7
“Mr. Maddox? I’m Jules. We met the other day.” Gabe Maddox had just stepped into the arena with his small entourage of trainers and assistants through the nondescript double doors off of a back hallway. He wore a gray WFC T-shirt and jeans, and walked in calm and collected as though he wasn’t about to fight the biggest bout of his career. His opponent, the light heavyweight champion Rafael Diaz, had come in about fifteen minutes earlier bouncing with energy.
“Darcy’s daughter. I remember you. Call me Gabe.” He shook her hand, and mumbled brief introductions to his trainers.
Jules smiled at each of them and motioned to the room on the left side of the wide hallway, set up with a curtain as a backdrop. The small production crew she’d hired on short notice was adjusting the bright lights. She’d been snagging fighters as they’d come into the arena all afternoon. “We’re putting together a few short videos for the WFC website and our YouTube channel. All we need is a quick introduction and a line about how pumped you are for the fight, or whatever you want to say to your supporters. Just something very quick and casual for the fans.”
She’d envisioned a backdrop with the blue and silver WFC logo and life-sized posters of the fighters on the main card, but she’d wanted to get a jump on producing exclusive, proprietary online content and couldn’t get all of that done on a few days’ notice. It’d all be in place before the tournament, though. She’d never been one to shy away from hard work.
“No problem.” He ran his hands over his longish hair, which had been pulled back into a low ponytail at his nape. His eyes were cool, completely detached from what was happening around him. He was known as The Sandman because of his reputation for knocking his opponents out cold in the cage. She couldn’t help but think that it suited him.
She paused in the doorway, and the production guys took over with the script of prompts and questions she’d given them.
“This is great, Julian.” She heard her dad’s voice seconds before his hand touched her shoulder. “I didn’t expect you to do all this so soon.”
Smiling, she glanced at her dad’s profile as he took in the room. “It’s not much, but I’m doing what I can given our tight timeline.”
“It’s great. Seriously, I’m impressed.” He smiled down at her.
Was that pride in his expression? Something welled in her chest, and she swallowed against the unfamiliar emotion. “It was nothing, but thanks, Dad.” She shrugged off the compliment.
“I know we haven’t been close, but . . . hell, I’m glad you’re here.” He looked back toward the men in the room.
She nodded. “Me too.” And she realized she meant it. The job was challenging, but her dad wasn’t being a jerk. If she could figure out how to work with Nick, it could be okay. Maybe even better than okay.
After a minute, he dropped his arm and walked over to talk to Gabe’s head trainer. The guys finished the promo spot, and she stepped out of the way so they could get to the locker room.
“Good luck tonight, Gabe,” she said.
Gabe grinned, a hint of a real smile crinkling the corners of his eyes. For a minute, his intimidating demeanor was replaced with something more human and approachable. “I bet you said that to Diaz too.”
She laughed. “I did, but I didn’t mean it. I want to see a crucifix submission in person.”
“You got it, Jules.”
Her dad added his own “good luck,” clapping Gabe on the shoulder as he passed. “You know about his crucifix submission?” he asked when the men were out of earshot.
“Give me a little credit.” She rolled her eyes, but kept her smile in place.
He held up his hands in surrender. “I’m just impressed. Again. Come on, the fights start soon. Let’s go sit down.”
He seemed almost giddy. His eyes lit up with excitement and a smile was plastered to his face. She’d never seen him so happy.
She decided not to mention the change in him as he ushered her down the labyrinth of wide hallways until they approached the double doors leading to the main arena. The low bass from the music blasting inside pumped through the walls, the vibrations tickling her feet through her stilettos. But just as she was getting the pass that hung on a lanyard around her neck ready to show the security guard, a voice stopped them.
“Jesus fucking Christ! Julian Darcy.”
She’d know that smooth baritone voice anywhere, and it brought a fresh smile to her face. They both turned and saw Gary Watts, the voice of the WFC, standing in the green room. He’d been friends with her dad since their boxing days, but it had been years since she’d seen Gary. Though he was only a few years older than her dad, he hadn’t aged as well. His forehead was creased from years of chronic pain thanks to his numerous fighting injuries, and it looked like every fight he’d ever taken had left its mark on his face. He was wearing a tailored suit that was obviously expensive, but he still managed to appear rumpled.
