CHAPTER 4
(KAGE)
I’d expected some desert barracks or something, with concertina wire surrounding it and tractor tires in the yard. I have no idea why that’s how I pictured the pre-fight camp when Marco had told me about it. Maybe because he’d referred to it as boot camp a few times.
The reality of it was much different. For starters, it was in a mansion. Palm trees flanked the enormous red front door, and there were nice cars parked along the circular drive out front. When I stepped out of my Vette and circled to pull my bag out of the trunk, I could have sworn I heard girls squealing and the splash of water. It sounded like a vacation resort.
Jason Kinney came running out of the house, leaving the front door standing wide open, his blue eyes blazing with excitement. “Dude, you have got to get your ass in here. This is the best camp ever.”
His medium brown hair was much shorter than it had been the last time we’d seen each other, buzzed almost bald. He had a new tattoo on his neck that reminded me of a cigar band.
I cocked my head and studied him. “You look different.”
“Do I?” he asked, knowing good and well that he did.
“Yeah. Every time I see you, there’s more ink. You got any bare skin left?”
“Not much.” He laughed, revealing that shy smile that always made me feel a little bit guilty.
He and I had met in high school, and we’d promptly gotten into a fight. Not a sparring match, but a real fight. We’d both been full of piss and vinegar then, both of us martial arts students. I couldn’t remember what had started the fight— seemed like it was something to do with Vanessa— but it had ended with Jason being rushed to the emergency room with a front tooth knocked out. They’d saved the tooth, but it had forever after had a darker area where it met the gum line.
He was a good-looking guy, and I personally didn’t think the tooth detracted from his looks at all, but he’d gotten into the habit of curling his top lip under just a hair in an effort to disguise it. A consummate player, he’d never had any trouble getting attention from girls, but that didn’t stop him from curling that lip. It gave the impression that he was shy, but you only had to be around him for a few minutes to figure out that was the opposite of the truth. The guy was a bundle of raw energy, and not at all afraid to speak his mind about anything.
“These tattoos get me more pussy than your millions get you.”
Actually, my millions got me zero pussy, but I wasn’t going to point that out. Instead, I said, “Have you actually seen me? I don’t need millions to get anything.”
Jason laughed. “True that. You’re looking good, man.” He glanced at my body, but it was a purely platonic check-out. Fighters did it to each other all the time.
When you made a living with your body, people had a tendency to look at it, to see what the fuss was all about or to gauge what kind of shape you were in. Often, it was just an appreciation of the human form. Over the years, I’d gotten good at telling the difference between one of those kinds of glances and genuine interest.
That’s how I’d known Jamie wanted me from the first night we’d met. The heat coming off of that boy had me sweating so bad I thought I was going to have to start shedding clothes to cool down. What I did not get from him at the time was a straight vibe. I genuinely believed he was flirting with me. But then he does a lot of flirting that he doesn’t even notice he’s doing. It’s like he thinks if he’s not saying something cute or sexual, then it doesn’t count as flirting.
I wish he could see himself from the outside just once. See the way he postures and preens in a way that is distinctly sexual, and the way his movements are so precisely choreographed to draw attention. A squaring of the shoulders, a shift of the hip, a flick of the tongue… All simple movements, but when he does them, they’re somehow elevated. Most of all, I wish he could see the way his dark eyes hang onto mine, suggesting in a very virtuous, unassuming way that he needs to be fucked good and hard. If he could see that, he would understand why I’d had to pursue him, even after I found out he was straight. Even when I could list a hundred different reasons why I shouldn’t.
The way Jason looked at me was nothing like that. There was certainly a deep affection there that came from years of being friends and trusting each other as training partners, but nothing even remotely sexual. I wasn’t attracted to him, either, because I’d never been drawn to fighters. They were too much like me. I’d noticed a lot of men being attracted to guys who looked a lot like them, with the same body type, similar coloring and facial structure. Jamie was nothing like me, and that’s the way I liked it. When I’d mentioned it to Dr. Tanner, she suggested that my personality was skewed so far to one side, maybe I needed someone to counterbalance me. I think maybe she was right.
Unfortunately, I didn’t have that counterbalance anymore. I’d left him behind, and now I was on my own. Maybe that would prove to be a good thing during camp.
“Do I hear women?” I asked as Jason pulled me through the front door of the mansion.
“Oh, yeah. Really hot women, and they’re wearing bikinis. We’ve got a harem out there at the pool, dude. I don’t know what kind of camp they thought this was supposed to be, but I think Hugh Hefner is running it.”
“Maybe they live here,” I suggested, taking in the impressive foyer and the curved staircase.
“Nope,” Jason said. “They showed up after I did. I’m sure it’s supposed to be some mental thing. Get enough testosterone floating around here, and it’ll make you sharper. Plus, I know after I fight, I wanna fuck. Don’t you?”
I mumbled something that was barely suggestive of words. Because, yeah, I wanted to fuck after a fight, probably more desperately than any of them. But I didn’t want to have to back up that claim in this house with the current residents.
