by Lane Hart
“I see. Why did you retire? Obviously, it wasn’t old age,” he says with a grin.
“My wife didn’t like me fighting, and we didn’t need the money, so I walked away after my last title fight.”
“Did you win or lose your last fight?”
Blowing out a breath, I admit to him, “I lost. To my brother.”
“So you went out on a low note after what I assume was a successful career?”
“Yeah.”
“Did that make you angry?” he asks.
“My brother won the fight fair and square. I couldn’t be mad at him for that.”
“But were you angry at yourself for not defeating him?” the shrink asks, hitting a nerve.
“Fuck yes, I was angry at myself. I should’ve been better, more prepared. I had never lost before.”
“You thought you were invincible until that day?”
“Maybe,” I answer honestly.
“Nobody likes losing, especially at something they’ve always excelled at. That couldn’t have been easy to digest.”
“It wasn’t. I think about that stupid fight all the time, remembering each time I fucked up…”
“Your ego took a major blow that day. And instead of working hard to improve yourself, you gave up and walked away. Retired,” he says.
“My wife doesn’t like me fighting. She thinks it makes me a bad role model for our son,” I admit.
“Do you?”
“Do I what? Think I’m a bad role model?” I ask. “Fuck yes. Xavier told me the other day that he wants to be a fighter like me. I want him to go to college, to do more, be more than I could. Fighting is the only option I had, so I did it.”
“Why do you think being a fighter makes you a bad role model for your son?” the doc prods.
“Because Page believes Xavier will grow up using his fists to solve his problems or some shit.”
“You know, I have read studies that show MMA fighters are more likely to be involved in domestic violence than any other athlete.”
“I would never hurt my family!” I yell at him.
“I didn’t say you have or would,” he replies calmly. “That’s just a statistic and stigma that goes with the profession. Only you can decide whether or not you’re one of the bad apples.”
“What if I already am?” I ask in concern. “My wife thinks I am. She said she’s scared of me. That I could hurt her or our son.”
“Why do you think she feels that way?”
“No fucking clue,” I reply. “Except…well, I’ve been in a shitty mood lately and maybe I’ve been taking it out on everyone around me.”
“Why are you in a shitty mood?” he asks.
“Because I lost my championship belt in the one thing I was good at in my life. Now I play Mr. Mom at home with my son all but maybe two hours a day when I’m at the gym.” As soon as I say all that, I immediately feel guilty. “Don’t get me wrong, I love hanging out with Xavier, and I don’t mind doing shit around the house while Page is working. But at the end of the day, when I’m lying in bed, all I can think is that something’s missing.”
“What do you think is missing?”
“I don’t know,” I answer honestly.
“A career?” he offers.
“I’m not qualified for any jobs. All I know how to do is knock men out, including the asshole who was talking about my wife’s tits.”
“You did that? Knocked out someone…”
“Yep,” I answer. “Dickhead deserved it.”
“Did hitting him make you feel better?”
“A little, I guess.”
“So physical activity is an outlet for you?”
“Works better than pretty much anything,” I answer.
“But you stopped fighting because your wife doesn’t like it?”
“Yep.”
“Have you tried talking to her, telling her that fighting is important to you?”
“She got pissed and said I need counseling instead.”
“Well, as a certified counselor, I’m advising you to fight in order to reduce stress and the anger.”
“You are?” I ask him with my eyes widening in surprise. “I thought you would agree with her; tell me it’s bad for me and my son.”
“As long as you’re not taking your physical aggression out on anyone other than fighters, or assholes who are stupid enough to rile you up by talking about your wife’s private parts, then I don’t see why it’s a problem.”
“Really? Because I was considering doing this charity fight for an orphanage…”
“By all means,” he says with a smile. “I would be happy to talk to your wife if you would like me to sit down with her or both of you.”
“What about the bad role model part?” I ask.
“From what you told me, it doesn’t sound like you’re a street brawler. A successful career in cage fighting involves a great deal of dedication, perseverance, hardcore training, and an incredible amount of strength. None of those things come easy, right?”
“I guess not.”
“As long as your son doesn’t see you engaging in or promoting illegal, unsafe, or unprofessional physical activity, then I don’t think you have anything to worry about.”
“What if he wants to follow in my footsteps? You know, be a fighter too? Shouldn’t I steer him clear of it?”
“As a father of two grown sons, I’ll let you in on a little-known secret about kids,” he says, leaning forward to impart this knowledge. “When you tell your children not to do something, it only makes them want to do it even more. And eventually they will become adults who make their own decisions, whether we like them or not. As long as they’re not addicted to drugs or locked up in prison, you’ll count yourself incredibly lucky.”
This doc is saying the opposite of what I expected. I thought he wouldn’t condone fighting as a profession, just like Page.
Thinking it over, I’m pretty sure that it’s not only the fighting I miss that’s making me angry, but the fact that Page doesn’t understand how important fighting is to me that gnaws at my insides. She never has, even though I’ve been supportive of her career every step of the way.
