SAVIOR: A Stepbrother Romance

by Ora Wilde

  My father’s words... words which I rejected... words which I dismissed as those of a has been’s... a never was... an absentee parent who imposed his will on me the few times he was present...

  They’ve been building you up to look like a legitimate threat... but you’re not.

  Shit! Why was I remembering his words at that moment? Just when the fight was about to begin!

  You’re all hype. You’re the product of that company’s marketing division. You didn’t build yourself. They built you. They built you to look like a star... so that their real star would look even stronger when they decide to feed you to him.

  No, no, no... that ain’t true! They’re the opinion of a madman... a delusional old fart who’s so self-centered that he doesn’t want his son to exceed him.

  You are, and you have always been, an exciting fighter. But excitement doesn’t mean excellence. You are, by no means, an excellent fighter.

  “What are you doing you moron?! Pace around the fucking ring! Loosen up!”

  Coach Mikey’s instructions snapped me out of my rumination, allowing me to rediscover my rage and redirect it towards my opponent...

  My opponent who has ascended the ring...

  My ring!

  He stared at me with a smirk.

  I gave him a middle finger which protruded from the half-opened MMA gloves I was wearing. The oooohhhhss from the crowd was expected. What I didn’t anticipate was Jones’ hysterical laughter. I thought that he’d get mad at me, something which would throw him out of his game, something which I could’ve capitalized on.

  Instead, he made me feel worthless...

  Inferior...

  Overhyped...

  Damn fucking shit!

  The ring announcer introduced me first. I was the challenger, after all. The order didn’t matter. I just wanted the bell to ring and the fight to begin.

  As soon as he mentioned my name, a chorus of boos - louder than when I walked towards the octagon - resonated in the arena. It didn’t upset me. I felt nothing... nothing but anger towards Jones who has, and continued to, disrespect me.

  But when Jones’ name was announced, the people cheered and that made me smile a little... a smile of disbelief. How could they cheer for that motherfucker?

  The referee called us to meet in the middle. He explained the rules as briefly as he could - defend ourselves at all times, follow his orders, no hitting below the belt, touch gloves if we wanted to.

  Still with a smirk, he extended his gloves to tap mine.

  I shoved his filthy fists away.

  We went back to our corners and awaited for the bell.

  It didn’t take long before it rang.

  That was it... the moment I’ve always dreamt of... the moment I have waited for my entire life. I just had to beat him... a man I hated so much. And then...

  And then...

  I’d be the champion!

  It has always been my dream... the glory I have always strived for...

  But somehow...

  Somehow...

  There was a kind of emptiness inside me that tugged at my heart... and I knew... I knew... that things wouldn’t go my way that night.

  Chapter Forty

  MEG

  Eight fifteen in the evening...

  It should’ve began...

  Oh my God... how did it go? I had to know. I had to know fast. I was so worried about him that every second of uncertainty has become very unbearable.

  I ran - literally - from Spring Mountain Road to Las Vegas Boulevard. I ran for like fifteen minutes, though it seemed longer than that no thanks to my heavy boots. I stopped in front of the driveway of the Mirage to catch my breath. On the horizon, I saw the MGM Grand.

  Conner was there.

  Still fighting, or recuperating from the bout... I wouldn’t know... and it was killing me.

  I ran a little more until I reached the Forum Shops. There were a lot of people, though not as many as last night. I guessed the tourists have gone to watch the fight, either live or on cable or in one of the many theaters in Sin City that had a closed circuit telecast of the bout.

  I couldn’t go to the MGM Grand. I wouldn’t be able to enter. I didn’t have a ticket. My best bet was to find a movie house that broadcasted the fight.

  I tried to think of the nearest theater when I saw a middle-aged man, sitting on one of the benches at the Forum’s center square. He was holding an iPad, watching something that clearly excited him.

  The fight!

  He was watching the fight!

  I dashed towards the man and he gave me a cautious but friendly look.

  “Can I help you?” he asked.

  “What are you watching?” I didn’t waste any time on pleasantries.

  “Jones vs. McXavier,” he answered. “Got me’self an XFC Season Pass subscription. Really cool but the WiFi in this place can be a little scre...”

  I didn’t even allow him to finish.

  “Who won? Who won?” I asked agitatedly.

  “Calm down, sunshine,” he softly replied. “The fight hasn’t started yet.”

  I heaved a sigh of relief.

  “How much did you place?” he questioned with a smile.

  “Pardon?”

  “Your bet. For the fight. How much?”

  “Oh... I... I don’t gamble...”

