I sit stoically on the table, staring at the wall over Sonny’s shoulder as he methodically wraps my hands in the bright pink tape that Frankie bought me that I never got around to replacing. I think about the last fight and who was taping me then. Her movements were not as jerky and agitated as my brother’s, then again I hadn’t punched her in the face hours before either. Seeing Mav and my dad out of my peripheral talking to the babysitter sent by the EWF, I let my thoughts swirl and for the first time in my life I don’t even want to fucking be here. In this moment I want to give up because I don’t fucking care. The notion is so foreign to me it makes me irate that I’ve been brought to this.
Closing my eyes, I think about the fight and try to get my head in the game as I feel Sonny start his prefight rubdown. The silence in the room is deafening, the tension adding to the heaviness inside me. Opening my eyes, I’m startled to find my pop staring at me. I look away, swinging my gaze instead to the bruise covering Sonny’s swollen jaw, and still can’t find the strength to give a fuck. Focusing on my pop again, I allow myself a moment of weakness.
“She here?” I ask gruffly.
Shaking his head no, he starts to say something, but I cut him off by hopping down from the table.
“Let’s do this shit then, yeah?” Yanking open the door, I stomp to the tunnel and wait for my intro music, not bothering to see if my team is behind me. The one person who has always been in my corner, the only person I want there isn’t. So fuck it, fuck it all. This may be an important fight, but I have yet to get my heart in it.
As soon as my song starts, I start for the Octagon, my home, the place I need to be right now to release the fury and despair that I feel. I stand impatiently at the bottom of the steps, just going through the motions as they check me out and the cut man tends to me. Scraping my hair back into a tight bun, I step into the cage and wait for some relief. I get none. Looking around the arena, I see the blur of faces as I raise my arms in greeting, though not in my usual fanfare. I’m making my way back to my corner to wait for Holloway when I see the ring girls for the evening. When Veronica blows me a kiss and laughs as she takes her seat next to the other bikini clad chick, I want out more than ever.
By the time The Tank enters through the gate, I’m way past ready for it all to be over. I don’t pay attention to anything that the ref says or the taunts from Holloway; all I hear is white noise and the rush of my own blood coursing through my veins. As soon as the bell dings, I spring into action, following his dancing and bouncing form as he circles me trying to find an opening to lay me out. I never even give him the chance as I land a high kick to his temple, then as he staggers back, I get a grip on the back of his head and bring my knee up as I pull his face down, connecting with his nose, bringing an instant gush of blood. Not pausing in my assault, I unleash a flurry of left and right hooks, not letting the pain in my left hand slow me down. I follow him as he slides to the mat still taking my hits, until the referee slides in between me and a nearly unconscious Holloway, stopping the fight, nearly taking one of my punches himself. Chest rising and falling rapidly from the exertion, I don’t wait for them to announce me as the winner—I already know I am. Without more than an arm raised briefly in acknowledgement, I storm out of the cage, letting the gate slam against the outside of the cage when I throw it open. Not slowing, I charge back down the tunnel I had come from only minutes before, knowing that I’m going to catch hell from all sides and still not able to find my give a fuck.
I hear Trent on the phone talking to Reggie about the fight, telling him that we’re on our way back to the hotel now. Reggie, being the head of my security, takes his job very seriously. Since I’d made him stay behind with Frankie, he sent Trent and some new guy, Bo, with me on this trip. I don’t give a fuck who he sends where, as long as he keeps Frankie safe. Andrew still hasn’t surfaced and I need eyes on her in case he’s planning something. I usually never have this much security, but with things the way they are, it makes everyone feel better that Frankie and I are covered. This checking in bullshit is pissing me off though—I don’t need a fucking keeper.
“Ask him if she’s okay,” I demand kicking underneath Trent’s seat.
He locks gazes with me in the rearview mirror and nods in acquiescence. Satisfied, I go to watching the lights flash as we speed by. I’m not sure how Reggie knows Bo or what his deal is, but I know he’s one hell of a driver. Maneuvering through the shit traffic of L.A. like its nothing. I pull my phone from my duffel. Scrolling through all of the missed calls, I notice that I already have one from Derek, the President of EWF, and about fifteen from both Carter and Mav. Since the two of them work together on all of my PR stuff, I’m assuming that they are busting ass on damage control and probably have received a call or two from Derek as well. I keep flipping, not finding what I’m hoping for, and go to my texts, stopping when I see one from Indie.