The problem is, she may never approve of me getting in the cage. And if not, is our marriage fucked?
Either way, I still only briefly hesitate later that afternoon before I finally decide to give Jude the go ahead.
“Are you sure you want to do this? You could have a shitload of opponents. No one’s ever done this before,” Jude says as I re-read the email on his laptop over his shoulder one last time.
“Send it,” I straighten and tell him.
“You’re certain?” he asks. “What about Page –?”
“Send. It,” I demand. “The shrink approves and said he would talk to her.”
“Fine, sending.” With a click of the touchpad, the email goes out to all the media outlets within a sixty-mile radius that Don gave us. And even though I’m so damn excited to get back in the cage, I can’t help but wonder if I just sent my marriage down the toilet.
Chapter Fifteen
Page
“Hello?” I answer when an unfamiliar number pops up on my cell phone just before I leave the office for the day.
“Mrs. Malone? This is Dr. Allen Tanner. I’m the psychiatrist who’s treating your husband. Jackson signed an authorization that allows me to communicate with you about his counseling.”
“He really made an appointment?” I ask the man on the phone in surprise.
“Well, I’m not sure if he made the appointment personally, but Mr. Malone did come to see me this morning.”
“Oh, well, good.”
“His main concern was your opinion of his behavior, specifically his anger. Before he left, I gave him a few brochures with calming techniques, but I must say that the one that’s likely the most effective is the one you have hindered.”
“Excuse me?” I ask indignantly.
“Jackson told me about the recent incident he
was involved in where he hit a man. Other than that occasion, has he ever been physically violent with you or anyone else outside of his profession?”
“No,” I answer without hesitation. “Well, just once, but that was a life and death situation that he intervened to save me,” I add, remembering Jax beating my ex-fiancé, Elliott, half to death in a hotel room, but that idiot deserved it.
Does that mean Preston deserved it, too?
“So there’s no history of unnecessary violence?”
“No, but he’s so restless and angry all the time, like he could snap at any second.”
“Mrs. Malone, what do you do for a living?”
“I’m an attorney, handling sports contracts,” I answer. “Why?”
“How would you respond if your husband asked you to never practice law again? To give it up because he didn’t approve of…contracts.”
“That’s ridiculous,” I tell him. “Practicing law is a lot different from hitting people.”
“Hitting people who agree to be hit?”
“We have a four-year-old son together. I don’t want him going to daycare and throwing punches because he saw his father do it.”
“Has he ever seen his father hit anyone?” the doctor asks.
“No, I don’t think so.”
“Then that’s not a legitimate fear, is it?”
“Whoa. Are you actually condoning Jax fighting?”
“Yes, I am. In his case, from what I can tell, it’s more than a profession. It’s his entire identity. What he loves and excels at, which he gave up to make you happy even though it’s made him miserable.”
“You-you were supposed to give him breathing techniques, or tell him to practice yoga, not encourage him.”
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Malone, but I have no valid reason to discourage Jackson from fighting, other than to appease you.”
“You talked to him for what, a few minutes? I’ve known him for years. You haven’t seen how angry he gets. How he yells and gets frustrated around our son, who thinks he’s a storybook giant.”
The doctor actually laughs. “I would expect that’s how all children see their fathers, especially when they’re large of stature. And yelling may seem like the only outlet he has to express his frustrations if he can’t fight.”
My jaw drops in disbelief.
“Can you tell a difference between Jackson when he was fighting compared to the months that he’s been retired?”
“Yes,” I answer. “He wasn’t always so…volatile. Only now and during his court trial when he was wrongly accused.”
“Put yourself in your husband’s shoes for once, Mrs. Malone. Think about what’s best for him, because I guarantee that, when he’s happier, you’ll be much happier.”
“Thanks,” I say before the line disconnects, and I’m left sitting there wondering if perhaps I’ve been wrong about Jax this whole time.
Could it be that I’ve let my fear of his reaction to the secret I’m keeping from him cloud my judgment?
…
Jax
The night before the fight, I decide to give Page a call, even though I’m guessing she won’t answer. Imagine my shock when I hear her voice.
“Jax?” she answers, and it’s so damn good to hear her voice that it takes me a second before I can respond.
“Hey,” I say.
“Do…do you want to talk to Xavier?” she asks.
“Yeah, but I need to talk to you first,” I tell her.
“Okay.”
“I’ve got a fight tomorrow.”
“Yeah,” she mutters, having obviously heard.
“I know you don’t approve and shit, but I was still hoping you might come. Sadie and her mom offered to babysit Xavier,” I say in a rush, then hold my breath as I wait for her response.
“Your psychiatrist called me the other day,” she replies instead of saying yes or no.
“He said he would.”
“So you really went to therapy?” she asks.
“More like I was forced by my dad and Jude, but yeah, I went. I’m going back after the first of the year too.”
“Oh. Good.”
“Dr. Tanner approved of me fighting. Well, in the cage at least.”
“Yeah, he told me,” she says.
