by Robin Huber
“What if I trip? I’m nervous. I shouldn’t have worn these shoes,” I say, glancing down at the shimmery gold stilettos on my feet.
“I’ll be right behind you. I won’t let you trip.” Miles says.
“Lucy, I’m going to get out now and open your door. Okay?”
“Okay.”
Grady gets out and opens my door, and I’m flooded with unfamiliar faces and flashing lights.
Lucy, how’s the baby?…Did you set a date for the wedding?…Over here!
I smile and focus on putting one high heel in front of the other, until I’m on the other side of the arena door, which Grady quickly closes behind us.
Miles looks at me and smiles. “See. You did it.”
I nod and blow out a breath.
“You’re not gonna throw up are you? You look a little pale.”
“No.” I roll my eyes. “I don’t think so. I actually do feel a little queasy. I may have to resort to watching Sam’s matches on TV. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to that.”
He laughs. “Come on, Sam’s around the corner.”
A wave of relief washes over me, reminding me that Sam is worth the media mayhem.
I follow Miles down a long cinder-block hallway that’s peppered with arena staff who are far too busy to pay any attention to me. He takes me into a dressing room that’s filled with faces I recognize from the Quebec fight. Sam is sitting in a chair in the middle of them all, bobbing his head to the beat of whatever rap song is blaring through his headphones. I’m not sure who they all are or what exactly each of them do, but one of them is wrapping Sam’s hands in white gauze and tape while another suited man is marking them up with a black marker. Sam seems oblivious.
I watch intently as they pull his gloves on and lace them up under the watchful eyes of the man I assume is the commissioner. He turns Sam’s gloves over and inspects them, before giving his nod of approval and shaking Joe’s hand.
I stand against the wall across the room, waiting for the commissioner to leave, but Sam notices me and stands up. He pushes his headphones off his ears and walks over to me. “Give us a minute,” he says to his team, and they migrate to an adjoining room.
The determined look of a warrior slides off his face and his dimples make an appearance as he drops his eyes over me. “You look incredible,” he says, wrapping his arms around my waist.
“Do they always do what you tell them to?”
“When it comes to you.”
I run my hands over his shoulders. “Good to know.”
“How was the ride in?”
“Fine. Did you know that I’m pregnant?”
“Is that so?”
“Mm-hmm. The paparazzi outside told me.”
“Is it a boy or a girl?”
“Probably an alien.”
“Well, as long as it’s healthy.”
“We’re getting married too. Soon, I think.”
“So you said yes then?”
I smile and put my hand on his scruffy cheek. “It’s never even been a question.”
“Luc, I know you didn’t ask for all this, but I’m so proud to show you to the world. Thanks for being here tonight.”
“There’s no place on earth I’d rather be.”
“Sam, we’ve got to go,” Joe says, leading the rest of his team back into the room. He smiles at me and opens his arms. “Hey, Luc. You look great.”
“Hey, Joe.” I wrap my arms around him and give him a quick hug. “Thanks.”
“Okay, quick introductions.” He points to each person in the room and recites their names, “Leon, Mikey, Jordon, Will, and you know Tristan.”
Tris winks at me and I smile at him over the tugging I feel in my heart.
“Fellas, this is Lucy.”
They all smile and say hello over each other.
“Hey guys. It’s nice to meet you all, officially.”
“Lucy, come with me,” Miles says. “We’ll go take our seats while they finish up.”
“Okay. Bye, champ.” I smile at Sam, whose face hardens as soon as his eyes leave me.
I follow Miles out of the room, and Grady follows me as we head back down the cinder-block hallway to a set of double doors that rumble to the beat of the music blaring on the other side. I should be used to this by now, but a wave of excitement and trepidation washes over me, making me feel light-headed.
I take a deep breath as Miles pushes one of the doors open, and then I’m enveloped by the energy of the excited arena. I follow closely behind Miles, sandwiched between him and Grady, as we walk in between two sections of screaming fans, whose faces are only occasionally lit by the bouncing blue lights that dance around the arena. Staff members with glowing red batons line the walkway and guide us to the brightly lit ring in the center of the crowded floor.