Jones: Hey, you. Just wanted to wish you luck tonight and let you know that WE’RE watching. Knock him dead, asshat. On second thought scratch that, it’s probably frowned upon. Just win the damn thing, okay?!
Smiling faintly for the first time in days, I shoot off a reply.
Me: Thanks, Jones. I’m sure I’ll be in a world of shit, but I won, so fuck it.
Hitting send, I lean my head back and close my eyes. I want to grill her on why the Princess didn’t come. What she’s doing. If Rico fucking Suave is there. If she’s okay. Someone tell me again why I can’t just go get my girl. Lock her up somewhere and make her love me. I pinch the bridge of my nose with my calloused thumb and forefinger, exhausted despite the adrenaline still shooting through me. I’m already tired of fighting myself, convincing myself that I have to wait and it’s only been two motherfucking days. Not expecting a response, I’m startled when my cell dings with an incoming message.
Jones: We saw. WTF was that all about, dick? She’s really upset and if you tell her that I said so I’ll kick your ass! You’re probably gonna get fined, huh? She’s on the phone with her dad now, speaking Italian, don’t know what they’re saying.
Me: Why is she upset? She okay, Indie? Fuck the fine.
Jones: She’s upset bc you’re so angry. She’s worried.
Me: Yeah, well, if she’s so worried there’s an easy fucking solution.
Jones: Not that easy, caveman.
Me: Whatever. Gotta go.
Phone switched off, I throw it back into my bag and go back to watching the city fly by.
“Hey, Deacon?” Trent’s voice breaks through the silence.
“Yeah?” I bark out.
“Reggie said that Frankie is fine, hasn’t left her place all night and…nobody came over. It’s just the two girls.”
Reggie’s way of letting me know Cristiano hasn’t been there. I nod but don’t say anything to him.
“He also said that he’s staying the night.”
Whipping my head in his direction, “Why the fuck is he sleeping there, did he say?” He hasn’t slept there in months. Then again she’s either been in my bed or I’ve been in hers during that time, and I can protect my girl without his help.
Wiping the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand, he brings his gaze back up to mine in the mirror.
“He said he doesn’t think she should be alone.” Shrugging he holds his hands up in “don’t shoot the messenger” fashion and goes back to texting.
Whatever the fuck that means.
I curse under my breath and reach for my phone again. As I wait for it to fire up I think about all I want to say and wonder how much of it I’ll actually get out. Should I call or just text her? The phone comes alive in my hands and I look down at the picture of me and Frankie wrapped around each other laughing, me kissing her on the cheek. I stroke a finger over our smiling faces and then swipe it away, opening up to the apps. I hover over the call button and then switch to the text.
Me: Reggie will stay there, he’ll keep you safe. Don’t fight him, please. For me.
Tapping the send button, I sit and wait for a response, my leg bouncing up and down in agitation. When three minutes go by and I still don’t get one, I shoot off another text.
Me: You don’t need to text me back. Write this shit down though, one fight down, two more to go. Don’t think I’m not coming for your ass, Princess.
I let out a deep breath and wish like hell I had a drink. I’m just about to tell Bo, the stunt driver to stop at the next liquor store he sees when I hear the ping of my phone, letting me know I have a text message. Palming my phone, I look down at the glowing screen to see,
The Princess: Bumper Cars, Deac <3
Bumper Cars? What the fuck does that even mean? I huff out an exasperated breath about to man up and just fucking call her when it dawns on me. It’s a song. Spotify app open, I search the title and put my earbuds in to listen. It’s so Frankie it makes me feel closer to her, and then I stop to actually listen to the words. They say so much, tell me the things that she’s afraid to say, the things she’s fighting. Her pain comes through in every word. My girl. She loves hard, but she knows me better than anyone else and that’s where her fear lies.
By the time we reach the hotel I’ve listened to the whole album and text her once again, letting her know that I hear her. I’m here and I’m not going anywhere.
ME: Little Do You Know