All It Takes

by Clare Dugmore

  “I guess.” She shrugged and finished off her coffee.

  “Wanna tell me about it?”

  “You’ve got enough on your plate without me dumping my problems on you.”

  “I offered, didn’t I?”

  “And I appreciate it, but uni shit is not something I want to get into right now.”

  “All right. You know where I am if you do want to talk.”

  “Thank you.” Megan stood up and took our breakfast things through to the kitchen. I followed her and discovered she’d already cleaned up the broken coffee jar, and was starting on the dirty dishes from the night before.

  “Here, let me,” I said, taking the plate from her, and plunging it into the sink.

  “You wash and I’ll dry?”

  “No. Go and put your feet up or something. I can take care of this.”

  “Kian, I’m not made of glass. I can handle a few plates.”

  “I never said you couldn’t, but I’ve got this.”

  “Fine. I’ll go freshen up or something.”

  “There should be enough hot water left for a shower, if you want.”

  “Erm…yeah…thanks. I think I’ll just wait until I get home, so I can change into clean clothes too.”

  Megan headed back through to the lounge, leaving me alone with my thoughts. I was amazed how easily we’d fallen into a domestic routine, and aside from making her blush by coming out in my boxers, there’d been no awkward moments. Much like the morning after the night we’d slept together. It was one of the things I liked most about her; how laid back she was. When we weren’t butting heads over stupid miscommunication issues, Megan was the most easy-going girl I’d been around.

  Pregnancy, my issues, uni. Nothing seemed to faze her, and I was glad to know I’d have someone so level-headed around when I went back to therapy.

  When the washing up was done, I asked Megan if she wanted another coffee, but she said she’d better head home to get ready for uni, which was probably a good thing. I couldn’t put off calling my therapist any longer.

  “Thanks again for everything,” I said, as we stood on the doorstep.

  “Anytime.” She stepped forwards and wrapped her arms around me.

  Without thinking, I dropped a light kiss on her forehead. “I have one more favour to ask. Will you come to the Matthews fight this weekend? It’d mean a lot to have you there.”

  She took a step back and stared up at me, tilting her head to the side as she chewed on her bottom lip. “Of course.”

  Then without another word, Megan walked to her car, and I went inside to face the beginning of the new Kian. The one who was determined not to fuck anything else up.

  I had a long chat with my therapist on the phone and told him most of the stuff I’d opened up to Megan about the night before. He said we’d start a new arrangement at the beginning of the next month, when he had some available appointments, and booked me in for twelve weekly sessions. After that, I visited the gym to do some weights, and talk to Davi about what I was going on.

  “You’re making the right call,” he said as we sat in his office. “I’m glad you’re getting it together, and if you need anything, all you’ve got to do is ask.”

  “Thanks. I appreciate it.”

  “What are you going to do about Taylor?”

  “Apologise for acting like a dick, tell him I’ll complete my contract, and then quietly leave the company.”

  “Fair enough. And your sponsors?”

  “I’m going to give myself a few weeks to clear my head, and call them when the dust has settled. I’m still not totally sure what I want to do next, but I need to set things right with them, too. When they let me go, I kind of went off on one.”

  We fell silent, and I could tell by the way Davi was clenching and unclenching his jaw that something was bothering him.

  “What is it? I know I’ve said I’d change before and then ended up screwing things up again, but I’m serious this time. I’ve lost enough already. I’m not risking anything else.”

  “No, it’s not that. I know you’re going to do your best to straighten your life out. But I think there’s something else you should know.” Davi’s face paled. Oh, fuck. What now? “Ruby has been going around telling pretty much everyone you’re together. She reckons now the news of you two hooking up is public knowledge, you don’t have to hide your relationship anymore.”

  The area behind my eyes pulsated and I felt a headache coming on. I rolled my neck, trying to expel some of the tension in my joints.

  “I’ll speak to her.”

  “Just be gentle, yeah? The last thing you need is her going off half-cocked because you’ve broken her heart.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Yeah, yeah. I said I’ll sort it.”

  “And get your mind focused on the God damn fight. Matthews is going to wipe the floor with you in this state.”

