SAVIOR: A Stepbrother Romance

by Ora Wilde

  He was quick. But timing can nullify his speed.

  I just had to wait for it...

  That opening.

  I kept throwing punches, but he managed to keep his distance with his jabs.

  Then it struck me.

  There hasn’t been a single takedown in the entire fight.

  My ground game is wanting, I must admit, but if I could just bring him down to the mat, I’d be able to negate his reach advantage. On the ground, we’d both be of equal length.

  His arrogance came back when I kept throwing bricks. He flashed that fucking ugly smirk once again, but at that time, I smiled back. I knew... I knew... it was just a matter of time before he’d make the tiniest mistake which would give me the opening I needed.

  Two taps heralded the midpoint of the round, and that was when it happened.

  A telegraphed move.

  A fake punch, followed by a roundhouse kick to the head. His slowest combo the entire bout.

  I ducked before he could even finish his spin. The look of shock on his face was priceless.

  I punched his stomach and he winced, but I wasn’t through.

  I had to take him down to the ground.

  So I performed a leg sweep.

  But as my right shin struck his left ankle, I head something snap. The sound of bone shattering. The cry of a grown man in utter and unbelievable pain.

  He collapsed on the mat, holding his own foot.

  And I saw it.

  The blow from my sweep fractured his talus. It was ugly. His foot was literally dangling on his leg.

  The crowd saw it too. There were screams of horror coming from everywhere.

  “He’s done! Stop the damn fight!” Coach Mikey yelled.

  The referee approached Jones. He didn’t notice the fighter’s injury. He was in the wrong fucking angle! He asked Jones if he was okay to fight. Jones shoved him, indicating that he wasn’t about to give up just yet.

  The motherfucker tried to get up, but his shattered ankle couldn’t support his weight. He quickly collapsed on his knee.

  The stupid referee still didn’t notice his injury, but he realized that Jones wasn’t in any condition to continue. He was about to wave his hands to signal the timekeeper to ring the bell when Jones pulled his leg. The referee lost his balance and fell on the mat.

  And Jones... that jackass... he tried to stand up once again.

  Tears were falling from his eyes. He was gritting his teeth in extreme pain. But he still tried to get up. Wobbling and weak, he exerted all his effort to keep his balance... to keep standing... to keep fighting.

  The crowd was stunned. There was no applause. No words of encouragement. No cheers for the sudden underdog. They were silent, as if they couldn’t believe what they were experiencing.

  I raised my fists near my chest as I took a fighting stance.

  The motherfucker did the same.

  Bull fucking shit!

  Jones walked towards me, lurching with each agonizing step. He was grimacing in pain, but his fists were up. He was ready to fight.

  It was at that exact moment when I realized that he wasn’t a champion because of the belt he wore around his waist.

  He was a champion because he had the heart of one.

  There are more important things than that championship...

  She said those words, and when I asked what else was more valuable than that which I longed for the most, her answer was as clear and as unequivocal as the sun...

  Respect.

  Jones... trash talking, egotistic, arrogant Jones... he won my respect that night.

  The referee was starting to get up. His eyes widened when he saw Jones’ foot swinging left and right, almost detached from the rest of his leg. He raised his hand and was about to wave it... to signal the end of the fight... to declare me the victor...

  I...

  I...

  I didn’t deserve that victory.

  And so I kneeled on the mat. I placed my right hand on the canvass.

  And I tapped.

  Chapter Forty-Two

  MEG

  Silence.

  Nothing but silence.

  The man holding the iPad was shocked beyond belief. He didn’t utter a single word. The people behind us, numbering to about a dozen or so, were just as stunned. They couldn’t believe what they just witnessed. The crowd in the building, the commentators... they were quiet... as if the sound in the broadcast was turned off.

  And I...

  I didn’t know how to react.

  A part of me was sad because he lost the fight... the one fight that he has worked so hard to get... the one fight that he believed would define his legacy.

  Another part of me was happy and relieved that it was over... that he won’t have to get hurt anymore... that he wouldn’t aggravate his injury.

  But a bigger part of me - a much, much, much bigger part - was proud.

  I was so proud of what he did that I found myself teary-eyed and smiling.

  He did it.

  He controlled his anger.

  He found it within himself to realize that respect was way more important than a championship.

  And in so doing, he showed the world who he really was, who I always knew him to be... a brave man with a kind heart.

  “A-Amazing...” the man beside me struggled to mumble.

