Experience has shown me that sometimes in life, when times are especially difficult, there are unexpected glimmers of peace within the adversity. A light to the darkness. Solace amongst madness. That’s exactly what Mia has become for me. She’s the home I look forward to every night after work.
Okay, sure, I’m officially homeless at the moment, but she doesn’t know that. It’s not the reason she invites me over to make love and sleep by her side until I have to leave again. I actually don’t know her reason for welcoming me in, but I’m not a fool to question the good thing we have going. I like to think it’s because I give her the same consolation she provides me.
Besides, if I show her exactly how I feel in these dark, honest moments of night when her limbs wrap around mine, maybe—just maybe after this fight goes right and I’m making a solid wage with the gym—there will be a right time to ask her for more. God, do I want more. I want her body, I want her heart, and most of all, I want her commitment—the one that says I choose you and let’s build a life together.
But I’m not a complete fool. Mia’s sketchy about that stuff, so I won’t push. Not yet. Besides, we haven’t even finished our bet.
The week passes quickly with all the extra training I have to put in to prepare my guys for their fights. It’s the first time in almost a month I’m not working either of my extra jobs, but I’m still as busy. On top of that, Ricky started the week ten pounds over, so all of Thursday and most of Friday I’m by his side as he sweats and sweats and sweats to make weight.
Friday evening the weigh-ins go well and everyone goes home for a night of rest. Xavier’s focused and eerily calm for a man with his burdens. He acts so much older than his peers, but then that’s part of the reason he rises above. The young man he’s paired against tomorrow has him beat in height and experience, but there’s no doubt in my mind Xavier will walk out the victor. Maybe that’s wishful thinking, but I believe it’s fate. No one is as hungry for this win as my guy.
Mia sends me another text, as she has all week, inviting me to come over. I’m not sure my bike could turn in any direction other than her place. Especially tonight, the eve before such a crucial turning point for my business. My nerves are already begging for a hit of the relief that comes from being in her arms. For the first time this week, I don’t have to warn her I’ll be late. Her reply is still the same.
Mia: Come over. I’ll be home.
If only she knew how true that was.
I rise early Saturday and go through my fight day rituals. It’s kind of superstitious, especially since I’m not the one fighting, but for most of my life it led me to victory so I go with it. I don’t think about the one time my process failed me because that wasn’t entirely my fault.
My feet hit the pavement outside Mia’s and I cue up my playlist, the one that simultaneously pumps me up and clears my mind. It’ll be hours until the fight, but a good five mile run to the gym, a shower, and then hanging with my boys as they warm up and get into a good mental headspace is all part of the equation to success.
My run is therapeutic, and by the time I get to the gym I’m ready to take on the world. There’s so much pressure on my fighters. They’re the ones who have to fight, but it’s my responsibility to lead them to victory.
I open the gym door and disarm the security system, and my phone buzzes in my hand. Just seeing Mia’s name light up the screen with a message is cause to smile. Today’s gonna be a great day.
Mia: I fell asleep next to this hot guy but he’s gone missing.
Matt: Maybe put a tracker on him?
Mia: He keeps coming back.
She’s not wrong. I can’t seem to stay away. All week I was worried it’d be too much, spending every night in her bed, but for once I’m not worried she’ll run.
Matt: Just got to the gym. Pre-fight night rituals.
Mia: If you need any animal sacrifices I can bring Rick.
I laugh.
Matt: Poor kitty.
Mia: Don’t get me started. Meet you tonight?
Matt: Your ticket will be at the door. Text me when you get there.
Mia: OK. Don’t forget your costume.
Oh, I won’t. A surprise I whipped up last minute because of how much love she has for zombies. I only hope it makes her smile. The front door swings open and I lift my gaze to see Ricky and Xavier saunter in.
“What’s this? Early?” I tease and they both grin.
“Didn’t want to risk it. I’m too excited,” Xavier says.
“And I didn’t want to spend the day eating my feelings.” Ricky laughs, closing his eyes to groan. “Xavier wouldn’t let us stop to get donuts on the way.”
“Tomorrow, man. Tomorrow.” Xavier shakes his head. “Eye on the prize. Right, Coach?”