I quickly take my seat beside Miles, who leans in and shouts, “You hear that?”
I notice the sudden spike in applause and shout back, “Yeah. Is Sam coming?”
“No, look up. They’re cheering for you.”
I glance up at the giant monitors over the ring and see my face in ultra HD for the entire arena, and people watching on TV, to see. I smile shyly and lean into Miles again. “What do I do?” I ask, smiling over the mortification that’s showing in my blushing cheeks.
“Just act normal.”
“Right, just pretend my face isn’t plastered across the monitors for everyone to see.”
“You want to be with Sam? This is Sam’s world. You gotta get over it, Lucy.”
I nod and pull out my phone, which keeps buzzing inside my clutch.
Sebastian: OMG you’re famous!
Sebastian: You look gorgeous!
Sebastian: I’m so jealous!
Sebastian: I’m coming w you next time!
Me: Good bc I’m making it a requirement of your job. FYI
Sebastian: Best job ever! Best boss ever
Me: I wish you were here. I’m freaking out
Sebastian: Doesn’t show. You’re doing great
I look up, relieved when they begin to showcase Antoine Phillips and flash pictures of him on the monitors as the announcers highlight his career achievements. I don’t know much about him, other than what Sam has told me. He comes from a wealthy family and has had the best trainers money can buy. There’s a steady roar of applause as the blue and white spotlights bounce around the arena, but when the showcase turns to Sam, the applause turns into thunder, like always, as the crowd cheers and screams and stomps their feet.
I gaze up at Sam in high definition, recalling the first time I saw his highlight reel at Madison Square Garden, and it still overwhelms me. I’ll never get used to the sound of twenty thousand people screaming for him. No longer concerned with who’s watching me, I beam with the same pride I felt that night, thinking about where he started. Where we both started. We were just a couple of kids from Brighton Park. And now look at us. He has everything he ever wanted. And so do I.
I know Antoine is making his way toward the ring because everyone’s attention turns to the far corner of the arena as an entourage of people and flashing lights move through the crowd. My heart flutters with nervous excitement, because in just a few more minutes, Sam will be standing in the ring with him. I push down the worry that always accompanies Sam’s matches and smile as the cheers and applause turn to thunder again. Everyone’s attention turns to the opposite corner of the arena as Sam makes his way to the ring.
My heart stands at attention when he looks at me and I no longer notice the blaring music or thundering cheers. I only see him, climbing effortlessly between the ropes and taking the ring like the champion he is. He entices the crowd, jumping up onto the ropes and pumping his gloves in the air, and everyone goes crazy. But I no longer see the warrior they see. When I look at his strong body, I see his painted armor differently. All of his thick muscles that protect him in the ring are the same ones that hold me at night, that protect me. I have a feeling it’s only going to get hard
er and harder to watch him take hits inside the ring. Especially after what happened in Quebec. Memories of him lying unconscious on the floor of the dressing room fill me with fear that I try to ignore.
I look at the tattoos that cover his chest and wrap around his arm, following the details of the ones that are spelled out, thinking of the day I painted them in my studio. A day that changed the trajectory of our lives. When he raises his gloves up and I see Lamb scrolled across his rib cage, I beam with pride and gratitude for the quiet gesture he made, long before our fate was sealed.
The fight begins and the familiar dance commences, leading the thundering roar of the crowd as Sam and Antoine begin to throw punches at each other. Sam takes the first hit, like he always does, and air hisses through my teeth, like it always does.
Sam Cole taking the first hit of the night…To give Phillips a false sense of advantage…That’s right, Cole said recently that he likes to do a little reverse psychology, let his opponent think he’s got the upper hand. The commentators laugh, but I don’t find the humor in letting a heavy hitter punch you in the face on purpose. Isn’t the idea to block the punches so your brain doesn’t turn to mush? I personally like Sam’s brain very much and would like it to remain fully functional.
Joe shouts from beside the ring, “Throw the jab, Sam, throw it!”
Antoine hits him again.
