TKO (A Bad Boy MMA Romance)

by Olivia Lancaster

  A few of the women across the casino gave me eyes that told me they’d offer a welcome distraction from my losing streak at the tables, but every time I looked their way, all I could think of was Gemma, and I got agitated and bet another handful of money to send down the drain. Other women made me feel nothing; as always, my body knew what it wanted.

  I was making my way to the bar when I heard another slurred voice call my name out.

  “Holy shit, Marc Montoya? Is this for real?”

  I spun around, and there were what looked like about four guys eyeing me. And they were coming my way, one of them with the kind of look in his eye suggesting he was going to do something stupid.

  In all honesty, part of my reasoning in coming out that night was because I knew I’d get noticed. The notoriety really boosted my ego, made me feel on top again when I sure as hell felt like I was at rock bottom. Of course, notoriety from a handful of drunks in the wee hour of the morning was less than ideal.

  “Look at this guy, MMA hotshot!” one of the men in the front said in a mocking tone. “The fuck you’re doing here losing your money at craps, man?”

  “None of your business,” I shot back with a grunt before turning and heading for the bar.

  “Hey, I wasn’t done talking to you!” the man shouted back, and before I knew it, I felt his hand grab my arm.

  Without missing a beat, I spun and struck him in the head, hard, and he crumpled to the floor without another word. His buddies paused for a moment before realizing what had happened, and the three of them dove for me.

  I had to admit, a casino was one of the few public places where a fistfight really felt like it had a little flare to it. I tossed one of the men to the side without even thinking about it, caught another in the stomach with a jab, and grabbed the third by the scruff of his collar, bringing my head down on his nose and dropping him to the floor. By this point, there were shouts all around us, and I knew it would only be a few moments before bouncers were trying to tackle me too.

  So when the other two men got their bearings and dove for me again, I made sure to put them down fast, a quick hook to the head for one of them before picking up the other and driving him into the ground atop the other. The last of them was conscious, but he wasn’t in any condition to get up.

  I looked around at the people in the crowd, and there was fear in some of their eyes. Even through my inebriated vision, I could see that much. I could also see the bouncers heading my way, and without further ado, I lifted my hands up to be ‘escorted’ out the casino.

  ***

  The next morning was hell. I’d managed to fight off a hangover, but the drawback to that was remembering everything that had happened the night before.

  Is this what it’s coming to, Marc? I thought as I lay in bed, Beating up drunks in casinos like some kind of strongman sideshow? With a sigh, I got up and headed to the shower, desperately needing to wash the sweat and shame of last night off me.

  I couldn’t keep doing this. I didn’t recover everything from my injury to waste away in the gutters of Vegas. I needed help, and I needed to get it the only place I knew would look out for me in a time like this.

  As soon as I was out of the shower, I got dressed and headed for the gym.

  One walk later, I was heading up the steps to the Fighting Chance. Once again, even through everything I was feeling, this place felt like home to me, and that in itself offered some reassurance. I hadn’t seen Gemma there in a few days, most likely because I’d been a night owl since the last physio session, but maybe that was for the better.

  As I climbed the steps, I saw Kenny and Danny at the reception table, chatting like I’d seen them last time. Judging by the look Kenny was giving me, I wasn’t going to get away from this one without a word, but thankfully, that’s why I came here in the first place.

  “Marc,” he said as I opened the door, “good to see you! Where you been, man?”

  “Hey, Ken,” I answered, approaching the desk. “Night hours, mostly.”

  “That’s not like you, brother,” he said, giving me a meaningful look. “And judging by the rings under your eyes, that wasn’t all you were doing last night. Come on, Marc, I’m your manager, and shit, you know me. What’s been going on with you the past few days? I thought the end of physio would have been your goddamn renaissance!”

  I thought long and hard about what to say next, but everything in me just felt like bees swarming around, a lot of disorganized thoughts fighting their way to the surface. “I dunno what to tell you, Kenny,” I leveled, “I guess I’ve just been thinking about priorities. Some things in life hit you hard, and you can’t always rely on other people to come through for you, even when you think you’ve got everything figured out. Maybe I’m just better off living in the moment, burning through all this fame and money while it lasts, you know? I have a body that can bring me all the good things out of life that I need, so I may as well use it and burn it out while I’ve got the chance.”

  Kenny and Danny exchanged looks for a moment before Kenny spoke carefully. “I heard what happened with Gemma, Marc.”

  I looked him in the eye, trying to keep my expression unreadable. “Did you?” I let out a sigh, putting my hands behind my head and stretching. “Fuck, I don’t even know how to describe it, Ken. One minute, it felt like we were on top of the world together, that we were made for each other, that it couldn’t get any better. The next, she’s cold as ice, but my body doesn’t listen to any of it. I can’t get her out of my mind, Ken,” I said earnestly, looking him dead in the eyes. “No other woman has ever made me feel like her, and I want to give her everything I’ve shaped my body to be. Why can’t she see that?”