  “Yes. He is,” I agreed.

  Our short discussion jolted everyone from their momentary stupor. Soon enough, they were chiming their own comments about what just transpired.

  “I thought he would kill him,” a woman said.

  “Jones is so fucked up,” another mentioned. “His foot is hanging on his leg by a thread!”

  “That was the best thing I’ve ever seen in MMA or any other sport,” yet another opined.

  “They should just give the belt to McXavier,” someone remarked. “He had that fight won.”

  “But he tapped out, willingly,” a man argued. “He decided to lose because he didn’t want to hurt Jones.”

  “That’s not McXavier!” a yuppie-type guy yelled, managing to chuckle. “He’s probably a lookalike or something!”

  “What do you think?” the man holding the iPad asked, as he turned to face me.

  “Me?” I replied in shock. I wasn’t ready to speak, more so to answer his question.

  “You’re the McXavier fan here, it seems,” he said. “So... what do you think? About what just happened?”

  “I... I...” I didn’t know what to say. I was just as stupefied as they were. More stupefied, even.

  “You may be a fan or a friend of his,” he continued, “but you have every reason to be happy for him. He just made the whole world know that, sometimes, there is greater fulfillment in defeat than there is in victory.”

  “He’s my... brother...” I admitted, albeit tentatively. I didn’t know how he would take it.

  He gave me a surprised look.

  “All the more reason why you should be proud of him,” he said as he smiled.

  “I guess,” I muttered.

  “But what are you doing here?” he asked. “Shouldn’t you be there at the Grand with him?”

  He’s right! Conner probably hated me, what with the way I refused his offer of love... but he... he’s so dear to me... and I should be with him at that moment. Whether he felt bad about losing, or happy because of what he has done, or confused because of the novelty of his deed... I should be there with him to show my support.

  I quickly stood up and looked towards the direction of the arena. Its sign which flamboyantly proclaimed its name, MGM Grand, stood brightest in the horizon.

  “I have to go,” I told the man who shared his TV feed with me.

  “Yes, you have to,” he acknowledged with a wider smile.

  I thanked him and started to walk... small steps at first... towards the main avenue that would lead me to the arena. Then I started to saunter a little faster... until I was running. I had to get there. I had to be with him. A
nd time wasn’t on my side.

  I ran past Caesar's Palace on my right and Paris Las Vegas on the my left, bumping into a lot of people who were all smiles and brimming with excitement about the sights and sounds of the desert wonderland, and I wondered... what was I really feeling for him?

  Throughout the two months that he has spent in Susanville, I have come to know him quite well. At first, I thought of him as a conceited jerk with an extreme sense of self-entitlement, an irresponsible man who had problems controlling his anger. Then he sacrificed his own life to save one of my students, and everything changed. I began to see him for the person he really was... good natured, courageous, honest and protective. And when I found out that Lucas hired some goons to beat him up and he tried his best not to tell me so that I wouldn’t get hurt, my feelings escalated and I almost... almost... fell for him.

  Things got even more passionate between us after that.

  And he gave me the best two weeks of my life.

  But I thought I loved Lucas.

  So when Conner professed his feelings for me... I had to turn him down.

  It was the worst case of bad timing. His fight... the fight he just had... was near. He was in the last stages of his training. And I was preparing for a wedding that would coincide with his title bout. The way we parted made it very difficult for both of us... more so for him... to carry on and fulfill what we had to do.

  And now... now, I knew who Lucas really was... and I have realized that whatever I felt for him merely stemmed from a misguided sense of loyalty. All I wanted was to make Lucas happy... and I failed to care for my own happiness in the process.

  And Conner...

  Conner makes me happy. Very, very happy.

  And he said that I make him happy as well.

  The answer was clear. It has always been very clear. I was just too blind to see it before.

  And now...

  Now I hope that everything’s not too late.

  I had to reach him.

  I had to see him.

  It would be alright if he’d push me away. He’s hurt, and it’s all because of me. He has every right to get mad at me.

  But I had to tell him.

  I had to let him know how I really feel about him.

  I paused as I reached Tropicana Avenue. I looked to my left and saw the majestic structure of the MGM Grand. People, in droves, were already leaving the building. The fight was over, but he should still be inside.

  I took a deep breath.

  Conner just finished the fight of his life.

  Now... it was time to start mine.