To be honest, I was a little pissed about the whole thing. I didn’t want to be a slave driver, but this training camp was serious business for me. What if my partners were too busy chasing tail to get their heads in the game?
Marco came into the foyer then and greeted me, and I’d never been so glad to see him.
“Did you have enough of a vacation?” he asked. “Ready to get started? As you know, the guy you’re fighting is no match for you. Not even close. But dropping so much weight is going to be a challenge. You’re not going to be as strong or heavy as you’re used to, and the cut is going to steal energy from you. An opponent who wouldn’t normally be a threat might surprise you when you’re in a weakened state.”
Good old Marco. All work and no play. I loved that about him, especially at that moment when I needed to be saved from Jason trying to tempt me into partying.
“Yeah, Marco, I’m ready. Just show me my room and let me get changed, then we can get busy.”
The room he led me to was large with lots of windows and French doors. I was glad of that. I needed lots of windows, or else I felt caged.
“I’m gonna run grab my mouth guard from my room,” Marco said. “Back in a sec.”
I gave him a thumbs up and set my bag down next to the king size bed. It was low to the floor, with a thick down comforter. Before I did anything else, I snatched the comforter off and tossed it into the chair in the corner. No way would I be able to sleep under that torture device. Then I slipped into a pair of blue workout shorts. I didn’t bother with a shirt. I doubted if I’d wear one the entire time at camp, except maybe to eat.
Cheering came from outside, followed by a big splash, then more cheering. I walked over to the French doors and stepped out onto the balcony. I had a perfect view of the pool directly below me, where three beautiful girls in skimpy bikinis were sitting on the side of the pool with their legs dangling in. Jason had shucked his clothes and jumped into the water in nothing but his boxer briefs. He was trying to coax the girls into joining him, splashing water up on them, and they were laughing and squealing.
Three other girls lounged in chairs, their trim model bodies oiled up and glistening. Like the UFC’s Octagon Girls, these girls were all gorgeous white girls of the same body type— thin enough to look good when the camera added ten pounds. They were cookie cutter copies of each other, right down to the hair that fell in gentle waves to their shoulder blades, with the only differences I could see being the color of their hair and the color of their bikinis.
A couple of guys I assumed were my other training partners sat close to the lounging girls, casting hungry glances toward them as they talked. I found myself wondering how one might go about choosing between the clones based on looks alone.
Marco knocked lightly on the partially open bedroom door and came on in. “What do you think?” he asked.
“I don’t know, man. Seems a little too chill for my tastes. I’m trying to get prepped for a fight, and these guys are trying to get laid.”
“My thoughts exactly.” He looked over my shoulder at the frolicking guests. “So I’m guessing you’re not planning on utilizing the ladies while we’re here?”
“Fuck off, Marco.”
He gave one of his rare laughs and clapped me hard on the shoulder. He and I had sort of a don’t ask don’t tell situation. I’d never confided in him about my private life, but I was about ninety-nine percent sure he knew the deal. Since Jamie had come along, Marco had been making some overtly suggestive comments, as if he wanted to make sure I knew that he knew.
“Do you think these guys are going to be able to focus,” he asked. “Or do I need to say something to Ray?”
“Who’s Ray?”
“Ray Roberts, the owner of this house. Big time coach. He’s going to be guiding us and arranging things.”
“And he’s the one who brought in the girls?”
Marco nodded.
“Well, then I’m not sure how much confidence I have in Ray. I think I’d feel more productive if I was in that desert barracks I was imagining, doing drills in a minefield or something. Maybe a little mild waterboarding to get the aggression up.”
Marco chuckled. “What the hell were you thinking camp was going to be like? It’s not supposed to be a prison. It’s just a place to get away from the distractions of the real world and focus on one thing: getting ready for a fight. You’ve got a good setup here, Kage. You’ve got me, and you’ve got Ray, and you’ve got three training partners. There’s a gym on the bottom floor with everything you could possibly imagine, a pool to swim laps, a dietitian in the kitchen who’s going to make sure you eat what you’re supposed to be eating. He just had a brand spanking new octagon installed down there. It’s sweet, man.”
“Okay. We’ll just play it by ear. But if the girls get in the way, we’ll just ask Ray to send them away, right? I mean, hell, I want the guys to enjoy themselves. If they can blow off a little steam at night, maybe it will benefit me during the day.”
Marco agreed. “I think everything will be fine. And if it’s not, we’ll make it fine.”
Downstairs in the gym, I finally started feeling good about camp. I met Ray, who was physically imposing, with linebacker shoulders and a large nose that had been broken more than once. He was loud and heavy handed, nearly buckling my knees the first time he pounded on my shoulder in greeting.
Over the next ten days he would sometimes step in to coach when he saw something he could help out with. He’d once been a respected college wrestling coach, so he really knew what he was talking about when it came to rolling.
He didn’t put in a whole lot of face time, though. He floated between the gym and the kitchen and his office, working to ensure that everything was running smoothly. I’m sure he was also dealing with other fighters and planning other camps, though he never let on while he was working with us. He made us feel like we were the only ones in his universe, and I appreciated that.