  He took a deep breath, setting both hands on the table. “Look, I know this is probably one of the hardest times you’ve ever gone through. I can see that much in your tired eyes. But I’m gonna tell you right now as someone who’s been through the wringer more times than I’d like to admit, drowning your feelings in booze and money are just gonna put out that fire in you that you think you’re going to ride out ‘till the end.”

  I start to roll my eyes, but Kenny pounds the table. “Dammit, Marc, when I took you out of that little town in New Mexico, I saw a young man who wanted nothing more than to live up to the best of his potential, to reach heights nobody he grew up with ever thought he could reach. Could you look that young man in the eye today and tell him, ‘the best you’re ever gonna get, kid, is getting trashed in Vegas casinos until you lose all that muscle you built up, that reputation you spend so long carving out?’ Because I sure as hell couldn’t.”

  Settling down, Kenny took a breath before continuing. “Marc, the things in life that last are the relationships you have with people. That’s what makes your reputation tangible, man, not the baubles you get to play with along the way. All that flare and flaunting, that’s what people like Nick Dewsbury live for. It’s one thing to use that for your career--it’s another thing entirely to define yourself by it. The people around you will recognize that, and I’ll tell you one thing for damn sure: when it comes to girls, they’ll recognize that. If you really wanted to live for everything that you could buy, you’d be going back to Selena on your hands and knees.”

  I processed everything he said, but for some time, I said nothing, clenching my hands on the desk, agitated. “So if all that’s true,” I said at last, “what the hell am I supposed to do when my relationships are in the gutter? What else do I turn to when everything else has gone to hell?”

  Danny straightened up, and both of us looked to him, having almost forgotten he was there. Danny Gilchrist was a man in his fifties, his black hair flecked with gray and white, but his green eyes as sharp and bright as ever.

  “Marc,” he started in a calm voice that took our attention instantly, “do you know how this gym got started?” I gave my head a shake, but he already knew the answer. “Back when I was in my twenties, I showed up in this city just like most of the other young boxers my age
. We were tough, fiery, full of so much life that we didn’t know what to do with it all. Most of us were from small towns--young bucks that scouts picked up, not unlike you and Kenny.”

  He walked out from around the desk, heading for the full-pane windows to wave his hand at the city outside. “A city like Vegas? If you don’t know what you’re doing, it’ll eat you alive and shit you out without a second thought, and once you hit rock-bottom, it’ll do it all over again. Boxers and wrestlers like us, with a ton of newfound money and nothing to guide us, we were like walking dollar signs to the sharks who ran this city--who still run this city. A few of us got contracts with big-name brands. Others tried to strike out on their own. Most of us ended up in the casinos, blowing all our cash on booze, drugs, and anything else we could get our hands on.”

  He crossed his arms, and as I looked at his reflection in the window, I’d never seen him look so old.

  “Finally, a few of us got some brains and realized that at the end of the day, those of us who were worth the gloves we beat each other with were all here for just one thing: the love of the sport.” He turned around and stepped towards me, a deadly serious look in his eyes. “We’re fighters, Marc. You, me, Kenny, even Gemma. We’re all here for the thing that drives our passion, the thing that lets us get our true potential. Back in the day, me and the boys decided we were done getting jerked around by those pigs up in their penthouses and ritzy offices. We were done getting used by the system. So we banded together, pooled our money, and founded a place that would keep us together--a place that would give us a fighting chance.”

  He gestured around him at the building. “This place you’re standing in, that’s what it represents.”

  Kenny’s voice snapped my attention away from Danny for a moment. “Marc, you’ve seen for yourself that Gemma Knight is her own woman, and her spirit is just as strong and fierce as yours, in different ways. I don’t know whether the two of you are going to work things out or if you’ll have to part ways, but one thing’s certain--both of you came here for one reason, and that’s because you love this life, this dedication we all have to each other and to ourselves. Know why I gave you so much advice when you said you had an offer from Nick? Because we fighters need to stick together and protect each other, Marc.”

  I ran a hand through my hair, then nodded, looking up resolutely at Kenny. “Alright old man, you’re right. I’ve been going on about my body and all I’ve done for it, but I guess I’ve been ignoring my mind. And that’s where my dedication comes from, and it’s what’s been steering me here this whole time. They can’t act separately--they’ve got to be one fine-tuned machine, together,” I said, and hearing the words come from my own mouth affirmed the truth behind them.

  Kenny smiled and nodded. “Use that passion, Marc. Let it drive you. You might have some trouble with everything swimming around in your mind, but right now, you need to channel that energy into the fight that’s coming up. If you can’t do that, then you’re trying to chase two rabbits and losing them both. Bring it all together, and you’ll knock ‘em dead.”

  “And I’ll tell you one more thing,” Danny said, stepping forward and setting a hand on my shoulder. “I don’t know what’s happened between you and our brightest young physiotherapist, but if there’s one thing I know about fighters, it’s that they don’t leave these kinds of things unsettled,” he said meaningfully, his eyes piercing into mine. “If you aren’t willing to face some of life’s toughest dilemmas, then you stand against everything this gym was built to uphold. So,” he said, crossing his arms and smiling at me.

  “What’s it gonna be?”

