by J J Knight
The pilot tells me we’re about to take off. A young man in a white shirt and black vest comes out to ask if I’m hungry. I tell him not now and he disappears to wherever he came from.
We taxi down the runway, and it feels so strange to be here, alone in this fancy plane. My life could not be any more different from a year ago.
I stare at the diamond on my hand. After wearing it two days straight, it no longer feels heavy and strange. I worry I should have a safe or something for it since I won’t wear it to the gym.
I pull my knees up and rest my chin on them. I should have brought something to do, MMA magazines, anything. But I’m alone with my thoughts and worries and fears. I should have asked Zero to come.
I pull my phone out, then laugh. I’m way in the air. Colt and I have refused to get satellite connections, so we have times when no one can reach us. Today I’m regretting it.
I scroll through pictures of me, Colt, the girls I train, the gym, Colt’s matches, and Zero. I go all the way back to when I got the phone, through my past, and pause on the pictures from the last time I was in Hawaii.
My brother Hudson was lanky and goofy looking, standing outside the gym. There are pictures of the beach, including the spot where we’re having the ceremony, near a pavilion where I first met my mother’s family.
I haven’t talked to her much since I was there last, almost a year ago. Just a few phone calls, and a couple emails. It’s still hard to have a relationship with her. I understand now why she left me as a baby, but I don’t agree with her decision. It didn’t have to be that way.
I pull up a shot of her, laughing with Tutu, her mother. I cock my head, trying to see anything of myself in the two women. Colt was the one who first noticed my resemblance to my mother, Marianna. It’s in her chin, the angle of her neck, and her slight build. I’m sure Tutu, when she was younger, looked the same.
The pilot comes on. “Just twenty minutes to touch down in Honolulu. You can see the islands if you look out now.”
I swivel in my seat. At first all I see are clouds, but then we break through and the water sparkles pale blue as far as you can see, right to the fuzzy bend of the horizon. Then we turn and I see them, the islands, some green, others a grayish brown.
Colt used the island as the training ground for his incredible comeback.
Maybe, just maybe, I can too.
Chapter Five
Hudson arrives within an hour of the taxi dropping me off at a small one-bedroom house in the middle of a nondescript working-class Honolulu neighborhood. I’m surrounded by my suitcases as well as boxes Colt’s mother sent with me of things for the wedding: candles and crystal and silver cardholders for the tables.
“This place is awesome!” Hudson says, looking around at the bright red furniture and hanging plants in every corner. “I got here in like ninety seconds!”
He motions me out onto the porch and points through the trees across the street. “Just cut through there and BOOM, you’re right at the back side of the gym.”
“Wow,” I say. “That is close.”
He goes inside and flops down on the sofa. He’s changed incredibly in the year since I was here. He’s not scrawny and awkward anymore. His arms are muscled and his face scruffy with facial hair. He’s starting to look like a fighter, although still on the light side. He’d be classed as bantamweight now, I’d guess. A good deal up from strawweight.
“So can you keep a secret?” he asks.
I sit in an armchair, trying to adjust to this strange family moment we’re having. I grew up with only a stepbrother I feared and a stepmother I despised. I haven’t seen Hudson in a year, and yet, here he is, acting like we’ve known each other all our lives, and not just for a few weeks when I was last in Hawaii.
“I think I’m pretty good at those,” I say.
He sits up. “Good, because I’m doing a boxing match on the down low in two days.”
I lean forward. “Why is it a secret?”
“Akoni says I’m not ready for a bout.” He smacks his fists together. “I think I am.”
Whew. Dilemma. I have a feeling his trainer has reasons for saying that. “Did Akoni tell you why?”
Hudson’s brows furrow. “Get this. He says I don’t have enough experience. How am I supposed to get experience to do a fight if I don’t do a fight to get experience?”