“That’s right. Let me catch a shower, then we’ll grab some real food,” I say and they nod. I grab my clothes from the office and think how damn lucky I am to have made it here. To this day. After such an uphill battle, I know whatever happens after this is meant to be. Whichever way the dice fall, I’m at peace with that.
“Matt!” My brother waves through the steady stream of people. They opened the doors minutes ago and the seats around the cage are beginning to fill up. This older warehouse has been transformed to a makeshift showground for the night. Tables, chairs, even a VIP section with free food and drinks; Kyle Ramos sure knows how to sell out an event. My guys, both those fighting and the others here to support, all arrived over an hour ago. We’ve got a room in the back that provides them the space to focus until it’s time for their event.
I glance beyond the judges and refs to find a familiar set of faces. UFC scouts. The same guys whose eyes I caught in an event much like this in what feels like a lifetime ago. For the first time tonight my gut churns with anxiety. It all comes down to this and what happens in that octagon.
“Hey, Danny. Thanks for coming.” I clap my brother on the back before greeting Nikki with a wave. “You too, Nikki.”
“This is so exciting!” She glances around with wide eyes. “Where are our seats?”
“Here.” Danny hands over the tickets. “Why don’t you go find them and I’ll grab drinks.”
“You’re the best, baby,” she mutters and kisses him on the mouth.
My brother squeezes her ass. “You too, baby. I love you.”
Nikki kisses him once more before sauntering away.
“So, how are your boys feeling tonight? There are three on the card, right?” Danny asks.
I nod, unable to hold back a smirk. “They’re feeling pretty good, baby.”
“Aw, come on, man! Don’t you give me shit about that, too.” He laughs and shakes his head. “My friends have stopped calling me Danny.”
I laugh and offer him the obvious solution. “Maybe you should stop saying baby.”
His smile doesn’t fade and he clasps my shoulder with his hand. “You’ll understand one day, man. If she’s the right girl, you’ll do whatever she likes just to see her smile. I don’t give a fuck what anyone thinks.”
“You’re a good boyfriend, Danny.” I grin because he’s head over heels for his girl. “I better get back. Keep an eye out for Uncle Jimmy. Mia, too.”
His brows rise at that. “Ah, so you do know what it’s like to be hooked by a woman.”
“No way, man. Not me. Mia would stab me if I tried to call her baby.”
He shakes his head and begins walking toward the concessions. “Whatever. Good luck tonight.”
“Thanks.”
It doesn’t take long for the seats to fill. Kyle runs these things like a well-oiled machine, so as soon as the onsite medical staff arrives, a runner comes back to our locker room with a five-minute warning before the first fighters are led out to compete. It’s go time. This is the first time South Side, my baby, has had a fighter on the card for an event this size, and we all gather in the staging area proudly wearing our shirts from the gym. Ricky bounces on the balls of his feet, shakes out his arms to keep his shoulders loose, and dips his chin to the beat of the music playing in his headphones.
The MC calls Ricky’s name and the music cues, streaming over the loudspeakers. My guys look to me first and I nod before leading the way. Ricky walks at my side, Xavier behind him, and the rest of our gym follows. We don’t dance. We don’t stroll in with a slow swagger, showboat, or smile. This is the intimidation factor, right here, and we look every bit a lean, mean fighting team.
The announcer babbles on as Ricky’s opponent is introduced, but I keep his gaze focused on me, my hands holding the back of his head. “Just like we practiced, Ricky. You listen to me in there. No one else. Make us proud.”
He strips off his shirt, hands it to one of our guys, and Xavier opens the cage. Ricky jumps inside, pacing and stretching his limbs while waiting on his opponent to join him in the octagon. Standing near the door, I prepare to coach him through any difficulties. The crowd around us cheers and I know I’ll have to compete with their screams to meet Ricky’s ears. I wonder if Mia is here yet. She didn’t text earlier, but I left my phone in the locker room because my head is one hundred percent in the game now.
The ref checks their gloves and reviews the rules. Within seconds the bell dings and the first round starts.
The opponents dance around and feel each other out while aiming to get in a jab or two. Ricky’s strongest game is on his feet, and he throws some wicked kicks to the other guy’s knees. The crowd shouts and calls out while the two fighters attack and retreat, hit and defend. It’s a mild fight until Ricky goes for a kick that the other guy reads. He knocks Ricky to the ground.
