The Savage Gentleman

by Harlan, Christopher

  “Why didn’t you tell me all of this?”

  There is it—the question I’ve been hoping he wouldn’t ask. I’m not sure I even have a good answer, but he deserves something from me. “This is going to sound weird.”

  “Try me.”

  “I didn’t want to remember any of that when we were together. You’re honestly the first thing in my life since the beating that’s made me forget about it. Normally I’d think of it 24/7. At home, with friends, when I’m out. But when we’re together, I don’t think about anything but you, and I didn’t want to mix the two. I honestly wasn’t trying to keep it from you, or be deceptive.”

  “So, I’m guessing the thing about your job was. . .”

  “That was a lie and I’m really really sorry for that. You didn’t deserve to have me lie to you. The truth is I wasn’t laid off because of budget cuts—I had to take leave. First it was a medical leave because of my injuries, but after that it was psychological. I couldn’t deal with the stress of work. I couldn’t even deal with the stress of going to work or being around people. So instead of going to the classroom every day, I went to therapy. I have a great therapist, but it’s still a lot of work.”

  “So, what happened before? The call. You said it was his brother?”

  “Wyatt. Real piece of work. CEO of a huge chemical company in Connecticut.”

  “Of course he is. Go on.”

  “I haven’t seen or spoken to him since the trial when I testified against his brother. And even there, he was shooting me dirty looks and whispering shit under his breath. He’s a loose canon—typical corporate type. Entitled, used to getting what he wants. He never liked the idea of me being with Brett to begin with.”

  “And tell me what he said to you. Exactly.”

  “At first I didn’t know who it was. It was right after you left to come to practice. I was walking to the station to go to therapy and my cell rang. The number was blocked, but for some reason I answered the call. It took me a minute to even realize who it was. That’s when he told me he was coming to get me back for what I did to his brother.”

  “Those were his exact words? ‘Coming to get you’?”

  “Yeah. I think so. After that I had a panic attack. It was like all the anxiety that’d I’d been fighting off rushed back to the surface all at once. It took over my entire body and I couldn’t breathe. It took everything I had for me to even make it to the gym, but you were the first person I thought of seeing. That’s why I came here.”

  “You did the right thing. I’m going to keep you safe.”

  “How? He knows where I live.”

  “Well that’s the first thing we’re going to fix. You’re moving in with me.”

  “I’m what?”

  “Hey, look, it doesn’t mean we’re getting married or anything, but the easiest thing to do is for you to stay at my place. I’ll assume he knows where your best friends live so it makes more sense for you to move somewhere he doesn’t know, temporarily. I don’t know how credible his threat is—I mean, maybe he was drunk and angry and just saying crazy shit. But if he’s at all serious, I don’t want you staying home alone. You’re coming to my place. You can have the bedroom, I’ll sleep on the couch if you need me to.”

  “I think we’re past that point, Lucas. We can sleep in the same bed together.”

  “Yeah, you’re right.”

  I smile. It’s the first time I’ve smiled since I saw him last at the cafe. He’s my only reason to smile lately, and even though I’m far from okay, being around him—just being in his presence—is making me feel safe. “I’m so sorry I’m bringing this to your doorstep—literally. I know you have this big fight and the last thing you need on top of that stress is my drama, but. . .”

  “Stop it,” he says, putting a single, gentle finger over my mouth. I stop talking instantly, and he moves his hand from my mouth to my cheek. “Don’t apologize. Yeah, I have a huge fight and all that comes with it. I know it’s my dream. And I’m going to get that done, don’t you worry. But I also have you—if I have you, that is. I mean, I’m not sure what to call what we are to each other, but. . .”

  “You have me,” I tell him, tears forming in my eyes. “I don’t need a title. I just need you.”

  “You always have me. And I’m going to keep you safe and help you get through this, okay? Trust me.”

  “I do trust you. I trust you more than anyone.”

  “Good. Let me get cleaned up. If it’s okay, I want to tell Matt about what’s going on. I think he knows some of the backstory.”

  “He does,” I confirm. “Holly told him before I took my lesson with you.”

  “Okay. Matt will help us move you. He has a huge truck that we can load important stuff into if we need it.”

  “That sounds great. But won’t he be mad about us?”

  “Not important. He can be mad, I’ll deal with that. But he’s also a good guy and he’d want to help you more than he’d want to yell at me. I trust Matt with my life.”

  “Alright,” I tell him. “As long as it’s okay. I don’t want to get you in trouble again.”

  “You didn’t get me in trouble the first time—that was my own irresponsibility. It had nothing to do with you. Don’t worry about me right now. It’s okay to be selfish.”

  “Thank you, Lucas. For everything. I feel better, even though nothing’s changed.”

  “Good,” he tells me. “But there is one condition I have.”

  “Anything. Name it.”

  “It’s time for you to start training—full time.”

  I love the idea.

  I love all that he’s doing for me.

  And I think that I love him, too.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Lucas

  One month later

  It’s rare that I feel pride in another person, but I feel it right now.

  I’ve been proud of myself before. When I got my Jiu Jitsu black belt, when I won my first fight, when I first fought for a title. But right now, I’m beaming with pride as I watch Mila lock up a vicious triangle choke on Matt “the Second.”

