by B. B. Hamel
I nodded again, drinking water.
“Fuck him up, Cole. Fucking murder him.” He backed off as the next round was about to start.
I stood, feeling the rage, embracing the crowd. I couldn’t look at Alexa, because I knew her concern would change my mind. I wanted to get back in there and punish Trent with my fists until he knew who the real fighter was.
So that was exactly what I did. For another round, I stood my ground and fought him, trading blows like boxers. It was the slowest and most painful round of my life. Our injuries were piling up, but neither one of us was willing to give an inch. I could sense Trent’s frustration, because he probably thought he should be able to win the match on his feet.
But he was incredibly wrong. He had no clue how evenly matched we were standing, how much stronger I’d gotten over the last year. Trent was a good fighter, but he was nothing compared to what I had become.
I landed some strong kicks to his body. I could tell he was hurting by the way he moved, could tell that he was frustrated and wanted to lash out. He was going to get sloppy. I just had to make sure that I was ready to capitalize when he finally stumbled again.
The second round ended like the first one had, both of us bloodied and bruised. We were scheduled for eight, but at the pace we were fighting at, we’d never make it. One of us was going to collapse from exhaustion.
The next round happened and the next. Both times Ronnie screamed at me to go for the takedown, to wrestle him on the ground, to try to get the submission hold. But both times I ignored him, deciding to stay on my feet instead and slug it out with Trent, toe to toe. I never backed down, never gave ground, and although I was bleeding and hurt in a thousand different places, I could tell that I was winning. Not on the scorecard, maybe, but Trent was getting sloppy, frustrated.
I had something to prove. I needed to show the world what kind of fighter I was. There weren’t many men that could stand up to Trent the way I was, fighting him in his preferred style. There were even fewer that could step in and take him down at any moment.
The fifth round began. I could feel one of my teeth was loose, and Trent’s left eye was almost swollen shut. We looked insane, and I was almost surprised that the ref even let the round begin. But we were out there, face to face, going at it again.
Trent was getting sloppy and loose. I could see the anger etched on his face, pure and unbridled rage. I felt calm, though anger simmered below the surface, propelling me forward. Still, he was throwing wild haymakers, trying desperately to knock me out.
I got stupid. I didn’t know what I was thinking. I was probably more dehydrated and exhausted and in more pain than I had realized. But as we were fighting, one of those desperate haymakers landed directly on my jaw.
I heard the crack of my teeth smashing together and the collective scream of the crowd.
I staggered back, shocked. I took a sharp breath, but my whole head was foggy and swimming. I took another step back as Trent came at me. I barely had time to get my hands up to defend myself as he began to rain blows on me.
I was falling. I knew I was falling. My eyes were wide with terror as I lost my balance, spilling backward.
Alexa. I had failed her. I’d never fight again. But worst of all, I was letting her down.
And then something caught me, held me up. I thought it might be my guardian angel, pushing my body back into fighting position. It took me half a second to realize that I was leaning against the wire fence that circled the ring.
Trent’s fists rained down on me, and I could vaguely hear Ronnie screaming. I knew the ref would stop the fight any second if I didn’t get myself together.
Leaning back and using the fence to give me some momentum, I launched myself at Trent in an almost suicidal move. I ate another punch to the jaw that sent my head reeling and made my thoughts fuzzy, but my body toppled into Trent’s.
We crashed down onto the mat together.
The crowd had become a low, sluggish noise happening somewhere far away. I could feel Trent’s slick skin and hear the grunts coming from his face as he struggled to get away from me.
I forgot who I was and what I was doing. The whole place seemed spooky, eerie, like a nightmare. Something seemed to be crawling from the ceiling, something made from lights. People were saying my name, or something like my name, chanting it over and over and over, distorted and vaguely real, something that meant me but wasn’t really what I was called. My body was lightness and my skull was darkness, and they were at war.
And then I snapped back into reality.
Before Trent could struggle away, I grabbed his shoulder. Everything came back to me in that moment, and although my head was still light and I was still barely holding on, I knew I had him. He was on his back, helpless, and I grabbed his body and yanked him toward me.
He fought back, but he didn’t have good technique. Frankly, he was sloppy, still trying to get in punches as we grappled on the ground. His blows were weak and had no force because he had no leverage. Meanwhile, I was winning the battle for positioning, and ultimately that was going to win me the war.
After a moment of struggling, and taking another weak shot to the nose that didn’t do much more than sting, I got him onto his back. I sat down on his chest as our hands fought for dominance.
All through the fight, I had shown him again and again that I wanted to pound him. I wanted to punch him, make him bleed, win by knocking him out. I wanted to go for the big, showy blow to the face.
That was exactly what he must have been thinking. His hands and body were guarding his face from my fists, so busy that he left himself open for one of the simplest submission moves in all of fighting.
I slapped his one shoulder down and slipped my hand between his arms, grabbing his triceps. I made a fist and he instantly went to guard, which was what I wanted. I pushed his face to the side and swung my leg around his head, keeping my hips low.