  “I’m sorry. I thought that... well... with the enthusiasm you showed, you were heavily invested in this fight.”

  “H-Heavily invested? Well... uhm...”

  If he only knew.

  “Come sit with me,” he invited. “It’ll save you fifty bucks on cable fees.”

  I didn’t hesitate. I sat right beside him and looked at his tablet.

  The ring announcer was already barking the introductions. The moment he mentioned Conner’s name, a surge of thrill suddenly pierced through my soul. I saw him. He was there. Moving around, loosening himself up, his handsome face a picture of focus and determination.

  The man noticed my smile.

  “Rooting for McXavier, eh?” he asked.

  I nodded in affirmation.

  “He’s alright. People think of him as a villain, though.”

  “How about you, Sir? What do you think of him?” I was curious to know.

  “I think he’s overrated,” he answered candidly.

  “What?!” A natural reaction considering how close Conner was to me.

  “Alas, the troubles of modern sport. Any athlete can be marketed as a god. McXavier is such a product.”

  “But he’s seventeen and one.”

  “Against opponents of dubious quality.”

  I couldn’t argue with him. I didn’t know much about mixed martial arts nor the personalities that were involved in the sport.

  “Don’t get me wrong, though,” the man added. “McXavier... he’s good. It’s just that he hasn’t proven anything. Jones is his first real test... and oh boy, what a test it is!”

  Right on cue, the ring announcer introduced Johnny Jones. The iPad’s volume was so loud that it attracted the attention of some passersby who stopped to check out what was happening.

  Oh it’s starting, someone said.

  Jones looks buff, another commented.

  McXavier’s gonna get what he deserves, yet another remarked.

  I didn’t even bother to look at them. My eyes were focused on the small screen being held by the stranger who was kind enough to invite me to share the bench with him.

  Soon thereafter, the fighters went to their respective corners and the bell rang.

  The middle-aged man fidgeted on his seat in anticipation. The crowd behind us got bigger. Everyone was murmuring... about the fight... about its repercussions... about the champion...

  About my brother...

  They exchanged jabs and clearly, Jones had the reach advantage. Jones’ prods were connecting, and Conner’s punches didn’t even graze any part of the champion’s body.

  It’s over, someone yelled from behind us
. McXavier can’t even touch him.

  They exchanged more punches, more brutal than the jabs they traded earlier. Jones connected with a vicious left hook and then flashed a cocky smile. Conner got mad. He unleashed a barrage of punches but Jones just backtracked and Conner hit nothing but air.

  “He won’t win with striking,” the man with the iPad said. “He should take the fight to the ground.”

  That worried me. During the times I watched Conner train, I never saw him polishing up his wrestling moves.

  The man confirmed my concern.

  “The problem with McXavier is that he doesn’t have a sound ground game. He’s not even trained in Jiu Jitsu. And his wrestling is merely limited to ground and pound.”

  What followed proved that he was right.

  Frustrated with his misses, Conner tried to feint a punch, only to lunge towards Jones’ midsection to attempt a takedown.

  Jones just sidestepped and Conner missed him completely. The crowd in the arena laughed, and the people behind us chuckled.

  “Jones is making McXavier look like an amateur,” one of the commentators said.

  I felt so sad for him.

  And being so helpless made matters worse.

  Come on, come one, I silently egged, wanting desperately for him to pick up the pace and bring the fight to Jones.

  And that was when it happened.

  As Jones was taunting him by extending his head and showing his tongue, challenging his opponent to hit him, Conner unleashed a swift and powerful left that connected on Jones’ jaw.

  Jones was staggered. The crowd in the arena screamed in shock. Ooohhhs and aahhhs were heard from the people behind us.

  I almost jumped out of the bench. That was it! The turning point of the fight! Conner would most certainly capitalize! Jones was hurt. He could barely maintain his balance.

  It was a mighty punch.

  But nothing happened afterwards.

  “What’s he doing?” someone at the back asked. “Why isn’t he following up?”

  The next shot revealed the reason.

  Conner was flinching. He was hurt. He was hurt so bad that he retreated to the side of the ring and hung on to the cage for support. No one knew why he was in pain. It was easy for them to assume, though, that it was because of the force of the punch.

  But I knew why.

  It was his injured shoulder. He pulled it. Again.

  Oh God... no...

  His coach was screaming at him at the other side of the cage. Conner didn’t seem to hear him, even if he was just a foot or so away. He was heavily favoring his shoulder, pacing around, trying to walk off the pain.

  “I can’t understand this,” the commentator said. “He walked away just when the champion was staggered.”