  “Don’t be a hero, Matt. Tap.”

  He does what I tell him. After trying to get out and realizing that it’s way too tight for an escape, Matt “the Second” taps his hands against Mila’s thigh and she relents. The kid’s face looks like a bottle of ketchup. He takes a deep breath once he’s free and taps hands with Mila.

  “Damn, that was tight,” he tells her.

  “Thanks. I’ve been working on it.”

  I had this idea after Mila’s trouble with her ex’s brother. The scumbag has yet to show himself or make any more threats, but that doesn’t mean shit to me. For all I know he’s a complete psycho, waiting for his moment. Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe it was just some bitter, drunken threat that he regretted right after he called. I’d like to believe the latter, but I know people too well, and I’m a paranoid fuck when it comes to situations like this.

  Mila’s been living with me for the past four weeks, and it’s honestly been amazing. I was worried. I’ve never lived with a girl before, and I’m a savage when it comes to my place. There’s shit everywhere, and dishes are usually in a giant pile, when I even cook for myself. But she did her thing as soon as she got there—now all my clothes are in a closet, all my dishes get washed right away, and my place looks like I have a full-time maid. She didn’t have to do any of that, but I wasn’t about to refuse either.

  “Okay, one more roll. Two minutes. Matt, you’re on your back. You’re trying to stand up. Mila, you’re trying to keep him down and/or submit. Got it?” They both nod. “Okay, go.” I hit my stopwatch for two minutes. They slap hands and start their drill. My idea was to kill two birds with one stone, and so far it’s working out beautifully.

  I didn’t see it at first, but Matt “the Second” and Mila have a lot in common. They’ve both been victimized by other people—had their confidence and even their dignity taken against their will, and both cam
e to me a broken version of who they really are. Once Mila told me the truth about her past it just clicked that I could help them both. But even more, they could help each other. Four weeks isn’t a long time, but for them it’s been like a year of training.

  “Retain guard, Matt. Don’t let her pass!”

  “Yes, sir.”

  First off, I can tell that Matt’s got a crush on Mila, and who could blame him? I wish I was rolling around on the ground with a hot girl when I was his age. And she’s been really good for him. Not only are they at the same level of training—basically no real level—but she’s also helped build his confidence by paying him little compliments here and there. He’s done the same. Since he got into that scrap, we started training for real. I taught him all of the basic self-defense moves that he’d need in a real-life situation, and with my assistance he also showed them to Mila. We work once a day on self-defense, we go for a run three times a week, and in between we do real Jiu Jitsu. I was surprised how fast Mila took to grappling. She’s tapping Matt left and right, and hanging in there with some of the white belts who have more experience than her.

  I also enrolled her in an all female self-defense class we offer at the academy, and she’s been learning some specific moves to defend herself in scenarios that women find themselves in, like getting assaulted in a car or in a confined space, or by a much larger opponent. She’s doing great, and I can see her confidence building more and more each day. She’s like a whole new woman.

  “And. . . time! Good job, shake hands. Great job today, Matt.”

  “Thanks, Professor. It’s getting easier.”

  “That’s what I love to hear. Anyone messing with you at school? Tell me the truth.”

  “One kid tried, but when he saw that I was willing to fight him—even though I didn’t really want to—he backed right off. Other than that, there hasn’t been any trouble.”

  “Good,” I tell him, putting my hand on his shoulder. “Let’s keep it that way.”

  “Yes, Professor.”

  Matt’s dad takes him home right after the roll and Mila stays behind to watch me train. I’ve been so caught up in teaching and taking care of Mila that I sometimes forget that my championship fight is coming up in about a month. So far there’s been no bullshit. I’ve been in the gym and on the mats every single day, even with a teaching schedule that Master Splinter luckily pulled back to just Matt “the Second.” Other than that, I feel good. I can’t wait to get my hands on Jason, and to get that gold strap wrapped around my waist once and for all.

  Mike is back for a training session. Matt’s convinced that my best shot for beating Jason is on my feet, and I agree. Jason’s an okay striker, but he’s a great grappler. It’s a better idea to use my punches and kicks to keep the fight standing than it is to go on some ego trip on the ground. That means that I need my hands sharp, and Mike is just the guy to help me with that.

  The guy’s always on time. He walks into the gym, shades on, attitude radiating off of him. It’s not a bad attitude, it’s just that type all of us fighters have when it’s time for business. Outside of the cage most fighters you meet are nice, humble, genuinely nice people. But when it’s time to make the donuts, watch out. Then we all think we’re king of the fucking world.

  “You ready, bitch?” he says in his thick Brighton Beach Russian accent. “I’m gonna make that face ugly.”

  Mila looks at me. “Who’s that? And does he always talk to you like that?”

  “That’s Mikhail—we call him Mike cause we’re dumb Americans— and yeah, that’s his thing. He likes to shit talk all of his training partners and try to get into their heads. It’s a good exercise. It’s hilarious when he does it in fights—you should see the looks on his opponent’s face when he starts talking shit about their moms.”

  “Oh, okay. Got it,” she says awkwardly. “There’s a lot about fighting culture I guess I still don’t get.”