  “I am focused.” Davi raised an eyebrow. “I am. I’m not gonna let him beat me.”

  I tried to speak to Ruby later when I left the gym, but she’d already gone on her lunch break, and honestly, I wanted to put it off a little longer. I’d already dealt with so much in the last twenty-four hours that I didn’t want to face the drama of how she’d react.

  Instead, I went home and called Taylor to apologize. When everything was sorted out with him – I was sure he was glad to know he was seeing the back of me in a few days – I called my parents and asked if we could get together for dinner after my fight.

  “Are you okay, love?” Mum asked.

  “Yeah, I’m-” I stopped myself. It was time to stop bullshitting everyone around me. “I’ve been better, but I’m dealing with it.”

  “Okay. You let me know if you need anything.”

  “Just seeing you and Dad will be enough. And Marie too. Ask her if she and Darren want to come.”

  “I will do. We could have a nice family roast.”

  “Sounds great, Mum.”

  I spent the rest of the day cleaning up my flat and getting rid of all the alcohol I still had in the cupboard. If I was going to do this, I was doing it properly. No more drinking to avoid dealing with my shit. Then I decided to have an early night. My weigh-in with Matthews was the following day, and I wanted to be fully focused for the final time we faced off before our fight that weekend.

  But before that, I still needed to shed some excess pounds. The time I’d spent in the gym had helped, but the six cans of beer the day before hadn’t. There was only one thing for it – a sweat bath.

  I filled up the tub with scorching water and submerged myself in it for ten minutes, before covering my body with hot wet towels. After another ten minutes, I submerged myself again. An hour later, I got out of the bath that’d now gone tepid, sweating and feeling slightly light-headed. I downed a protein shake and went to bed, intent on going to the weigh-in the next day with a clear head.

  After fight-night, weigh-ins were my favourite part of MMA. The day before a scheduled match-up, the two competitors would meet face-to-face one final time before their fight, to make sure they’d made weight.

  Originally it was just a way to ensure both fighters were falling within their category, but somewhere along the line, it turned into something more. Fans started turning up, and with pre-fight adrenaline high but competitors not allowed to lay hands on each other yet, the only way to best the other and show dominance was verbally.

  I pulled into the car park of Ferrum, my pulse racing and my mouth dry. Not much had changed in the few weeks since I’d been there last, apart from maybe my head space. I knew after the fight with Matthews I was moving on, and I wanted to go out in a blaze of glory.

  At our fight, I was going to end Matthews, and leave no question in anyone’s mind who was the true Welterweight Champion, but before then I was going to tear him down with my tongue. If there was one thing I could do well, aside from fighting, it was dish out the insults.

  I headed to the locker room and stripped off, then pulled out my ‘lucky
’ weigh-in pants from my gym bag. As our weight had to be as accurate as possible, with no unneeded additions, most fighters wore only their underwear. Some had fancy designer briefs, and a few went down the comedy route and wore pants with comic book characters on. I wore The Simpsons Christmas boxers, even if it was the middle of July. It’d started a few years ago when Brownie bought me a pair with a naked Homer covering his privates with mistletoe as a gag gift. As a drunken dare, I agreed to wear them for my next weigh-in, and when I won the subsequent fight, they were deemed lucky. I’d been wearing them for weigh-ins ever since.

  I pulled a robe on over the top and put on a pair of flip-flops then walked to the fight arena, where the media and fans were gathered.

  As I walked down to the stage where the scales were set up, a chorus of boos and jeers rang out. My awful interview with Johnson was still in the front of everyone’s minds, and my already nefarious reputation had only gotten darker.

  Fuck ‘em, I thought, flipping off a fan who was yelling abuse. Cameras snapped, and I knew that little outburst would make the tabloid rags tomorrow.

  Matthews was already on stage, standing to the right of the scales, a smug smile on his lips. I could tell by his posture, in his head he already had the fight won. He’d beaten me once, and reckoned doing it again would be child’s play.

  I was gonna enjoy wiping that gormless grin off his face.

