Not funny, arsehole.
I forced myself to smile. I wasn’t letting this fucker get to me. “Yeah. Maybe that’s it.”
“So, Kian, what is it about you that makes you so susceptible to injury? I know you lost a lot of fans following the accident. How did that affect your career?”
Oh, here we go. Well, two can play at that game, pal. “Did I lose a lot of fans? I made a full recovery, so it’s…”
“Yes, but injuries never really heal, do they?”
Tosser. At least let me finish before you jump down my throat. “Doesn’t that depend on the…”
“There are plenty of fighters who’ve suffered an injury and just don’t have the drive to get back to 100 percent. There are people out there who think you can’t ever get back to full health.”
One … two … three. Not gonna punch him. Not gonna punch him. Four … five … six. “Ah, it’s like that, then? Okay, well I’ve been training non-stop for the last...”
“But is that enough-”
My nostrils flared and I cracked my knuckles. “You cut me off again, I swear I’m going to fucking hurt you. If I get injured, my goal is always to get fit, then get back into fighting shape. That’s the same with anyone who’s suffered an…”
“But can fighters ever really…”
For fuck’s sake! “You think you’re funny, mate? You trying to make a joke? Let’s see how pissed off you can make Murphy on your shitty little show?”
“No, of course not. But answer me this: Aren’t you worried someone much bigger and tougher is going to come along and end your career? The last time you faced Matthews, he dislocated your shoulder.”
How fucking dare he? I bared my teeth in a snarl. “You think I’m scared? Do I look fucking scared?”
I stood up from my chair and walked towards him, stopping just a few inches in front of him. Close enough to see the sweat beading down his forehead.
“Kian, please. I’m just doing my job. Please take a seat.” Johnson shuffled back.
Doing his job, my arse. He’d hated me since the moment we met.
“Yeah? And how about I do what I do right here, right now?” I jabbed my finger into his chest.
“All I meant was-”
“All you meant was,” I mocked. “You don’t think I can beat Matthews, do ya? You asked if I’m worried someone much bigger and tougher is going to end my career. I ain’t fucking scared of no one. No one, you fucking hack.” I threw the microphone to the floor and towered over Johnson.
“You’d fucking love that, wouldn’t ya, ya little snake? Seeing me get my arse beat. Get a kick out of it, wouldn’t ya? ‘Cos you’re too much of a pussy to do it yourself.”
Johnson tried to stand, but I shoved him back in his seat. “You, Matthews, you’re gonna be disappointed, ‘cos when I face him, I’m going to fucking kill him.”
Bennett yelled cut, the camera stopped filming, and he raced towards me.
“Kian, man. Chill. It’s okay. What’s gotten into you?”
“Him,” I said, spinning around to glare at Johnson, who was scrambling away. “Did you not hear the digs he was making?”
“Who? Johnson? That guy’s a complete pain in the arse. This one time he yelled at one of the catering staff because his chips were and I quote, ‘Luke-fucking-warm!’ He’s a prima donna. Don’t let him get to you, man.”
“I know I shouldn’t, but the guy was egging me on. What would you have done if you were me? That tosser’s had it in for me since I arrived.”
“Don’t I know it? Johnson hates you fighter types. He tried to get into boxing when he was younger, but between you and me, he couldn’t cut it. So anyone who can fight is automatically some sort of street-thug, obsessed with violence, to him. Still, you can’t be doing that on national TV.”
I took a deep breath. Fuck. Taylor would drop me if this got out. I needed to fix it pronto.
“Listen, mate, I’m sorry. Johnson got under my skin, but I shouldn’t have acted like I did. We can reshoot, right?”
“Mate, this is brilliant. I can see the headlines now: ‘Killer’ Kian Murphy Snaps During Interview. We’ll send out some press releases to the online crowd and people will be lapping this up. Plus, we’ve got the manager of Tottenham in here in thirty minutes, so this’ll have to do.”