  The camera shifted to Jones who was shaking his head. He regained his senses. His eyes darted towards Conner. Jones saw him in torment. He flashed a wide, arrogant smile and walked towards him with arms angled on his sides... much like a predator stalking his prey.

  “Jones is up! Jones is up!” the commentator screamed. “He’s going for the kill!”

  And he did.

  Like a whirling dervish, Jones was all over Conner, throwing a combination of punches left and right, sneaking in several high knees in between. Conner covered up his face with his hands, but the way his body was contorted... favoring his side... it revealed how much pain his shoulder was giving him.

  “McXavier is in trouble!” the commentator stated. “Jones wants to finish this fight right now! What a dramatic turn of events!”

  My hands clasped together. I wished so hard that he would be okay. He was getting beat up really bad. I never, ever wanted to see him like that.

  Blood started to drip from his eyebrow, covering his face in a mask of crimson red. His lips were busted, and a huge gash formed on his cheek.

  But Jones didn’t stop hammering him with furious blows.

  Then, the bell rang.

  Thankfully.

  Fortunately.

  Mercifully.

  “Two more rounds,” I mumbled as I tried to comfort myself with the fact that, if the fight would go the distance, he would only have to endure two more rounds of punishment.

  The man I was sitting with smiled and looked at me.

  “Five, actually,” he corrected.

  “Five?”

  “It’s a championship fight. Championship fights last five rounds, not three.”

  Oh please, Conner, just be safe... please... just be safe...

  Chapter Forty-One

  CONNER

  “Listen, kid. You know how I fucking hate sugarcoating things, so you’re not gonna hear any lies from me, alright? Those first two rounds? You lost them. Plain and simple... you fucking sucked. What were you punching at? Mosquitoes? And those two roundhouse kicks that were way off target? He made you look like a fucking ballerina on heels! Shape up, McXavier! Step up your game or you’re gonna lose this one!”

  It was Coach Mikey’s way of motivating me. by pointing out my mistakes so that I could correct them. He knew, as he always did, that I never wanted to look like a fool. So he always formulated his ‘motivational’ speeches in such a way that I’d look stupid if I didn’t follow his instructions.

  But at that moment, in between the second and the third round and as I sat at my corner with Pearson extending a bucket where I spat some blood, Coach Mikey’s words hardly motivated me.

  I was motivated enough as it was.

  I hated Jones. And I hated him more right after the second round with the way he taunted me for all the arena - and for all the world - to see. No one does that to me. No one! And I’d fucking make sure he would remember that.

  And I was getting used to the pain in my shoulder. When Jones kept pounding on it, it actually became numb. I still couldn’t move it as much as I wanted, but at least, the ache wasn’t bothering me that much anymore.

  I couldn’t wait for the third round to start.

  “Luckily for you, McXavier, this is a title fight and we’ve got five rounds,” Coach continued to say. “You have three more rounds to salvage this damn fight. Either you win all of them, or you knock the fucking daylights out of that bitch.”

  Jersey applied hydrogel on my eyebrow and the gash that was inflicted on my left cheek. The bleeding should stop. Otherwise, blood would continue to spill and my vision might be impaired.

  “Fuck it!” I shouted. “I’ve been sitting here for ages! When will they ring the fucking bell?”

  “Conner... it’s been less than a minute since the round ended,” Jersey replied as he looked at his watch. “We’ve got a minute more. Just rest and let me finish patching you up...”

  “I don’t give a fucking shit about the time remaining!” I screamed as I got up and paced around our corner. I punched the side of the cage so hard that it drew a riotous reaction from the crowd.

  I went towards the center of the ring and looked at Jones and his crew.

  “Come on!” I screamed, almost in a deranged manner. “Come on!”

  The crowd fell silent. They didn’t expect that.

  Jones’ corner looked at me with shock. But Jones himself? He still flashed that fucking smirk that I would soon rip out of his face.

  The referee tried to pacify me, but I pushed him away. I might’ve applied too much force that he was forced to give me a warning. My team went to where I was and pulled me back to our corner.

  “What’s the matter with you, McXavier?” Coach angrily asked. “You’re trailing already, and you want a point deduction? That’s fucking idiotic!”

  I just looked at him and smiled.

  The bell rang.

  There was hesitation in Jones’ movements as he left his corner. He was wary. He was probably scared. All of a sudden, I became a variable, one that he couldn’t easily predict.

  We met at the center of the ring. I feigned a punch, he moved his head backwards. I followed up with a right cross, but he was quick enough to ben
d his body and avoid the blow.