  Chapter Forty-Three

  CONNER

  Pearson draped a towel on my shoulder and gave me a tap. It stung a little and I flinched. There was no reason to hide it. The fight was over. I have lost. I didn’t have to conceal my injury anymore.

  I sat on the long, wooden bench at the dugout. I could hear the throng of reporters outside the door. They were yelling, pleading for a few minutes with me. They had questions. Lots of them. Coach Mikey deemed it best to just let me stay inside, away from the madding crowd, and contemplate on what just happened.

  As soon as I tapped out, the referee signaled for the bell. I didn’t wait for the post-fight ceremonies. I immediately exited the cage and proceeded towards the lockers. I wanted to avoid the announcement of the winner, the raising of the victor’s hand, the mandatory interview even if I lost the fight.

  They’ll fine you for this y’know, Coach Mikey whispered though he didn’t make any attempt to stop me.

  I just nodded at him and kept walking.

  That walk was... weird, to say the least.

  There were no jeers, no curses, no beer cans thrown my way. Neither were there applauses, cheers nor expressions of delight.

  There was only silence.

  Not the awkward kind of quietness. The eerie one. Like walking through a ghost town where the slightest sound could send a shiver down one’s spine.

  “You know what you’re going to say?” Coach Mikey asked as I was slouched on the bench. He was referring to the press people outside and asking, indirectly, if I was ready to meet them.

  I shook my head.

  “Take your time, boy,” he said. “We can stay here the entire night if we have to.”

  “You don’t have to,” I told him.

  He struck my nape with his hand... an affectionate gesture, but he was a strong man and I felt the might of his blow.

  “Idiot!” he remarked. “We’re a team! You stay, we all fucking stay! Remember that!”

  I smiled at him. He was mean, but always kindhearted. It was what I needed at that time.

  The door opened and the screams from outside became louder. A stout, balding man in a cheap suit squeezed his way in then hurriedly closed the door. He almost tripped as he turned around. Artemis has always been a klutz, and that made him funny and, admittedly, endearing.

  “Open the backdoor,” he ordered, pointing at the exit at the other end of the dugout. “Open it now.”

  Pearson and Jersey were stunned by his command. They didn’t know if they should follow it or not.

  “What’s this all about, Duggan?” Coach Mikey asked.

  Artemis didn’t answer him. Instead, he turned to look at me.

  “Con... I’m sorry,” he said in a low voice. “I... I did something that you might not like...”

  “What did you do?” I asked, my tone reflected a bit of the anxiety that I was beginning to feel.

  “I... I invited someone to your fight,” he answered. “Someone who... who you might not want to be here...”

  My heart stopped.

  A lump formed in my throat.

  I began to have cold sweat.

  “Who?” I demanded to know.

  Artemis turned his gaze towards the backdoor that led to a hallway connecting the parking lot reserved for event participants.

  “Open the backdoor,” he repeated his instruction. “Our guest is waiting outside.”

  Hesitantly, Pearson opened it.

  The person Artemis invited was already waiting outside.

  “Come in, Conner’s here,” Artemis said.

  And he did.

  My father.

  He made the trip to Vegas. I didn’t know if he saw my fight at the arena or on a TV screen somewhere. It didn’t matter. He was there. Right in front of me. With a face as expressionless as before.

  “Hey,” he greeted.

  “Hey,” I replied without getting up from the bench.

  “Hell of a fight.”

  “It was.”

  “Yeah. It was... a hell of a fight.”

  I found his repeated words funny. It was obvious that he wasn’t prepared for that meeting, and neither did he know what to say. I guessed he was just there because... well... he thought it was the right thing a father should do.

  “Listen...” he continued to say.

  “Yeah?”

  “What you did back there... it was... it was...”

  It was what?

  “It was... a hell of a fight.”

  I couldn’t help it. I wanted to laugh. But I smiled instead.

  And he smiled back.

  Men... real men... don’t need sugary words to express how they feel about one another. Often, an exchange of glances would be enough. A mutual understanding ensues, one that comes from a sense of guarded dignity and the idea that you’ll do the same thing if you were in the other person’s shoes.

  There was fulfillment in his smile, and right there and then I knew...

  He was proud of me.

  “Well, I gotta get back to your stepmom,” he said as he pointed at the door. “I left her in the hotdog stand, and she might get worried if I don’t come back quick.”

  “Yeah, okay,” I said. “She does worry a lot.”

  He chuckled and so did I.

  Years of anger. Years of hatred. Years of longing.

  All gone with the laughter we shared at that moment.

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