Thinking on my feet, I said, “Well, it’ll get people pumped for the fight, at least. I mean, they’ll wanna see if I make good on my promise to ‘kill’ Matthews.” I was careful with my words, so Bennett knew my threat wasn’t serious.
It worked, too, as his eyes lit up. “Exactly. This’ll certainly make for some interesting viewing leading up to your fight. Okay, I’ll have a word with Ferrum’s PR department, and see if I can schedule a post-fight interview with you and Matthews as a follow-up. Then you can come back and hopefully not threaten to kill anyone.”
I laughed uneasily. “Yeah, great. Cheers, man.”
I made a quick exit before Bennett could change his mind, or I ran into Johnson again. I wasn’t looking forward to seeing him again in another interview coupled with Matthews, but this was better than Taylor dropping me for causing a scene. I just had to make good on my promise, and beat Matthews, so I could return here the victor.
When I got back to the hotel, Brownie was in our room packing his case.
“How’d it go?” he asked.
I told him what happened with Johnson and he let out a low whistle. “Shit. You better call Taylor and let him know. You don’t want this Bennett guy calling him before you’ve had a chance to smooth things over.”
“Yeah, good point. I’ll swing by when we get back. You ready to head to the station?”
“Just about.” Brownie shoved his shoes in the case and zipped it up.
Mine was already packed. In fact, I’d unpacked only what was necessary, eager to be done with London as quickly as possible.
The train journey back to the Midlands was as dull as fuck. Brownie spent most of it texting his bird. I thought about texting Megan, but couldn’t think of an excuse to, and just saying ‘hey’ seemed weird. I wanted to know if she’d settled into the flat okay, and when the next midwife appointment was. Instead, I text Marie, asking if I could borrow her Step Up DVD, with the plan to send it to Megan as a surprise.
>>LOL! Sure. Pop round 2nite. Daz is on the late shift. You want some dinner? xxx<<
>>Hell yeah!!! Be there about sevenish.<<
When our train finally pulled into New Street Station, Brownie quickly flagged down a taxi, eager to get back to Stacey.
“See you tomorrow for training,” he said, throwing his case in the boot.
“Yeah. I’ll catch you in the morning, mate.”
Just as Brownie’s taxi pulled away, another cab arrived, and I jumped in. Ah, taxis that actually move. It’s good to be home. Back at my place, I had a quick shower before making my way to the Ferrum offices. I clenched my jaw and grimaced at being there again so soon. Knocking on Taylor’s door, I waited for him to say I could enter.
“Alright, Kian. What can I do for you?” he asked as I took the seat opposite him.
“I wanted to talk to you about the interview I did in London today.”
“Yeah, how did that go?”
I paused, thinking over my answer carefully. My mouth felt dry and my foot jiggled impatiently as I tried to get the words out. “The thing is, while I was there, something happened.”
I explained to Taylor what had happened, and he let out a sigh. He didn’t look disappointed, more like resigned, as though he was expecting me to have fucked up again.
“God damn it, Kian. What did I tell you the last time?”
“Listen, I’m sorry. This time it wasn’t my fault. The interviewer was winding me up, and I just flipped.”
Taylor’s nostrils flared, and a vein in his temple pulsated. “It’s never your fault, is it? What was it I said last time? One more fuck up and you’re out? I can’t have someone like you representing my company. I ca
n’t cancel your fight against Matthews, but after that, I’m afraid you’re done here.”
“You can’t fire me. I’m the bloody champion.”
“You will defend the title against Matthews. If somehow you manage to retain it, when you’re done here, you’ll be stripped of it.”
“This is bullshit.” I stood from my chair, not caring that I’d knocked it over, and stormed around the desk so I was inches from Taylor.
He stood too, getting right in my face, our noses almost level.
“No. What’s bullshit is your attitude. You’re a good fighter, but you don’t give a shit about your actions, or how they affect other people. You need to start taking responsibility for your life. You say you’ve got a baby on the way? Well, man up, and start acting like a decent person. Someone your kid will be able to look up to.”