“Don’t give him your back!” I shout as the other guy, obviously well versed in wrestling, not only gets Ricky in a hold, but as Ricky attempts to escape, he traps him again. They both breathe heavily and sweat flies from their mouth guards as each holds the other tight. Ricky’s already losing steam and this round isn’t even over.
“Come on, everything you got!” I shout, but that’s the instant his opponent snags the upper hand and transitions into a mount. Ricky’s on his back and struggling to get free, but he’s vulnerable, a place you never want to be. Ricky battles, bucking to shift his opponent off center. The guy leans back and doesn’t lose his hold, turning Ricky’s body into his own personal practice bag.
Ricky’s opponent comes down, raining elbows and several jabs to his side that’ll have him pissing blood for a week. I continue to shout encouragement, glancing up at the clock because he still has another forty-five seconds to endure. That’s a long ass time when taking hits like this.
Ricky waits for the next punch and when it comes he strains for leverage to shove free. It doesn’t work. The other guy changes tactics and wails down five solid punches to Ricky’s face.
Blood, grunts, groans. The last fight of my career all comes back like a flash. Betrayal, disappointment, failure. I have to shake my head to clear the images from my mind.
Boos from the crowd amplify. This isn’t an underground show and while hits to the head aren’t discouraged, this is a fucking bloodbath. “What the hell? Get him out of there!” I shout to the referee. Ricky’s head lolls to the side and they finally call the fight only moments before the buzzer signals the round’s end. Win by knockout. I swing open the door and race inside along with the medics who drop to administer care.
“Ricky, Ricky, you okay?” I shout above them as they clear the blood gushing freely from his nose. I’m sure that’s broken but I’m more concerned with a possible concussion.
It takes a moment but Ricky nods and raises his thumb, which I take as a good sign.
“We need to take him for observation,” one of the medics says. I nod in total agreement. I don’t see how he won’t need a hospital stay after that last round of hits. “Can you walk, kid?”
Ricky nods again, but I’m not positive he can hold his body weight, let alone remain conscious. Propping one of his arms around my shoulder and the other medic doing the same, we’re able to get him to stand. The crowd claps, a sign of relief and praise, but I won’t breathe easy until Ricky’s cleared by a doctor. We make our way out of the cage and it’s then I lift my gaze to see my entire team still on bended knee.
“Come on,” I say and they all stand, expressions somber as we make our way back to the locker room. Not the debut performance we were hoping for by any means, but I couldn’t be more proud of my men. They wait for us to pass, and without a word follow behind to show their solidarity. I only hope this loss doesn’t set the tone for the night . . . or the kind of fights we’ll see. A shot to the head is inevitable, but repeated punches like that is shady if you ask me.
We get Ricky back to the first aid room and after another thirty minutes it’s clear he needs to go to the ER. There’s a gash under his eye they can’t keep closed with tape and he’s struggling to stay alert. Salvador’s fight is coming up soon, but Xavier’s isn’t until the end so there’s no way I can leave. Ricky’s got a girlfriend but she’s nowhere to be found, and from Xavier’s expression I’m not sure I’d trust her anyway. I enlist the help of one of the older guys, James, to take Ricky to the hospital with instructions to keep me informed before I get back inside to my team.
“Hey, Kyle!” I shout when I come back inside. He walks ahead of me, also on his way back toward the octagon, one of only a couple people in this outer room. A few other people mill around–some late arrivals grabbing tickets, smokers on their way out or back inside, and a few event employees. “What the fuck was that?”
He turns and winces when he sees me coming. “Tough opener. Let’s hope the rest of your team does better.” I realize he’s not emotionally invested in my fighters the way I am, but that’s no way to speak to me after what just happened.
“You said rookie. You wanted someone green. That match-up wasn’t close to fair.”
Kyle raises his hands, tilts his head, and his lips pull into a tight smile. “Hey, none of that. Best not make accusations to the man who signs your check.”
Fucking asshole. It takes everything I am to not strike out with words or my fists. This guy could use a thrashing, verbal or otherwise, but he’s right. It’s not my place. This is business. “You’re right, Kyle. Not your fault. I apologize.”