“I see what you’re saying,” I tell him. And I do. But I also know what Akoni means. That Hudson isn’t showing fight maturity. Until you’re in it, you don’t know what it’s like to have someone trying to bring you down. You need some hard sparring rounds to get comfortable with it. To know how you’re going to react to real blows, real attacks.
But I’m not sure I am the one to say that. I’m his sister, not his coach.
“You want me to come?” I ask him.
“Heck, yeah!” he says. He throws some air punches. “I need a witness to my domination.”
I know I should be giving him some good fighter advice, and probably discouraging him from going in the ring before he’s ready.
But I can see he’s not going to back down from this match. All my negativity will do is get me uninvited. And he’s going to need someone to pick him up if his opponent is more experienced than him.
“So tell me about the guy you’re going to pummel,” I say.
He stands up then, his feet shifting, his fists hammering air. “He’s done a couple fights. Nothing big. He’s a weight class below me, so I figure it evens out.”
“Sounds like you’ve thought this through,” I say.
He stops punching. “I’m not crazy. I’m not going to jump in the ring with some heavyweight all-star. I don’t want to ruin my pretty face for your wedding pictures.” He steps closer to me and punches the air around my chair.
I shake my head. I think I adore this kid. He might look grown, but inside, I can see he’s still young.
I hardly know him, but I see so much of myself in him. It’s obvious we have the same wild, impulsive mother.
I wonder how much he knows about his dad. The one time my mother and I talked about it, she said she had to give Hudson to her family to escape the “monster.” I have a feeling he’s not a nice guy.
I was lucky. I knew my father for eight amazing years. I push it from my thoughts, though, or I’ll get bogged down in regret that he won’t be here to see me get married. I feel like my life has just now gotten back on track after a decade of being a disaster.
Hudson grabs my arm and pulls me from the chair. “Let me show you how to get to the gym, then we can jump in my car and go see Mom. She’s dying to show you the wedding decorations and all that rubbish.”
He pauses. “I tried to tell her I didn’t think you cared about flowers, but she has these fancy ideas about daughters.” He laughs. “I think you’re more like me.” He air punches me again.
“You know me already,” I say. We head out to the porch, and I fumble with the key ring that was left for me in the mailbox.
Then we’re running, across the crumbly asphalt street, through the mix of trees and undergrowth, and behind the gym I knew so well when Colt and I trained there.
Walking around to the front is like a step back in time. I can see Colt on the wood planks, the pain all over his face as we left his rehabilitation workouts.
I had already given up my hurricane by then. But looking at the front door, where we stood in a line for pictures for the press, insisting we would make our comeback, I know something.
I have to try. I have to see if it’s still there.
Chapter Six
The trainers at the gym are kinder than Killjoy but just as tough. I’ve been put through brutal rounds of lunges, kettlebell squats, and speed drills when Akoni comes up and holds out a set of sparring pads.
“I’m not sure I’m up for sparring,” I say. “I’ve been training girls instead of fighting.”
Akoni looks at me squarely. His long sleek hair is tied back. He’s one of the few peo
ple I’ve met who is native to Hawaii. “I think you need to take these.” He lifts the pads closer to me.
“Who asked you to do this? Colt or The Cure?” If it was The Cure, I’ll toss them. But if it was Colt…
“Your brother,” he says, cocking his head toward where Hudson is hitting a speed bag. “You inspire him.”
I shove the helmet on my head and strap on shin guards. “All right,” I say. “Who’s going in with me?”
“I am,” Akoni says. One of his assistants tosses him a pair of gloves.
My belly flips as I climb the stairs to the practice cage. I’ve never sparred with anyone here. When Colt and I were here, I just worked out.
My palms sweat inside my gloves. I don’t like having something to prove. I’m not ready. But the moment to test my hurricane has already arrived.
Hudson walks away from the speed bag and watches me bounce in place on the cage floor.
“Focus and discipline,” Akoni says. “Predict my moves. Protect yourself and watch for openings to attack.”