  Taylor made the introductions, and then he, Matthews, and I posed for photos, with mine and Matthews’ fists raised.

  When Matthews moved aside, I shed my robe, climbed onto the scales, and the digital counter shot up.

  “Hailing from County Wicklow, Ireland, and weighing in at 165 pounds, Kian Murphy.”

  I stepped forward to a chorus of boos and had to stop myself from flipping everyone off.

  Matthew sauntered onto the scales, that inane smile still on his face, like the lights were on but no one was home.

  “And hailing from Newcastle upon Tyne, and weighing in at 168 pounds, Benjamin Matthews.”

  The crowd cheered as Matthews stepped forwards and raised his hands, clapping them together.

  With us both making weight, nothing but time was stopping us from fighting.

  Twenty-three hours and forty-two minutes to go...

  Fans and media gathered around for the official announcement.

  “As both competitors have made weight, tomorrow’s fight is set. It will go for five rounds, and be for the Ferrum Welterweight Championship.”

  I strode towards Matthews, standing just centimetres from him. He was a few inches taller than I was, and he peered down at me.

  “You see this?” I said, tapping the title belt around my waist. “You want it? You’re going to have to pry it off my cold, dead body.”

  Matthews bowed his head, locked his eyes onto mine, and just smiled.

  “You heard what I did to your boy Bagley, yeah? I’ve got something much more specific in mind for you.”

  Still nothing, other than that ‘dead behind the eyes’ stare.

  “I ain’t forgot about what you did to me last time…”

  “How is the arm?” As the last word left his lips, the crowd erupted. Twats.

  “Yeah, it’s good, man. You know, thinking about payback and visualising what I’m gonna do to you once that bell hits really helped focus me, so I should be thanking you, fella.”

  “Keep talking, Irish. We all know you’re nothing more than a media whore looking for the next big pay out.”

  “That so?” I tilted my head and waved my hand.

  “You’re a whore. I ain’t here to make money. Money’s great ‘n’ all, but I’m here for that feeling, the sound of flesh tearing, bone snapping. I’m here because I like to hurt people. Although, it is a bonus when they’re little bitches.”

  “Oh! Look at this guy.” I pointed at him and looked to the crowd. “This guy, Mr. I’m a Psycho. Ooh. Scary! Mate, look, I’ve seen off much bigger pricks than you. Bagley lasted thirty seconds, you’ll be lucky to make fifteen.”

  “Course, mate. Course. You forget you only broke his arm in a training sesh’ ‘cos he called you a pussy. That’s how easy to rile up you are. He’s right. You are a pussy. And a fucking idiot. You’re nothing but a bitch-ass coward and you know it.”

  My ears started ringing. Who the fuck was he to call me a coward? I clenched my fists to my sides and counted to ten.

  “Wow, got nothing to say, Irish?” He turned to the crowd. “See? Nothing but a little bitch.”

  I grabbed his arm and yanked him around then shoved my face into his and whispered, “Call me what you want. The only thing they’ll be calling you when I’m done is dead.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Stacey and I arrived at the Ferrum arena at about six on the evening of Kian’s fight. The doors opened at half past, and by quarter to, we were seated, surrounded by beautiful, model-like women. We were seven rows from the front.

  “This must be where they stick all the girlfriends,” Stacey said, her eyes shining in the dimmed arena. “You sure you and the nipper don’t want any food? I could grab us a hot dog if you want?”

  “I’m fine, Stace. I don’t think I could hold it down anyway.”

  Stacey reached out a hand and placed it on top of mine. “The first time I saw Josh fight, I thought I was gonna puke. Then when I saw him get punched in the face, I wanted to jump in the cage and claw the bastard’s eyes out. But that would have made him look like a sissy, so I didn’t.”

  “So not helping.” I took a deep breath and reminded myself Kian had done this countless times before and been fine.

  “My point is, the first time’s always the worst because you think it’s gonna be like a street fight or something, but it’s not. There’s medical people and stuff. Referees. Trainers. And it’s a sport, so whatever you’re visualising, it’s not like that.”