“Nice to see you, Gary.”
“Gary? What happened to Uncle Gary?” There was only a hint of South Boston in his accent.
“I’m not six anymore.”
Holding a paper cup in one hand, he gave her a one-armed hug—complete with a whiff of bourbon—before pulling back to look her up and down. “Holy shit, kid, you look just like your mother before she hit the pills too hard.”
“Gary!” Her dad opened his arms wide and gave his friend a what the hell look.
“It’s okay, Dad.” Gary wouldn’t be Gary if he wasn’t saying something inappropriate. “How’ve you been?”
“Not as good as you. Shit, you’re gorgeous. You got a guy hanging around?” He looked behind her as if he thought there’d be one literally following her around.
“Nope, I’m single.” She only briefly thought of Nick before extinguishing that dangerous spark.
“What the hell is wrong with those assholes?” But his voice trailed off before he could finish the thought, probably because her dad was staring daggers at him. “What’s it been? Ten years since I saw you?”
“Thirteen years. I was fourteen.”
“That’s right.” He snapped his fingers. “I played Santa for Christmas.”
If showing up at her dad’s house on Christmas morning drunk off his ass, wearing a Santa hat and his clothes from the night before was playing Santa, then yeah, he’d played Santa the last time she’d seen him. Before she could say anything, her dad interrupted.
“Did you eat, Julian? Want anything before we go in?”
She’d visited the lounge earlier, but had been too anxious about possibly seeing Nick at the fight to eat more than a few strawberries and cubes of cheese, so she shook her head. The trays on the tables lining one wall had been picked over, but he headed off in that direction anyway, leaving her to chat with Gary about her marketing plans for the league.
When her dad came back a few minutes later, he pressed an ice cream cone into her hand. “Where’d you get ice cream?” she asked.
He smiled broadly and pointed to a soft-serve machine in the far corner that she’d completely missed earlier. “A lot of the guys have kids. Deb thought it’d be fun to have. I got you strawberry, your favorite.”
She stared at the cone in her hand, not quite sure what to do. Chocolate was her favorite; it always had been. He’d know that if he’d bothered to pay attention to her growing up, but he hadn’t because he’d never been around.
“You don’t like it.” He deflated and she instantly felt horrible. He was trying, but the fact that he felt like he had a right to know those small details about her pissed her off. He couldn’t just invent things about her and act as if they didn’t have a lot of ground to cover getting to know each other. “You can throw it out.” He waved toward the trash can next to the machine.
But it was just ice cream, and there were more important things going on tonight. “No, no it’s fine. Chocolate is my favorite, but I like strawberry too. Thanks.” She brought it up for a bite, but it tasted bland.
He’d already turned his attention to Gary, leaning in toward him. Her dad plastered on a smile and kept his voice so low that she had to strain to hear it. “That better be fucking coffee in that cup.”
Gary glanced at the paper cup in his hand, but it had a lid on it so she couldn’t tell what was inside. “Ease off, Darcy. There’s coffee in here.” But just before her dad drew back, he gave her a conspiratorial wink, making her wonder how much bourbon he’d added.
Her dad didn’t look convinced, but let it go. “All right. See you out there.”
Jules took one last lick and dropped the ice cream in the trash as she followed him out the door. Security waved them through and her dad led her down the wide aisle where the fighters would enter the arena. As they closed in on the caged octagon that was raised a few feet above the ground on a platform, her dad paused to talk to various people and even introduced her to a few of them before taking her to their seats in the front row. Images of the fighters and their stats flashed on the Jumbotron above, always pausing the longest on Gabe and his opponent.
The arena was packed, and many fans shouted and cheered as soon as they recognized her dad. Energy pumped through the whole place and Jules found herself getting excited. She’d watched a lot of old fights online, studying and researching so she could make the campaign as kick-ass as possible, but nothing had prepared her for the thrill of the real thing. Vaguely, it occurred to her that tonight was the first time since seeing Nick on Monday that she’d gone more than ten minutes without thinking of him.
Oh. Damn.
She suddenly had no control over her eyes, and they roamed the crowd looking for him. She found him seconds later just two sections over, a few rows back from the octagon. He was wearing a dark blazer that emphasized his broad, strong shoulders, and his hair was down.