Standard stuff. I tune it out, my attention on his stance, his position.
When he comes at me with a side kick, I spin out and go for a jab. I miss by a mile. I shake it off and stay low and loose. I think he must expect me to attack. He’s not a lot taller than me, nothing like Colt, but he’s solid muscle. I can’t sweep him or bring him down.
I duck in with a quick three-jab strike and move out. He takes the hits, not letting down his guard. I’m breathing heavier than I like. I can’t bring it down. I need to find that singular point of concentration.
I want the hurricane. I want to impress him. I want everyone to set aside the idea that I’ve lost my fighting power, that I’m done.
I try to summon it, feeding on my anger and frustration.
But it won’t come. Akoni comes at me with a basic jab-cross, and I barely block it. My jaw aches from clenching. Why can’t I move? What has happened to me?
Everyone is right. I’ve lost it. Maybe I shouldn’t even be training girls.
I’m nothing but wasted potential.
I fake my way through a few more halfhearted kicks, but Akoni knows I’m just going through the motions. He strips off his gloves. “Good start,” he says, but I know he’s not thinking it.
I exit the cage and toss the pads in the bin. I don’t look at anybody but head back to the kettlebells, my favorite spot, the one place I feel comfortable. I lift in my private corner until the end of the training period, miserable and uncertain about where I belong.
Hudson comes up and slings his arm around my shoulders. “First day back, Jo. Give it time.”
But I don’t know that time will change anything.
We meet my mother at the wedding site, a pavilion on the beach. She’s there with Zandalee, a florist with a hearse she’s converted into a colorful delivery car. She has apparently been a family friend since my mother returned to Hawaii.
I wonder what Zandalee could tell me about my mother’s past, what pieces of the puzzle might fall together.
But it won’t happen today. After a lengthy round of hugs and exclamations, the women resume their planning. Zandalee buzzes around the pavilion, going on and on about flowers to wrap around the poles, the placement of centerpieces. My mom is rapt, nodding, making suggestions. Seems like everyone is more interested in planning the wedding than I am.
I don’t know anything about these things.
Hudson and I head to the shore, picking up shells and tossing them out into the waves. We agree to work out in the morning like normal, and then he’ll tell Akoni he wants to do some things with me in the afternoon. That way he won’t get overtired before the match.
I’ll wrap him and act as his trainer and coach. He seems relieved I’ll be there, as otherwise he was on his own.
As worried as I am about what he’s doing, I’m glad I can help. Carrying the secret between us draws us closer than we could have gotten otherwise.
***
The next morning, Hudson parks at my house, and we walk back to the gym together.
I feel trepidation about returning after yesterday’s disaster. But when I arrive, I focus on what makes me happy about being there. The smell of vinyl mats and cleaners makes it feel like home. I picture Colt everywhere, in the cage, by the kettlebells, on the weight machines. As I go through a basic circuit, I imagine he’s nearby, just two stations ahead.
Akoni doesn’t ask me to spar again, which helps. Occasionally Hudson will catch my eye and we share a quick smile over the secret we carry about the match.
When they break for lunch, Hudson puts his plan into action and we take off through the trees for my little house. I feed him smoothies and we talk through strategies. I don’t know boxing well, but he’s been trained and together we watch some videos to see how boxers at this level get out of tough spots.
Around dark, we load up his car and drive to a small gym on the other side of the city. It’s a dilapidated building that doesn’t cater to the up-and-coming pros, but the street boxers, the ones getting by on grit rather than training. The front windows are hand painted with the words “Big Daddy’s.”
Hudson knows a fair number of the people hanging out in the parking lot. They are mostly young men and their girlfriends. I don’t spot any girls who I think might be fighters themselves. They looked bored, uninterested in what is about to take place.
We head into the building. It’s pretty bare, just an aging boxing ring and a couple benches. Some equipment is shoved in the corner and covered with sheets.