“So will you come?” I ask again.
“I never asked you to give up fighting or retire after the championship fight with Jude,” she says, deflecting again from a straight answer.
“No, but it was definitely implied that you didn’t approve of Xavier growing up with a father who used his fists for a living,” I argue.
“Maybe,” she says. “He looks up to you and wants to be like you.”
“What do you want me to do, Page? Go back in time and not sleep with you so that you could have kids with a man who wears a suit every day instead?”
“No, I wanted to have…I wanted to have kids with you,” she says, her voice trembling, telling me she’s probably crying because of my dumb ass.
“Why?” I ask her in confusion. “You’ve never approved of me fighting. You’ve always looked down on me from your throne as not being good enough.”
“Jax, I’ve never thought that!” she says. “I thought that you regretted our life, getting tied down with a family you didn’t want.”
“My family is my life! You and Xavier are all I have that’s mine, and for weeks it’s felt like I’m gonna lose both of you too,” I admit.
“I don’t want to lose you, Jax, I’m just…I’m scared.”
Scared of me is what she means.
“Look, I’m fighting tomorrow because I need this more than ever. And if you can’t understand that, then I don’t have any clue what we’re gonna do.”
“Good luck, Jax,” she says before she ends the call, and I realize that she’s not gonna show. Not that I thought she would. It’s just, I really wanted her to be there for me.
Chapter Sixteen
Page
I can’t say I’m all that surprised when the doorbell rings the next afternoon.
Sadie and her mom are bundled up in coats and smiling on the other side.
“Hello, ladies,” I say, opening the door wider for them to come.
“You are going, right?” Sadie asks.
“Why not, since I have babysitters and all,” I say. “I’ll call Logan and see if he wants to join me.”
“Good,” Sadie’s mom says. “I know it will mean a lot to Jax, and he’s been so down in the dumps lately.”
“Right,” I say, hating the reminder that he’s living with other people instead of here where he should be.
“Do you need me to text you the address?” Sadie offers.
“Yeah, that would be great,” I tell her. “And Xavier has already had dinner, so he can stay up and play until about eight before he needs to get ready for bed.”
“Got it,” her and her mom agree. “Go and have fun.”
“Yeah, I’m not sure if watching my husband fight another man can be considered fun,” I say while leading them to the playroom where Xavier is playing with his new firetruck Jax bought him the last time they had a sleepover.
“Hey, buddy, I’m gonna go out for a few hours, but Grandma Malone and Sadie will stay here and play with you, okay?” I tell him as I bend down to kiss his forehead.
“Bye, Mommy.”
“Bye. Love you,” I say before I call my brother to tell him I’m coming to pick him up and then change clothes.
…
“This place is packed,” Logan states the obvious while I drive around the block looking for a parking spot for the third time.
“No kidding,” I reply. “Now how about you help me find somewhere to park so we can get inside?”
“I think I see one, way down that alley,” Logan says, pointing to our right.
It takes another ten minutes to parallel park, and then finally we’re braving the chilly air to get to the arena where the fight is being held. The line at the ticket window is long, an
d makes me wish I would’ve gotten Jax to bring me tickets in advance.
But then, when it’s my and Logan’s turn, I realize that we lack the kind of currency required.
“You didn’t bring canned foods?” the little old man asks from the other side of the glass.
“No. I didn’t know,” I tell him.
“The cost of admission is two items of food per person for the local food pantry,” he explains.
“How about if we give you a cash donation for them?” Logan asks.
The man thinks it over before he finally nods in agreement.
“I’ve got it,” Logan says when he pulls out his wallet and hands over four twenties.
“Thank you, sir,” the cashier tells him before he tears off two tickets from the roll and hands them over. “Enjoy the fights.”
“Fights?” I repeat, but Logan nudges me forward so the line can keep moving.
The inside of the arena is already packed, but I keep walking toward the cage, hoping to find a reserved seat. Even better, I find Jude.
“Jude!” I call out to him while waving my arms in the air to get his attention. Finally seeing me, he comes over.
“Hey! Thank god you made it!” he says.
“So the ticket guy said something about fights, plural. Who else is fighting besides Jax?” I ask.
“Nobody. Just him.”
“You mean Jax is fighting more than once?”
“Yeah, didn’t he tell you?” Jude asks. “He’s fighting twelve guys with a hundred grand at stake.”
“What?” I exclaim. “We don’t need the money, so it’s not worth him risking an injury fighting twelve men in one night!”
“Oh, no. Jax doesn’t get paid a hundred grand — he’s giving it away. Or offering it up.”
“Back up a second. What do you mean Jax doesn’t get paid?” Logan asks while I’m still trying to wrap my head around Jax fighting twelve guys in one night.
“He’s offered to give the first man who can submit or knock him out in the first round a hundred thousand dollars. If no one can do it, he’ll donate twice that much to the orphanage.”
“So Jax doesn’t make anything off this fight?” I finally surmise. “He’s doing it for a charity?”