Another hit to the head for Cole and he loses his footing.
“Keep those hands up, Sam!” Miles shouts.
Sam stiffens his shoulders and throws an uppercut that leaves Antoine disoriented. Then he takes the opportunity to throw several punches at Antoine’s ribs and face, pushing him across the ring into the ropes. But Antoine has a sudden burst of energy and explodes off the ropes, returning several punches to Sam’s ribs, which had only just healed from the Quebec fight.
“Jesus.” I gasp and grab Miles’s arm.
“He’s all right. He’s not hurt.”
“You always say that.”
“He’s not. He’s on his feet. He’s fine.”
I watch the skin that covers Sam’s ribs begin to pinken as the blood penetrates it just beneath the surface. He’s not fine.
By the seventh round, it’s clear that he has a broken rib. Again. The blood is pooling in a spot beneath his arm, and he’s keeping his elbow drawn down to protect the area from another blow. He’s in pain, whether or not anyone else can see it. I glance at Miles, who’s cheering Sam on excitedly. Or is willing to see it.
By the tenth round, Sam isn’t the only one who looks like hell. He bloodied Antoine’s nose in a hard blow to the face that knocked him to the mat. But it didn’t keep him down long. He was back on his feet before the ten count and ready for more.
Antoine throws a right hook, followed by an uppercut and finally a jab to Sam’s bruised ribs that knocks the light out of his eyes.
Sam falls to the mat and I scream behind my hands.
The referee counts, One…two…three…
The arena is going crazy and everyone is on their feet.
“Get up, Sam, get up!” I shout, but he doesn’t, and I know he must be ravaged by the pain radiating from his ribs. I try not to think of the damage that’s been done, but it’s holding me prisoner to my seat, where I sit with my face in my hands.
“He’ll get up,” Miles says to me. “He won’t stay down for the whole count.”
But by five, when he’s still not back on his feet, I begin to feel sick.
Screw the title. What’s wrong with him? “Can’t you see he’s hurt?!” I scream at Miles, who doesn’t argue with me.
“Come on, Sam! Come on, baby,” Miles shouts at the ring. “You’re the fucking champ. Get on your feet!”
This could be it for Sam Cole tonight…I’ll tell you, after breaking his ribs in Quebec, a fight he nearly lost to Beau Ackerman, this might be enough to keep him down…He’s definitely in a lot of pain.
Seven…
Sam pulls himself up on the bottom rope and drags his knee under him, and the crowd erupts again.
Eight…
“That’s it, Sam. Get up!” Joe shouts from beside the ring.
Sam pulls his feet under him and stands up.
The referee stops counting and my heart begins to beat again. He grabs Sam’s gloves and pushes down on them, and Sam nods to his question. He looks terrible, but he gives me a wink and I can’t help but smile back, even if it’s fleeting.
I don’t believe it, he did it again…Sam Cole might just be the new comeback kid…Using the term kid loosely, right?…I still think he’s got a few good years left in him…I don’t know, there’s been a lot of talk about his retirement.
“Retirement?” I say to Miles.
“Ahh, don’t listen to them. Sam’s not going anywhere. Not yet.”
Sam takes his stance in front of Antoine, who immediately throws a punch at his face, but misses. Thank God. Sam screws up his battered face and lets out a ferocious roar that somehow settles the fear inside me. He begins throwing punches at Antoine faster than I can count, eventually knocking him off his feet and onto his back in the middle of the mat. The referee starts counting again, this time for Antoine.
One…two…three…four…five…
He isn’t getting up, and the crowd grows louder with each passing second.
Six…seven…eight…nine…ten.
“Yes,” I say quietly, closing my eyes with relief as the crowd erupts. When I open them again, all the guys are climbing up into the ring with Sam.
“You did it, baby!” Joe screams.
Once again, Sam Cole has defended his title as the undisputed light-heavyweight champion of the world!
Miles puts his hand on my back, and I begin to walk toward Grady, but he redirects me to the ring instead. He shows me a small set of steps and points up to the ring where Sam is hanging over the top rope waiting for me. Grady stands behind me as I carefully climb up the steps and I lean into Sam’s heavy arms. “You scared me,” I say to him, wiping his sweaty face.