A heavy-bellied Asian man in gray sweats comes over to us. This must be Big Daddy. “You Hudson?” he asks.
“Yeah,” my brother says.
“This your trainer?” The guy squints an eye at me.
“Yessir. She’s from a gym in LA.”
He stares at me a minute, and I fear he’s going to place me with Colt. “Awwright,” he says. “It’s twenty-five bucks to the loser, fifty to the winner. No ref. Give ’em a show.”
“Yessir,” he says.
“Who judges for the win?” I ask.
Big Daddy stares at me from the squinty eye. “Don’t need a judge. It’s last man standing.”
I let out a slow breath. What the hell has Hudson gotten himself into?
The man opens the doors to the people waiting outside, and we head to the back of the room.
I want to talk Hudson out of this, but I’m not sure how.
“You sure Akoni isn’t going to find out?” I ask as I wrap his hands. “There just aren’t that many gyms and trainers around.”
Hudson shrugs. “By the time he figures it out, I’ll have some experience like he wants.”
My heart is pounding as I tear off tape. “Well, we talked about everything there was to talk about earlier. You know what you’re doing.”
He grins at me, and I recognize that recklessness. “I do.”
I tug on his gloves. “What was it that Muhammad Ali always used to say?”
Hudson barks out a laugh. “I like to think about what The Cure always says.”
“I can never say it without cracking up,” I warn.
He starts the phrase. “Move like a lion—”
I finish with “Bite like a bear.”
“Mike Tyson took that advice way too literally,” Hudson says. We both break out into laughter.
“Yo, chump, what’s so damn funny?” A lean boxer in black fight shorts smashes his gloves together.
We stop laughing.
“Nothing,” Hudson says, all serious now.
“This your girl?” he says. “Looks like she could use a boob job.”
Now I want to punch him. “I’m his sister,” I say.
“Oh, man,” the boxer backs away. “Your sister.” He’s laughing like he can’t get over it. “Hot damn, wait until I tell the guys.”
“Is that the one you’re fighting?” I ask Hudson.
“Yeah,” he says, and I can see his confidence starting to
waver.
I lean in close. “Kick his ass.”
The guy in gray sweats climbs through the ropes to stand in the center of the ring. “If you’re placing bets, see the man by the door. You’ve got fifteen minutes.”
Fifteen minutes. I draw in a deep breath. I think of all the ways this could go wrong. I have to focus on Hudson, his grim expression, the set of his jaw. He looks good, fit, and strong. He is bigger than his opponent, just like he said.
“That guy is cocky,” I say to Hudson. “That’s going to be his biggest weakness. If you can take a couple minor shots, he’ll think he’s got you.” I wish I’d seen Hudson train a little more, knew his strengths. “Take whatever opportunities you see when he lets down any part of his guard, but keep some gas in your tank.”
Hudson keeps nodding. I know this part of the pre-match ritual is important. General information, easy instructions, nothing critical. He’ll be half-listening, half-psyching himself up. I’ve been there. A long time ago now, but I know what he is feeling.
The people crowd around the man taking bets and the room fills up as more people push through the door. The off-books fights are as popular here as anywhere. This is the most people of Hawaii I’ve seen at any one time. When I was here last year with Colt, we kept to ourselves, and only saw the trainers and doctors and my family.
Most of the spectators are of Asian descent, matching the population of the island. They are animated, young, and dressed in styles that aren’t too far off those of LA.
I glance over at the boy Hudson’s going to fight. He’s listening intently to an older man, probably getting a speech a lot like the one I just gave my brother. But then he glances over and sneers at me, his eyes dropping to my chest.
Good. I hope he is distracted by my lack of curves. All the better for Hudson to smash his face.
Big Daddy gets back in the ring. He motions for Hudson and the other guy to come forward. We push through the throng of people. There’s barely going to be any space for me outside the ropes. The spectators have moved in right up to the base of the ring.