  CHAPTER 18 - GEMMA

  The big day had finally arrived, and I wasn’t sure if I was ready to confront it.

  It was the date that Marc had been training for, the fight he’d spent six hard weeks with me preparing for, whipping his body back into tip-top fighting condition. I had tried over and over again to tell myself to let it go, to stop counting down the days. It was never my fight-- it was his and his alone. But somehow, it felt like a big event for me, too.

  And in some ways, it was. If he were to win this fight, it would boost his career through the roof, and as the woman who helped him achieve it, I would receive a hefty helping of credit for it, as well. I had a stake in the outcome of the match, certainly, on a strictly professional level. I needed him to do well so that people would know that I could do my job properly. Six weeks wasn’t even that long a time to heal such a potentially career-ending injury. But with my patience and guidance Marc had worked his way back into the ring.

  I was proud of myself, sure, but I was also proud of him. Even though I wanted so badly to just pretend it was out of my hands, that I’d done my job already and everything else was up to Marc-- it wasn’t that simple. I still wanted to see the fruits of my labor.

  And, more to the point, I still wanted to see Marc.

  It was foolish, maybe even a little reckless, to barge back into his world after I so unceremoniously disappeared from it. I was sure he had forgotten all about me by now, especially if anything Selena Marquez said about him was true. I was just ‘the help’ and I would never, ever be able to compete with the glitz and glamor of his world. And besides, I didn’t even really want to be a part of that world-- I just wanted to be a part of Marc’s life.

  It had been about a week since I last saw him on our final, awkward day. I hated the way things had ended, with so much tension strung up between us, the words we refused to let ourselves say hovering like twittering birds above us. I still had those words ricocheting around in my head, urging me to give them breath and set them free.

  Words like I miss you. And do you feel the way I feel-- did you ever?

  And if so, what do we do now?

  I tried to keep myself preoccupied with workouts and paperwork and hanging out with Alice, who was fortunately so talkative that she often proved an excellent distraction. But as soon as I was alone and unengaged for a single second, those words flew right back to the front of my mind, threatening to drive me truly insane if I ignored them any longer.

  Deep down, I knew that Trina was probably right. I couldn’t let this-- whatever it was-- go without saying what needed to be said first. And it wasn’t like we were total strangers, anyway. During our more painful sessions I tried to take his mind off the discomfort by asking him about his personal life.

  Marc told me all about his beloved grandmother who raised him and doted on him, even though money was terribly tight. He described his rough childhood, trying to overcome the dangers and temptations of street crime. He was from a small town, where there was little for the youth to do besides get into trouble. It was a dead-end kind of town, and he wanted a one-way ticket out of there before he, too, got sucked into a life he couldn’t handle. I admired him for staying strong through all of his hardships and overcoming a totally underprivileged life. He had worked so hard to get where he was now, and I found myself moved by the fact that I was able to help him along in some small way. It was a bit of an exhilaration to be a part of his rise and success, and I hoped that my assistance would be enough to bring him another victory today.

  I had planned on forcing myself to spend the day in the gym, working out, keeping my body totally engaged so that I wouldn’t have a chance to dwell on whatever was happening at the fight. It was a Saturday, and the gym was surprisingly empty when I arrived there just before dawn. I hadn’t been able to sleep much the night before, and I realized grimly that my sleepless nights had definitely become a problem ever since I first met Marc. He was the one keeping me awake at night, and even when I did manage to fall asleep, he occupied every moving image of my dreams. I couldn’t escape him.

  Not even here at the gym, as I first jumped on a treadmill and flipped on a television overhead to watch the news or some mildly interesting nature documentary. But as soon as I switched the set on, I was startled by the image of Marc Montoya’s face on the screen. In fact, I was so taken aback that I nearl
y fell off the treadmill. I was grateful that the gym was virtually empty at that moment. The last thing I needed was some gawky onlooker laughing at me. That would really throw off my game.

  The TV program was showing an ad for the fight later in the day, complete with a raspy-voiced announcer and metal music playing in the background. The aesthetics of MMA fights had never really been my thing, but I couldn’t help but feel a little invigorated by the idea of watching two highly-trained, extremely athletic guys show off their skills in a battle of strength, stamina, and technique. I had a deep admiration for the sport, even before meeting Marc and getting personally involved. My dad had taken me to a few fights when I was a teenager, after I found out that one of my favourite running coaches from the gym I attended used to be an MMA fighter. For a while, I had been interested in pursuing the sport myself, but with my tiny, wiry frame I was definitely more suited to cardio competitions than shows of brute strength and power.

  I had always been strong and athletic, but not in the way Marc was. Sure, I could definitely outrun him, but I would never even approach the kind of bristling, buzzing power he possessed. I daydreamed on the treadmill, my mind wandering forever back to that blissful, mindless time we spent tangled up in each other. My body tingled at the thought of his hands on my skin, moving and bending and lifting me like I was a rag doll, like I weighed nothing at all. There was something so wild and animalistic to the way he made love. He fucked like he fought-- ruthlessly and without restraint. But there was still a technique, an underlying, instinctual care for what he was doing.