My body trembled, and I clenched my fists at my sides. “Who the fuck do you think you are, telling me how to be a father?”
“A man who’s been around long enough to know you’re heading down a dangerous path if you don’t sort yourself out, Kian.”
“You know what? Fuck you. You wanna strip me of my title, fine. I’m done. I quit.”
Without giving him a chance to argue, I stormed out of Taylor’s office. Fuck him. I didn’t need his crappy promotion anyway. There were plenty of places that’d pay thousands to have me on their books.
I got into my car and drove over to Marie’s. I wasn’t sure I still wanted dinner with my sister, but I knew if I bailed now, she’d be calling me up asking what was wrong. Hopefully I could pretend everything was okay and keep her off my case.
“Hey,” she said, answering the door. The smell of chilli wafted in from the kitchen. “Dinner will be about fifteen minutes. Fancy a beer?”
“Please,” I said, heading through to the lounge and kicking off my shoes. Some random soap was playing on the TV, so I picked up the remote and flicked it to the sports stations.
“Hey! I was watching that,” Marie said as she entered the living room and handed me a bottle of beer.
“And now you’re not.” I drained half the bottle in one long swallow.
“God, you’re such a brat. At least put the music stations on or something. I’m not watching this bollocks.”
I looked at the screen, where Birmingham City F.C were losing 3-0 to Burnley. She had a point. I tapped the buttons on the remote for the rock station.
“So, how was London?” Marie asked.
“Crap. Change the subject.”
“Fine. How are Megan and the baby?”
“They’re good. Meg had her first scan the other week. Wanna see?”
“You’ve got a picture of my future niece or nephew, and you’re only telling me now? Of course I want to see. Do Mum and Dad know?”
“I told them about the scan, but I’ve been too busy to go round there and show them.” I pulled the picture from my wallet and handed it to Marie.
“Oh my God. Look at its tiny little hands.”
Grinning, I leaned over and pointed to the picture. “Look there. He’s sucking his thumb.”
“He? For all you know, it’s a girl.”
Imagining my future son or daughter, Taylor’s words replayed in my mind. ‘Start acting like a decent person. Someone your kid will be able to look up to.’
“He, she. It doesn’t matter. I’ll look after them and be a good dad.”
Marie smiled and stood from her seat. “You will be…”
“Why does it sound like there’s a ‘but’ on the end of that?”
“There isn’t. It’s just, you know? You’re always so angry and stuff. I can’t picture you being this calm level-headed father type.”
“Me neither.”
“No witty comeback? Well, this is a first.”
I bowed my head. “Is that all I am? ‘Angry and stuff’?” I followed her through to the kitchen, where the chilli bubbled on the cooker top.
“Of course that’s not all you are. I was just messing like we always do. Are you okay, Ki?”
I shuffled my feet, the back of my neck feeling like it was on fire. “I quit work.”
“You what?” Marie stopped spooning chilli into a bowl and turned to face me.
I told her about what had happened in London, and then my showdown with Taylor. When I’d finished, she sighed and shook her head. “You’re a bloody idiot.”
“He’s the idiot. He can’t just threaten to fire me and strip me of the title.”
“He can if you go around assaulting interviewers. What the hell were you thinking?”
“I wasn’t thinking. I-”
“You never think. That’s your problem.”
I paced the kitchen, counting to ten in my head to stop myself screaming at Marie. “So, what? I should just let everyone treat me like shit? I’m just standing up for myself.”
“No, you’re being a ridiculous baby and throwing your toys out of your cot when you don’t get your own way. You’ve got a kid on the way, Kian.”
“What would you know? You and Darren haven’t even got kids.”
“Don’t you dare start on me just because I’m telling you the truth.”
“Then don’t act like you know shit about me. You have no idea what it’s like to be me. You don’t know how hard it is.”
“Oh, is poor little Kian feeling upset because he isn’t getting his own way? Grow the fuck up. Life is hard. Darren and I work ourselves to the bone for a pittance, but you don’t see us throwing tantrums every other day. You’ve got it made and you don’t even appreciate how lucky you are.”