Her mind flipped through her memories of him, like looking through an old photo album filled with ways to torment her. Nick teaching her to play pool; Nick laughing at her stupid Homer Simpson impression; Nick smiling down at her as he whispered filthy words and encouraged her to take more of his cock into her mouth, one hand holding her hair back from her face as the other reached into her dress. Just the memory of his touch made a pulse beat to life between her legs and she shifted uncomfortably, blinking rapidly.
She automatically looked for the blond woman, her stomach clenching in dread, but she wasn’t there, and the relief she felt left Jules reeling.
Thankfully, the lights dimmed and she lost sight of him as Disturbed’s “Down with the Sickness” began pumping through the speakers. Red and yellow spotlights moved around the arena and the crowd roared to life. There was a flurry of movement as officials headed down the aisles to take their places around the octagon. Her dad left his seat to go to the judges’ table to speak to them. Gary followed them all in, and as soon as his unruly mane of tawny hair was visible on the Jumbotron, the crowd exploded in applause. Everybody loved him.
He waved, but it was a few minutes before he entered the cage. “Helllooo Laaas Vegas!” he said into his microphone, and somehow the crowd got even louder. He waited a minute for them to quiet down, a large grin stretched across his face. “Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to WFC Fight Night, brought to you by Dragon Energy Drinks. Set it on fire with Dragon!” The crowd exploded, and he added, “Let’s get started.”
The first fighter was making his WFC debut in the bantamweight division and was fighting another unranked fighter. Her dad sat back down as she watched the rookie make his entrance to Nelly’s “Hot in Herre.” He stopped in front of an official who checked his gloves, mouth guard, and cup before turning to the cutman who smeared Vaseline on his brow and around his eyes to help prevent cuts and bleeding in that area.
“There are eight fights on the card tonight. They’re all three rounds each—” Her dad started, but she interrupted him.
“Except for the last one, which is five five-minute rounds because it’s the championship.”
He smiled. “You have been doing your research.”
She nodded. “Hey, if I’m going to draw new fans to the league, I have to understand what I’m selling.”
He didn’t reply, but nodded as he looked back at the cage.
As the night went on, Jules tried and failed to keep her gaze from going back to Nick. Finally, she gave up and accepted that she liked to look at him. He was sitting with a group of guys, and she recognized a couple of them as other fighters in the league. A few times between fights she’d looked up to find him watching her too, but he never acknowledged her. She couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to sit with him during the fights. To have his hand on her thigh and listen to the excitement in his voice as he talked about the fights.
What would’ve happened if she hadn’t run?
“This fucking guy.” Her dad’s muttered words drew her attention back to him. It was only when she followed his line of vision that she realized he was talking about Nick, and her heart began to pound. In the break just before the last fight of the night, a few women had flocked to him. Now he was in the process of signing an autograph on the rounded top of one of the women’s breasts, her tank top barely containing her ample cleavage.
Jules squashed a shard of jealousy. “You should be happy. He’ll bring in a lot of female fans.”
Her father snorted derisively. “He probably spends as much time on his hair as his training.”
“He was the middleweight champion at Imperial. I’m sure that’s not true.”
“Yeah, well, this isn’t Imperial. He needs to get serious if he wants a real shot at that belt.”
She arched her eyebrow and shot him a pointed look. “So if you don’t think he takes it seriously, why did you sign him?”
“Because Gabriel Maddox said no when I asked him to be the spokesman.” He shrugged and glanced back over at Nick. “People like Giannakis. I figured we could use a personality like that.”
“I think you’re being unfair. You signed him for his personality, but you don’t like his personality?”
To her surprise, her dad laughed. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.” Sitting back in his seat, he stared out over the arena. “He’s mainly here for the fans he can bring.”
“Give him a chance.” She couldn’t stop herself from glancing back over at Nick and his admirers. “He might surprise you.”
Maybe her voice had been a little too indignant, because her dad gave her a worried look. “Aw hell, you’re not all googly-eyed for him too, are you?” He let out a world-weary sigh. “We have a strict nonfraternization policy, Julian. No dating the fighters.”
She rolled her eyes and he softened, becoming her dad once again and not her boss. “Besides, what’ve I told you about fighters? Stay the fuck away from ’em. They make shitty husbands.”