And then I rotated my hips, rolling to the side and tearing his arm out along with me. I hooked my legs over his face, shoving him down to the mat, and I twisted his wrist and shifted my hips, putting a tremendous amount of pressure on his joint. His arm was spread out wide across the length of my body, and I had complete control of him, the arm bar locked and finished.
The room was silent. The ref was down in Trent’s face, but Trent refused to tap out. He was struggling, shifting his weight, moving his hips, screaming in pain.
I wasn’t going to let him up. I could feel the bones of his joints wrenching, and I knew they were about to break.
“Tap!” the ref screamed.
“Fuck,” Trent responded, in agony.
I was sick. I was sick of the fight, sick of Trent, sick of the stress. I wanted it all to be over, to be fucking over. I wanted it to end.
I shifted my hips farther and violently wrenched his wrist. It shattered with a satisfying crack.
He tapped the mat, and the ref pulled us apart.
It was all a blur. One second I was breaking Trent’s wrist and elbow, and the next I was standing in the back locker room, drinking a bottle of water. The cheers of the crowd, the interviews and congratulations, it all felt like it had happened to someone else.
The locker room was packed. There were media people, most of whom Ronnie was talking to, but there were also other fighters and promoters and industry people milling about. It felt more like a party than a locker room.
After a minute, Ronnie turned back toward me. “Man, I can’t believe you broke his elbow,” he said.
“Wrist too,” I grunted.
He grinned. “Good point. Can’t forget that.”
“I think my tooth is loose.” I wiggled one of my molars.
He laughed loudly. “You fucking kidding? Have you looked in a mirror yet?”
“Not yet.”
He reached into a locker and produced a hand mirror. I grabbed it from him and stared at my face. I was bloody and bruised and looked like a piece of meat someone had pounded on for an
hour. I barely looked like myself. Hell, I barely looked human.
“Fuck,” I said. “I used to be so pretty.”
“You’ll get there again.”
I tossed the mirror away and sat down on a bench. “Tough match,” I said.
“You’re not kidding. You okay?”
“I don’t need a doctor, if that’s what you mean.”
“Nah, man. You just look . . . depressed.”
I shrugged. “I guess I wanted to hurt him more.”
Ronnie sat down next to me, shaking his head in disbelief. “Man, you fucking went toe to toe with one of the best standing strikers in the game. Then you break his fucking arm and you complain that you didn’t hurt him enough?”
How could I explain it to him? I always felt like this after a fight. The incredible rush of the violence was suddenly gone and I missed it, would do anything to get it back. Fighters were constantly chasing a high that they could never truly achieve, because in the ring they were too busy fighting for their life to appreciate it, and they could never get that same experience outside the ring.
And then suddenly there was someone standing in front of me.
“Uh, Cole?” Ronnie said. “You got a visitor.”
I looked up.
Everything suddenly seemed okay.
Alexa smiled back at me. I got to my feet. “Hey,” I said.
She threw her arms around me, hugging me tightly. It hurt in a thousand different places, and I grunted my pain, but I grabbed her and held her tighter.
There was the thrill I had been missing.
All of the emotions I had repressed for so long came flooding back. All of the anger and resentment and fear, but also the love, the fucking love. I felt her body crushed against my own bruised and broken torso and knew that I’d never stop fighting, because she was going to be with me.
She pulled back slightly. “You look like shit,” she said.
“Thanks.” I moved back farther, looking at her seriously. “Listen, Alex. Everything is going to be okay. I’m ready to give you the divorce now.”
She bit her lip, frowning. “Are you serious?”
“I’m serious. No more fucking around. Get me the papers and I’ll sign them.”
She stared at me for a second and then threw herself at me again, crushing her mouth against mine. It hurt like a fucking bitch, but it also felt incredible.
I wrapped my arms around her and kissed her back.
The room went fucking dead silent. I didn’t care, though, as I kissed her roughly and passionately, knowing that it was all finally done and we were finally making it real.
“Uh, guys?” Ronnie said.
We broke apart, but the only thing I could see was her. She smiled slightly, looking right into my eyes.
“So that’s a yes?” I asked. “On the divorce. Just so I’m clear.”
She hit me and laughed. “Whatever you want, asshole.”
“You know there are like ten cameras in this room and everyone is staring at us, right?”
She slowly turned red. “I know.”
“And we just did some crazy shit to hide this?”
“I know.”
I grinned. “Why now?”
“Because I don’t want to hide. Not you, not anymore.”
I looked up at the room. “Everyone get the fuck out,” I said loudly.
There was a slight murmur. “Man, I’m not sure—” Ronnie started to say.
“People,” I yelled. “Fuck off. Now.”
Everyone slowly filtered out of the room. Alexa was grinning like mad, and Ronnie was shaking his head.
“You should be nicer. These people can help your career,” he muttered as he followed the others out.
When the room was clear, I looked back at Alex. “Just me and you now.”
“Yeah. It is just me and you.”
I pulled her against me. Pain lanced up my body, but I didn’t care. She looked incredible in her dress, like she was born to wear it.
“What now?” I asked.