He was an encyclopedia of everything MMA, and his knowledge of diet and weight-cutting practices was extensive as well. I’d never had to cut weight before, so I wasn’t sure if the things he was saying were correct or not, but he was so confident it was impossible not to believe him. He sat me down and explained everything with great patience. We laid out my fitness goals and talked about how we would achieve each one, and by the end of our meeting I felt confident that Marco had done well in choosing Ray’s camp.
The training partners he had brought in were top notch. Brody Howard was lanky and blond, with a broad smile and a spray of freckles across his nose. He had an amazing reach and was surprisingly controlled in his movements, unlike some long fighters I’d seen who flailed around like the scarecrow from the Wizard of Oz. Sam Stone was a little fireplug with a shaved head and a scar beneath his left eye. He was tough and unforgiving on the mat, but friendly as hell off of it. I liked them both instantly, and so did Jason. Marco never seemed to like anyone except me, and only because we’d been working together for so long, but that was okay. I didn’t keep him around for his social skills.
Training was good, mainly because it kept my mind off of Jamie. It was nice to have a distraction after the nightmarish plane ride I’d had to endure to get there. I’d fidgeted and stressed until a passing flight attendant stopped to ask me if everything was okay. She’d mistakenly assumed that I was afraid of flying and suggested I have a drink. I had three.
I wanted something more than that— a sleeping pill or a fat blunt. Anything to turn off my brain and let me get a few hours of sleep. But now that I’d gotten involved in the UFC, drug testing was a part of my life, so there was no way I was putting any banned substances into my system.
Somehow, even without the help of those things, I’d been able to doze off. Probably because my brain was just that exhausted. But then I’d gotten a text message from Jamie. Early as fuck, so I knew he’d sent it before he’d left for the hospital. I heard the text come in, glanced at the notification, and put my phone on silence. Whatever he had to say, I couldn’t read it right then.
But what if it was about his mom? If it was, I felt really bad about not reading it, but I just couldn’t. Instead I said a silent prayer for her, asking a deity I didn’t even believe in to keep her safe through her surgery.
I didn’t believe in God for the same reason as a lot of other people. Because I couldn’t imagine a loving god could let awful things happen like what had happened to me when I was young. Sometimes I thought about it and tried to believe. Maybe it was like people said, that God worked in mysterious ways, or he had a plan or something. Maybe even though he’d taken my mom without a second thought, he’d have pity on Jamie and let his mom live. It was worth a shot, so I prayed.
But I still didn’t read the text. I knew I couldn’t handle it until I was up to my neck in training. When nothing existed except me and the fight, and I was so exhausted I couldn’t get emotional, I’d find out what it said.
That’s exactly what happened on my first day of camp. I worked myself so hard I couldn’t think. First, we worked on my takedown defense. The fighter I was going up against was an All-American wrestler without much of a stand-up game, so it was almost a guarantee that he’d try to take me down every chance he got.
“Spread that stance,” Marco yelled as Jason pressed me hard against the chain link of Ray’s newly-erected octagon. He was doing his dead-level best to take me down, grunting and sweating, pushing his shoulder into my solar plexus. I held his wrist, steeled myself against him, and listened to Marco drone on. “You don’t want this guy laying on you and smothering you the whole time. Keep it on the feet. Get him off of you. You need to get it back out to the center and knock him the fuck out.”
I knew all of these things, but I enjoyed hearing Marco’s voice chanting instructions in practice, because it trained me to listen for it during a fight.
After I’d tested the limits of my stamina defending a grab-bag of takedown maneuvers, I worked what energy I had left out drilling combos. I kicked, punched, and jabbed at the thick foam pads the guys held up in front of their bodies. I knocked everyone around with no mercy, following Marco’s barked commands with a level of focus that was scary even to me. Then, when I was nearly ready to drop, and my breaths were coming in heaving gasps, and my sparring partners had escaped to the cool refuge of the swimming pool, I finally gave in.
I crept off to my room, locked the door, and sat down on the bed with my phone in my hand. My heart was thudding in my chest, and I wiped sweat from my brow as I opened the text from Jamie. Until that moment, I hadn’t realized how much I’d been hoping for something passionate. I wasn’t picky about the kind of passion. Tenderness would have been nice, to prove that he still cared. I could have even accepted anger, because maybe he was as destroyed by my leaving as I was. My heart could have taken solace in just about anything but the one cold sentence he’d written.
“You left your stuff.”
Really? That was the message I’d waited all day to read? Those were the words I’d pushed away for hours, worried they might make me abandon my training and go rushing back to Georgia?
I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, squeezing my phone so hard it’s a wonder it didn’t break. Then, before I could say something stupid to give myself away, to humble myself even more in the eyes of the guy who had already leveled me to the ground, I typed out a text of my own.
“Keep the shit. I don’t need it.”
And I wasn’t just talking about the things in my suitcase. I was talking about it all: the sex, the friendship, the work he’d done, his heart, my heart… every fucking thing. Because I didn’t need it. All I needed was the fighting. It’s all I’d ever had, the only thing I could count on, and that was okay.