“I’m sorry.” He smiles and the people in the ring swarm him, but he kisses me before they pull him away. “I love you.”
“I love you.”
“Come on, Lucy, I’ll take you back.” Grady reaches for my hand and helps me down the steps, and I follow him to the dressing room, sandwiched between him and Miles, ignoring the voices shouting at us from the encroaching crowd.
When we reach the dressing room, I’m grateful for the silence. But it’s fleeting. As soon as Sam and his rambunctious team enter the room, it’s anything but quiet. A win for Sam is a win for all of them, but for crying out loud, he’s hurt. Badly.
“He needs a doctor, Miles. Not a party.”
“Okay, fellas, settle down.” Miles says, and Sam falls stiffly into a chair.
“You did good tonight, champ, but you’re hurt,” Joe says, standing beside me and Miles. He kneels in front of Sam and lifts his arm off his bruised ribs, making him groan. The blood pooled under his skin is turning purple.
I pull my hand over my mouth, because what I want to say will have to wait until we’re alone.
“You’re not going to be able fight for a while. Not after this.”
Miles rubs his hand over his chin. “He’s under contract, Joe.”
Joe gives him a hard look. “Is that all you care about? How he’s going to make you your next million?”
“I care about his legal obligations. I care about his financial well-being. He signed a three-fight contract that begins in January.”
“Oh, fuck the contract, Miles. Don’t act like it can’t be renegotiated. Start it in April. March, even. He needs time to heal properly. We’ll get a physician to attest to it.”
“And how do you think that’s going to look with these retirement rumors swirling?”
“Knock it off,” Sam says weakly, the adrenaline leaving his body.
“Sam, look—”
“Shut up, Miles.”
“All right, we d
on’t have to make any decisions tonight,” Joe says. “Let’s just get you looked at. You ready for the doc to come in?”
“Yeah.”
“I’ll go get him. Come on, everybody in the other room, you know the drill.”
I begin to follow the group, but Sam calls my name, “Lucy.”
I stop and walk over to him.
“Not you. Stay here. Please.”
I glance up at Miles, who nods and says, “Doc’s gonna come in and check him out. He’ll tell us what the damage is.”
“Okay.”
“After you get a shower, we’ll do the press conference,” he says to Sam.
Sam looks up at me. “I want you to come with us.”
“You want me to go to your press conference?”
He gives me a crooked smile. “Yes.”
“Why? What do you want me to do?”
“Sit on the panel. Answer some questions.”
“Sam…I’m not qualified.”
“You’re as qualified as the other bozos that sit up there with him,” Miles says, giving me an encouraging smile. “Might be a good chance to set the record straight. Put some of these crazy rumors to rest.”
“Okay.” I nod thoughtfully. “I’ll do it.”
Sam smiles softly and mouths, thank you.
* * *
Sam wraps his arm around me despite his broken ribs and leads me to the media room for the panel interview. We stop outside the door and he smiles down at me. “You ready?”
“No.”
He laughs and takes my hand as we follow Miles into the crowded room, which is much smaller than I thought it would be. He shows me where to sit and then takes the seat beside me behind a table fixed with stationary microphones. Joe and Miles take the other two seats next to Sam, and Tristan stands behind us with the rest of his team.
“Everybody calm down,” Miles says to the buzzing room. “I know you’re all excited about my new suit. I’ll give you the name of my tailor after the interview is over. Okay?”
The intimate crowd laughs, and it helps ease my nerves, especially when Sam looks over at me with a beaming smile and accompanying dimples.
“In all seriousness, though, we have a new member of the team we want to introduce you to tonight. This is Lucy Bennett,” he says, gesturing across the table to me. “One of the most exceptional artists and kind human beings you’ll ever have the pleasure to meet. I expect you to treat her with the same level of respect she gets from all of us. And if you don’t…well…” He laughs. “That’s at your own risk, because Sam is very protective of his girlfriend.”