“Now,” she said, grinning devilishly, “I’m going to be real gentle.”
She kissed my lips, soft as could be.
19
Alexa
Fourteen months later
The wind was crazy as I made my way back toward the apartment. I was a little breathless and my feet were killing me, but I felt incredible.
For the first day on the job, I did pretty damn well.
The wind gusted again, and I had to steady myself against a light pole. People brushed by, some of them staring, and I shook my head.
They didn’t call it the Windy City for nothing.
As I made my way down the block, my head was still reeling from my first day of work. Sure, I was only an editorial intern, but I was getting paid a decent amount, and I got to work on an actual news program. WCNJ was only the local NBC affiliate in the Chicago area, but it was still an amazing job.
And I never would have done it on my own. I’d had help, lots of help, and there was someone waiting at home that deserved a little thanking. I could feel myself getting wet already imagining exactly how I’d pay him back for being so damn patient with me.
Finally, I gave up the treacherous hike and hailed a cab. Five minutes later, I was climbing out into a much less crowded neighborhood. I paid and tipped the cabbie and watched as he drove off, smiling to myself.
Our place was on the second floor of a converted row home, basically a second floor walkup. It wasn’t glamorous or huge, but it was absolutely perfect for the two of us.
I unlocked the door and hiked up the stairs. I pushed into the apartment, looking around with a big smile on my face.
“Hey Co—” I said, stopping short.
“Hi, sweetie.”
“Dad!” I ran over to him and threw my arms around him, hugging him tightly. “What are you doing here?”
He laughed. “What, can’t I visit my daughter?”
“Of course you can. But I thought you were still back home?”
He pulled back and shrugged. “Well, retirement has suited me well, I guess. I can travel whenever I want and nobody can say a word.”
I smiled, shaking my head.
So much had happened since the fight over a year ago. So much had changed, and yet it felt like nothing really had. Dad stepped back and looked around the apartment.
“Really nice place,” he said.
“Not as nice as home, but it’s good.”
He smiled. “Cole said he’d be back soon. He has a surprise for you?”
“I don’t know anything about it.”
He laughed and took a seat at the tiny kitchen table. “Well, tell me all about it.”
I sat down across from him and started to speak.
It was hard to believe that my dad was retired. I still imagined him as the serious businessman running meetings and making important decisions. Now, though, he was all about playing golf and spending as much time with Cindy as he could.
That was even harder to believe, actually. Even after the scandal had broke about Cole and me, Cindy and Dad had stayed together. They weathered the storm, and although Dad was forced to go into retirement to save the company, Cindy and he seemed better than ever.
I felt horrible about that. I hated that my decisions forced my father to retire when he didn’t really want to. I knew kissing Cole that night was selfish and stupid and impulsive, but I didn’t think about the consequences. There was only Cole and how badly I wanted him.
We got slammed in the media. The relationship between stepsiblings was bad enough, but it was quickly unearthed that the two of us were married. Needless to say, it was a huge deal. Dad was pissed, and Cindy gave us the cold shoulder. But slowly they began to accept our relationship and the ice began to thaw.
It wasn’t easy for anyone. The press had a freakin’ field day with the whole thing. My favorite headline was “Tech Kids Shack Up For Months of Sweet Fornication,” and that wasn’t even the worst one. I
was called some pretty nasty things in the tabloids, but I tried my best to ignore it.
Cole had wanted to go out and fight every single reporter that said a bad word about me. He didn’t, of course, but his frustration was palpable.
It all blew over eventually. The weeks turned into months and people pretty much forgot about us. I went back to school and graduated with decent grades. I kept my nose in the books and pined for my fighter boyfriend pretty much every night. I spent time with Lacey when I could, but she was much more social than I was. Meanwhile, Cole’s fighting career began to take off as he fought and won some pretty high-profile opponents, all because of his win over Trent. For his part, Trent did honor the contract, though he didn’t really need to at that point.
“That sounds amazing, honey,” Dad said as I finished telling him about my first day at the news station.
“I know. I never really saw myself working for a news program, but here I am.”
“It’s really great. Honestly. And Chicago is an amazing city.”
“Cold though,” I complained.
I was used to the ideal California weather. I hadn’t known what real snow was like until we moved to Chicago.
“You’ll get used to it.”
Suddenly, the door rattled and pushed open. I watched as something that looked like a giant plant stumbled in through the door, kicking it shut behind him.
“Cole?” I said, laughing.
“Drowning here,” he grunted.
Dad got up and helped. Cole grinned boyishly as they placed the flowers and cake box down onto the kitchen counter. It looked like he had bought an entire florist.
“You didn’t need to do this,” I said.
“What, not celebrate my wife’s big day?”
He threw his arms around me and gave me a quick kiss. I wanted much more than that, but I figured it was the best I’d get with my dad hovering over us.
It felt weird to still be married. We sometimes talked about signing the divorce papers, but we just never got around to it. We had meant to at first, but life quickly got in the way. It was easy to forget about when we were together all the time, basically like we were married anyway. Even when we were long distance when I was in school, it didn’t matter at all.
