-minute warning before the first fighters are led out to compete. It’s go time. This is the first time South Side, my baby, has had a fighter on the card for an event this size, and we all gather in the staging area proudly wearing our shirts from the gym. Ricky bounces on the balls of his feet, shakes out his arms to keep his shoulders loose, and dips his chin to the beat of the music playing in his headphones.

  The MC calls Ricky’s name and the music cues, streaming over the loudspeakers. My guys look to me first and I nod before leading the way. Ricky walks at my side, Xavier behind him, and the rest of our gym follows. We don’t dance. We don’t stroll in with a slow swagger, showboat, or smile. This is the intimidation factor, right here, and we look every bit a lean, mean fighting team.

  The announcer babbles on as Ricky’s opponent is introduced, but I keep his gaze focused on me, my hands holding the back of his head. “Just like we practiced, Ricky. You listen to me in there. No one else. Make us proud.”

  He strips off his shirt, hands it to one of our guys, and Xavier opens the cage. Ricky jumps inside, pacing and stretching his limbs while waiting on his opponent to join him in the octagon. Standing near the door, I prepare to coach him through any difficulties. The crowd around us cheers and I know I’ll have to compete with their screams to meet Ricky’s ears. I wonder if Mia is here yet. She didn’t text earlier, but I left my phone in the locker room because my head is one hundred percent in the game now.

  The ref checks their gloves and reviews the rules. Within seconds the bell dings and the first round starts.

  The opponents dance around and feel each other out while aiming to get in a jab or two. Ricky’s strongest game is on his feet, and he throws some wicked kicks to the other guy’s knees. The crowd shouts and calls out while the two fighters attack and retreat, hit and defend. It’s a mild fight until Ricky goes for a kick that the other guy reads. He knocks Ricky to the ground.

  “Don’t give him your back!” I shout as the other guy, obviously well versed in wrestling, not only gets Ricky in a hold, but as Ricky attempts to escape, he traps him again. They both breathe heavily and sweat flies from their mouth guards as each holds the other tight. Ricky’s already losing steam and this round isn’t even over.

  “Come on, everything you got!” I shout, but that’s the instant his opponent snags the upper hand and transitions into a mount. Ricky’s on his back and struggling to get free, but he’s vulnerable, a place you never want to be. Ricky battles, bucking to shift his opponent off center. The guy leans back and doesn’t lose his hold, turning Ricky’s body into his own personal practice bag.

  Ricky’s opponent comes down, raining elbows and several jabs to his side that’ll have him pissing blood for a week. I continue to shout encouragement, glancing up at the clock because he still has another forty-five seconds to endure. That’s a long ass time when taking hits like this.

  Ricky waits for the next punch and when it comes he strains for leverage to shove free. It doesn’t work. The other guy changes tactics and wails down five solid punches to Ricky’s face.

  Blood, grunts, groans. The last fight of my career all comes back like a flash. Betrayal, disappointment, failure. I have to shake my head to clear the images from my mind.

  Boos from the crowd amplify. This isn’t an underground show and while hits to the head aren’t discouraged, this is a fucking bloodbath. “What the hell? Get him out of there!” I shout to the referee. Ricky’s head lolls to the side and they finally call the fight only moments before the buzzer signals the round’s end. Win by knockout. I swing open the door and race inside along with the medics who drop to administer care.

  “Ricky, Ricky, you okay?” I shout above them as they clear the blood gushing freely from his nose. I’m sure that’s broken but I’m more concerned with a possible concussion.

  It takes a moment but Ricky nods and raises his thumb, which I take as a good sign.

  “We need to take him for observation,” one of the medics says. I nod in total agreement. I don’t see how he won’t need a hospital stay after that last round of hits. “Can you walk, kid?”

  Ricky nods again, but I’m not positive he can hold his body weight, let alone remain conscious. Propping one of his arms around my shoulder and the other medic doing the same, we’re able to get him to stand. The crowd claps, a sign of relief and praise, but I won’t breathe easy until Ricky’s cleared by a doctor. We make our way out of the cage and it’s then I lift my gaze to see my entire team still on bended knee.

  “Come on,” I say and they all stand, expressions somber as we make our way back to the locker room. Not the debut performance we were hoping for by any means, but I couldn’t be more proud of my men. They wait for us to pass, and without a word follow behind to show their solidarity. I only hope this loss doesn’t set the tone for the night . . . or the kind of fights we’ll see. A shot to the head is inevitable, but repeated punches like that is shady if you ask me.

  We get Ricky back to the first aid room and after another thirty minutes it’s clear he needs to go to the ER. There’s a gash under his eye they can’t keep closed with tape and he’s struggling to stay alert. Salvador’s fight is coming up soon, but Xavier’s isn’t until the end so there’s no way I can leave. Ricky’s got a girlfriend but she’s nowhere to be found, and from Xavier’s expression I’m not sure I’d trust her anyway. I enlist the help of one of the older guys, James, to take Ricky to the hospital with instructions to keep me informed before I get back inside to my team.

  “Hey, Kyle!” I shout when I come back inside. He walks ahead of me, also on his way back toward the octagon, one of only a couple people in this outer room. A few other people mill around–some late arrivals grabbing tickets, smokers on their way out or back inside, and a few event employees. “What the fuck was that?”

  He turns and winces when he sees me coming. “Tough opener. Let’s hope the rest of your team does better.” I realize he’s not emotionally invested in my fighters the way I am, but that’s no way to speak to me after what just happened.

  “You said rookie. You wanted someone green. That match-up wasn’t close to fair.”

  Kyle rai
ses his hands, tilts his head, and his lips pull into a tight smile. “Hey, none of that. Best not make accusations to the man who signs your check.”

  Fucking asshole. It takes everything I am to not strike out with words or my fists. This guy could use a thrashing, verbal or otherwise, but he’s right. It’s not my place. This is business. “You’re right, Kyle. Not your fault. I apologize.”

  “He gonna be okay?” He has the decency to appear concerned.

  “On his way to the hospital now. My guess is a concussion.”

  “Hazard of the sport, but I don’t have to tell you that.” Back to asshole again.

  “Yep,” I say through a tight grin. “I better get back. Salvador’s up soon.”

  “Me, too. I’ll see you after the final fight.” He turns with an arrogant grin and struts inside.

  Closing my eyes, I take a few deep breaths to calm my frustration. This event is not going the way I planned, but really, when does anything? I need to get my head in the game and focus. For myself, sure, but even more for my team. I can’t walk back into that room screaming profanities and expect Salvador and Xavier to perform well. They need me to be stronger than my own demons. The past is right there, fluttering at my subconscious.

  “I need you to take the loss.” He’s waiting outside my room. By the looks of him, he’s been here a while. Since earning my UFC title, Pop always comes to the fights. Maybe he’s trying to make up for years lost, a lifetime of failure, or maybe he’s just a drunken gambling fool. Whatever the intent, he’s never asked me to throw a fight.

  I walk toward him and shake my head. “What? No. No fucking way.”

  “Son, I need this.” And it’s in the way he pleads that I just know . . .

  “You spent it all, didn’t you? You fucking wasted it all.”

  His gaze falls to the floor, a momentary lapse in his usual front. As if he’s actually ashamed by his actions. As if he actually gave a fuck for my dying mother when he took out a life insurance policy the moment we found out she wasn’t gonna pull through.