  “Ha,” I laugh. “That was mild. You have no idea.”

  Mila stays as Mike and I go five rounds. We’re not going full tilt like they used to in the old days. Old school gym guys used to fight their teammates and call it sparring, but what it really did was lead to a shorter career and more brain damage. However many blows to the head a guy would take over the course of a career in the cage or octagon, he’d take tens of thousands more in the gym training for those fights. Nowadays, because of the knowledge about CTE and brain trauma, a lot of top guys don’t even spar any more. I go light, just drilling technique, but neither Mike nor I are hitting each other full force. It’s mostly for timing and developing reaction time.

  In between rounds, I catch glimpses of Mila watching me—sweaty, shirt off, breathing heavy—and I feel like showing off. I resist the urge because training camp isn’t the place to get yourself hurt or hurt your partner, but whenever she’s around I want to showboat—to puff out my chest and dance around that cage like Muhammad Ali, cocky and confident all at the same time. She brings that out in me—something carnal that makes me want to show her that I’m king of this fucking jungle.

  When our session is over, Mila decides to take off to meet up with her friends. I still have a strength and conditioning session, and Matt and I want to do some game planning. And it’s that part—the thinking part, where Matt really earns his Master Splinter status. He’s a legit genius when it comes to fight strategies. He watches hours upon hours of footage on guys—studies their tendencies, their strengths, their weaknesses—and then he puts together a game plan for his guys for fight day based on all that research. I can’t wait to hear what he has to say, but first I need to get that cardio in.

  “How about Chinese later? I haven’t had Chinese in a few weeks.”

  This is another one of those moments where Mila doesn’t fully get the fight game. A huge part of this fighting profession isn’t fighting at all—its weight cutting. Almost no pro fighter actually walks around at the weight he or she fights at. We all walk around much heavier, and we cut down so that we’ll have a size advantage over our opponents. I’m not doing the week-of-the-fight weight cut just yet, but I am cutting weight, which basically means no food that tastes good.

  “Weight,” is all I say.

  “Shit, I keep forgetting, I’m sorry. I see you eating all of those prepared meals, I should probably remember, right?”

  “Nah, it takes some getting used to. Normal people don’t try to lose thirty pounds in a month. Just us crazy folk. But you don’t have to suffer. You want me to pick up Chinese to bring home later?”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yeah, it’s fine, I don’t mind. Just text me what you want and I’ll grab it. What time are you home?”

  “Seven. I’m meeting Holly and Sophie for a drink but they have to leave by 6:30, so should be home by seven.”

  “Perfect,” I say.

  “I’ll see you then. Thank you!”

  We kiss before she leaves, and I do it right in front of Matt on purpose. I’m not trying to rub it in his face or anything like that, but he was not so thrilled when I told him about us. Like I said, we’re two grown men, and he’s not going to lecture me, but I know him well enough to know when he’s not happy with something. So instead of arguing with him, I just need to show him that being with a woman and training aren’t incompatible things with me—I can handle both and do well.

  “I love those lips.”

  “I love yours even more. Text me your order later.”

  “I will. Enjoy cardio.”

  “If you ever did this kind of cardio you wouldn’t say that to me.”

  She smiles and walks off.

  I have cardio. I have game planning. I have a fight. But all I really want is for the next few hours to pass so that I can be with her again.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Mila

  “My whole body hurts, you guys.”

  “Ohh,” Sophie says, a little too enthusiastically. “He’s athletic in and out of the cage, huh? I need details.
Does he like, throw you around the bedroom?”

  The image isn’t completely unpleasant, but I have to smile at Sophie’s particular kind of sexual imagination. “Of course he does. Picks me up, throws me around, catches me like I’m a ball. It’s insane. We should be in porn, we’d make a fortune. Next time I’ll invite you over to watch.”

  “Really?”

  I don’t know which scenario is scarier—if she’s joking, or if she’s not joking.

  “No, not really. Jesus, Sophie.”

  “Oh, yeah. I was just playing around anyhow. I knew you were joking.”

  “Yeah, sure,” Holly says, finally interjecting into this ridiculous conversation. “He’s been working you hard, huh? At the gym, I mean.”

  “I’ve never worked so hard at something in my life. It’s so difficult and so much fun all at the same time. And having Lucas as a teacher doesn’t hurt either.”

  “I bet it doesn’t. And to think, you have me to thank for it all!”

  “Woah, woah, woah. How do you figure?”

  “Are you kidding?” she asks. “You didn’t want to go to the gym. I forced you. If I hadn’t, you would have never met Lucas, and you never would have ended up together. It’s simple.”

  “So, by that logic, I should thank Matt also, because he arranged for Lucas to be my teacher. And I should thank the girl who canceled also. I guess I have everyone to thank for us getting together.”

  “Now you’re starting to understand,” she laughs. “But seriously, I’m so happy for you. We both are.”

  “I’m not so sure if Sophie’s happy, or just wants to hear about the sex.”

  “I’m gonna be honest, it’s a little of both. But look, you were the one who was screaming out about his huge dick in pubic, so don’t make me out to be the freak of the group.”