She almost laughed at his unnecessary warning. “Oh, I know. Believe me, I was there for the disaster that was you and Mom.”
“Shit, Julian.” He ran a hand over his face, pulling down the skin around his eyes.
Before he could finish the thought, the lights dimmed again and the beginning guitar riff of Metallica’s “Enter Sandman” filled the arena. The crowd actually quieted a little as Gabe appeared at the far end of the fighter’s walk.
“Listen, I want you to come over for dinner tomorrow. We need to talk.”
She nodded, not quite sure she was ready to go through all the baggage between them. Instead of saying anything, she watched as Gabe hugged the guys in his entourage, was examined by an official, and then entered the cage. Wearing a pair of black fitted shorts, he paced around his side of the octagon. When he raised his arms to stretch and flex, she saw tattooed wings on the underside of his biceps. His face was a mask of stone as he waited like a caged tiger for the champion to come to him.
The music changed to a hip-hop beat she didn’t recognize, and there was a mix of cheers and boos as the champion made his way to the cage, his golden belt slung over his shoulder. Diaz handed off his belt to an official before turning to hug his team and presenting himself for the same ritual the other fighters had gone through. When he was cleared, he charged up the steps and into the cage, where he stared his challenger down. Diaz bounced on the balls of his feet to get loose, until the referee called them to the center of the octagon.
Gary held the microphone as the referee informed them both of the rules. Gabe held his hands out, but the other guy smirked and backed away to his corner, refusing to touch gloves. As soon as the cage was clear of everyone else, the ref gave the signal to start. The fighters circled slowly until Diaz charged, missing a punch and almost landing a spinning rib kick when Gabe shifted away.
She looked for Nick’s reaction before she could stop herself. He cheered and raised a fist in the air. She turned back to the fight, afraid to miss anything, just in time to see Gabe pull back and land a solid uppercut to Diaz’s jaw. The champion stumbled back briefly, before steadying himself and bringing his fists up again. They circled then, each looking for an opening and managing to land only glancing blows and a few kicks to the other’s legs.
Finally, Diaz grew impatient and charged in a take down attempt that landed Gabe on his back. A roar filled the arena as Gabe flipped over, giving up his back, and Diaz positioned himself for a rear-naked choke. But he couldn’t get his legs positioned, and Gabe slipped right out of it, flipping Diaz in the process. Before she could even anticipate his next move, he managed to get himself behind the champion and pull his left arm out to the side with his legs. Diaz’s right arm hooked around Gabe’s elbow, leaving Gabe’s free arm to slip around Diaz’s neck and squeeze.
“Fuck me, he got Diaz in a crucifix!” her dad shouted just before the referee grabbed Gabe’s arm, signaling that Diaz was out. At just one minute and twenty-eight seconds into the first round, the fight was over.
The place went crazy. Gabe stood back so the medics could get to Diaz, and he gave a small smile as his trainer came up to him. But he wasn’t running around celebrating his victory like the other winners had done. He seemed unaffected and alone, even with his team around him.
Her gaze automatically swung to Nick to find him on his feet, shouting for his friend. This time she didn’t try to imagine being next to him. Her dad had helped her remember the biggest reason she should stay away from Nick, and why she’d run away from him in the first place. She couldn’t lose her heart to a fighter . . . at least not any more than she already had.
But she couldn’t look away from him. His strong, muscular body flexed under his clothes as he cheered, and she was reminded of the fight he’d taken her to in Chicago. One of his training partners had won that night and they’d gone to the after party at some club. Nick hadn’t fought, but he’d still been hyped up on adrenaline from the win. His hands had been all over her on the dance floor, and it had felt so damn good to be the center of all of that masculine intensity. She’d pulled him down the hallway, his mouth on her neck as they walked. The bathroom had been empty, and he’d locked the door behind them. As voices rose just outside, he’d fucked her against the door. The thrill of nearly getting caught had only made it more exciting.
Someone leaned over to say something to Nick, but even as he listened, Nick was looking at her. He wasn’t smiling, but that intensity was there. Her heart fluttered and a pulse beat between her thighs. She gulped in a breath and wondered if he was remembering that night as well.
But even if he was, it didn’t matter. It was in the past, and anything she felt for him had to stay there.