  I swallowed hard and let out a sigh. “You’re right. I know you’re right, but you know, the idea of watching the father of my baby get smacked about is-”

  I stopped mid-sentence when my eyes fell on the VIP seating area skybox. Inside were women in expensive dresses and men in designer suits, all sipping from champagne glasses. Sitting at the front of the skybox, with her eyes glued on the empty cage, was Emilia.

  Stacey followed my eyeline. “I’m guessing she’s here for Davi?”

  With a few minutes to go before the first fight, Josh’s match, I quickly texted Emilia.

  >>I can see you!<<

  >>Where RU?<<

  >>About 7 rows back. With the hot girls. LOL!<<

  >>Oh! I can see you! Tell Stacey I said hi!<<

  I turned back to Stacey. “Emilia said ‘Hi!’”

  “Tell her I said ‘Hi!’ back.”

  “Can’t you just wave?” I said, sliding my phone’s lock screen on.

  “No. Tell her, then I’ll wave.”

  “But my credit.” I slipped my phone back into my pocket before Stacey could complain.

  “Fine!” Stacey said with a pouty face before standing and waving in Emilia’s direction like a mad woman.

  Josh’s fight, which he won by submission in the second round, helped to alleviate some of my worries. I’d watched some fights online, but seeing one in person, with the referee stepping in whenever he thought something wasn’t right, made the whole thing seem more controlled. More like a sport. It was exactly how Kian described it: two guys fighting over who was better.

  By quarter-to-nine, it was time for the main event.

  Benjamin Matthews came out to a deafening reception, with Stacey and me the only people booing.

  “Why does everyone like Matthews but hate Kian?” I asked, as Matthews entered the cage.

  “Well, Kian plays the role of an arse in public. People watch his fights because they want to see him get beat up, but he never does, which makes them angry, so they tune into his next fight in the hopes he’ll get his butt kicked.”

  I let out a laugh and sat back
in my chair. “Is that you speaking or Josh?”

  “Hey! I’m a total MMA veteran now. I know most things,” Stacey said with a smile.

  The lights dimmed once again, and a heavy rock song played through the sound system. As Kian stepped through the curtain and into the arena, the crowd erupted in a sea of boos and cat-calls. Kian, dressed in a t-shirt with his sponsors’ logos on, his ‘fight shorts’, and a pair of pink flip-flops, smiled and winked at the crowd.

  He stopped a few metres away from the cage so a man in surgical gloves could poke his face and grab his ears.

  “What is that guy doing to him? Why is that guy doing that to him?”

  “Oh, Meg, you great big noob. He’s checking to make sure Kian’s not concealing anything.”

  “Like what?”

  “I dunno. A knife?”

  “How could you hide a knife behind your ears?”

  “Who knows? But rules is rules.”

  Kian moved into the cage and side-stepped around the perimeter as though he was getting a feel for the space he was in. His face had changed. The smile, along with his usual bravado, ebbed away, and all that was left was an almost blank, somewhat calm expression.

  Seeing him so at ease in the cage made me relax a little. Kian knew what he was doing. He’d be fine.

  Both fighters took off their T-shirts and had a last minute chat with their coaches.

  I stared at Kian, transfixed, as I studied the way his muscles rippled and his tattoos glimmered in the light.

  “Drooling much,” Stacey whispered in my ear, and then grinned.

  “Have you seen him, Stace? Who wouldn’t drool?”

  “The next fight is five five-minute rounds, and is for the Ferrum Welterweight Championship,” the announcer shouted into a mic. “Hailing first, the challenger, from Newcastle upon Tyne. Weighing in at one hundred and sixty-eight pounds, Benjamin ‘Brawler’ Matthews.”

  “And next, fighting out of County Wicklow, Ireland. Weighing in at one hundred and sixty-five pounds, he is your Ferrum Welterweight Champion, ‘Killer’ Kiaaaaan Muuuuurphyyyyyyyy.”

  Both fighters stalked to the centre of the cage where the referee spoke with them. As the ref stopped speaking, Matthews raised his right glove in the air, to which Kian answered by doing a one hundred and eighty degree turn and stomped back to his corner. The crowd booed once more.