“Lucky? You and Darren get to do whatever you want. You go to work, sure, but when you come home, you can do what you like. You don’t have people watching your every move, waiting for you to fuck up. You don’t have sponsors telling you where to be and how to act. I have to train seven hours a day, five days a week, and be careful of every single thing I eat and drink, just so I can put my body through torture every few months without dying in the cage. I don’t even get the time to have a normal relationship like you guys do. Why do you think I randomly hook up with so many girls? I wouldn’t be able to commit to anything else. And even if I could, how would I know they were really interested in me, and not just being arm candy? Megan’s the first girl I’ve met who doesn’t make me feel like that.
“You haven’t got to worry if you’re going to be good parents. When you have a kid, you’ll be with Darren, not living miles away being grateful you even get to see your baby at all.”
Marie sighed and handed me a bowl of chilli. “Jesus Christ, Kian. Have you even talked to anyone about all this? No wonder you’re flipping out at people.”
“I was seeing someone for my anger problems a few years ago. I got bored, though, and stopped going. Bloody waste of time.”
“Have you ever thought about going back? Bottling this up isn’t healthy. You should speak to Taylor, too. At the very least, you’ve got to keep your promise and fight Matthews.”
I sighed and tried to roll the kink out of my neck. She was right. I’d formally agreed to the fight, I couldn’t back out now.
“I know. One fight then I’m done.”
“And?”
“And nothing. I’ll speak to Taylor. End of.”
Marie huffed. “Fine. Whatever. Don’t say I didn’t try.”
We walked through to the living room again, and ate in silence as the telly played rock videos in the background. When we were done, Marie took our bowls out and fetched us another beer each. She didn’t say anything else about my outburst, and instead started telling me about work, and how she’d seen some kid we’d gone to school with in A&E with a tube shoved up his arse.
I zoned out and started thinking about what she’d said earlier.
I was still gonna fight Matthews. I wasn’t going to back out and give Taylor the satisfaction of just taking my title away from me. I’d destroy Matthews in the cage, retain my title, and then leave Ferrum on my own terms. If
I quit, that’d look better to other promotions, like I wanted a new challenge, and they’d be jumping through hoops to have me after that. I could pick and choose which one I wanted to sign with. Taylor had done me a favour by backing me into a corner, and now I could move onto bigger and better things.
Bigger and better things that’d one day make my kid proud of me.
CHAPTER NINE
A week after moving into my new place, I’d finally gotten everything unpacked and arranged how I wanted. Now all my things were there, it was starting to feel like home, and though I’d need to decorate eventually, I could imagine me and the baby being happy in the new flat.
After a tiring week at uni and work, Mum took me to the new day spa that had opened in the city. I’d been feeling decidedly frumpy and unattractive since I’d started to gain weight, and Mum thought a day out pampering ourselves might make me feel better about myself and the physical changes my body was going through.
She was right.
After trying almost every beauty treatment available, Mum and I went to the spa restaurant for some lunch and a few drinks. I stuck to virgin cocktails, of course, though I desperately missed being able to drink wine. As we sat down to our bowls of Greek salad with tuna, feta cheese, and olives, Mum filled me in on how Dad was getting along at work. He’d recently started tutoring computer science at the local community centre, along with his regular job repairing PCs for a local tech shop.
“He’ll be fine as long as he doesn’t start hitting his pupils with a newspaper,” I said, referring to when he’d done the same to me after growing frustrated when trying to teach me how to take the PC apart and upgrade the RAM myself.
Mum chuckled. “You know, he only did that because he couldn’t understand how you could follow those graphic design programs, but not his instructions.”
I laughed too. “I know. And hey, at least he didn’t poke me incessantly with a paint brush.”
I stuck out my tongue at Mum as she took a sip of her wine and chuckled at the memory of when I was a toddler, and she’d taken every opportunity possible to hand me art supplies in a bid to foster her love of creativity in me.
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