“He gonna be okay?” He has the decency to appear concerned.
“On his way to the hospital now. My guess is a concussion.”
“Hazard of the sport, but I don’t have to tell you that.” Back to asshole again.
“Yep,” I say through a tight grin. “I better get back. Salvador’s up soon.”
“Me, too. I’ll see you after the final fight.” He turns with an arrogant grin and struts inside.
Closing my eyes, I take a few deep breaths to calm my frustration. This event is not going the way I planned, but really, when does anything? I need to get my head in the game and focus. For myself, sure, but even more for my team. I can’t walk back into that room screaming profanities and expect Salvador and Xavier to perform well. They need me to be stronger than my own demons. The past is right there, fluttering at my subconscious.
“I need you to take the loss.” He’s waiting outside my room. By the looks of him, he’s been here a while. Since earning my UFC title, Pop always comes to the fights. Maybe he’s trying to make up for years lost, a lifetime of failure, or maybe he’s just a drunken gambling fool. Whatever the intent, he’s never asked me to throw a fight.
I walk toward him and shake my head. “What? No. No fucking way.”
“Son, I need this.” And it’s in the way he pleads that I just know . . .
“You spent it all, didn’t you? You fucking wasted it all.”
His gaze falls to the floor, a momentary lapse in his usual front. As if he’s actually ashamed by his actions. As if he actually gave a fuck for my dying mother when he took out a life insurance policy the moment we found out she wasn’t gonna pull through.
“A few bets didn’t go my way. But if you could just throw this one fight . . . do this one thing for me and I’ll leave you alone for good.” He has the nerve to lift his chin to meet my gaze.
“I’m not losing just so you can settle your gambling debt.” Disgust drips from my words as I meet my father’s glare. He did nothing for us. He hurt her for years, and once I was old enough, he beat me too. I’d never give up what I’ve worked so hard for just to help this bastard.
“Then I’m as good as dead.” His words catch me off guard. “I owe. If I don’t come through tonight they’re done with me.” I don’t exactly know who “they” are, but I do know he runs in illegal circles. Will they kill him if he doesn’t pay up tonight? I don’t know, but I’m also not sure I care. Maybe that makes me a monster like him.
“So, you bet against your own son?” A laugh escapes my lips but it holds no humor.
“You’re predicted to win. I need an underdog for the payout.”
“Bring back memories?” My father’s voice snaps me to the present and it’s the most unnerving thing to see him here in the flesh after everything that’s happened between us.
“What the hell are you doing here?” I demand with all the hatred I feel.
He shrugs, a little lift to his forced smile. “Free country, son.”
“I don’t want you here. You should consider exploiting your freedoms elsewhere.” I turn to walk away but he catches my arm.
“What? Don’t want to be seen with the likes of me? The only reason you’re here on this earth is because of me, boy. You best remember that.”
“I’ll be sure and write you a thank you note for knocking up my mom,” I spit out as the familiar rage boils within my blood. It’s a simmer, ready to erupt with the force of my muscles and levy the sins of my past against the first casualty who dares to tip the scales.
My father steps closer, his face inches from mine. “Don’t sass me, son. See what happens.”
“What? You gonna hit me? Here? I thought we moved past that the day I walked out.” It feels good to get that out but I’m still fuming.
He laughs and his breath reeks of alcohol. “You were a foolish boy then. Still are now.”
“What’s that even supposed to mean?” I try to shrug back, not trusting myself to be this close and not take a hit. Not when he pushes my buttons every damn time we share the same space.
“Your guy Xavier Johnson. He’s the underdog,” he announces as if I don’t already know it.
“Yeah, well the kid’s gonna cream Sanchez tonight.”
My father’s lips pull into an arrogant smile. “I know that. Odds are three to one, and I’ve got a five-digit check coming my way.”
“I’m leaving now.”
For the second time tonight he reaches out to stop me. His fingers might be what grab my arm, but it’s his words that stop my feet in their tracks. “I’ll split the winnings. It’d be enough to save the gym.” That he thinks I’d take one dime from him after how my career ended only fuels my anger.
“I don’t gamble on fights, and my gym is just fine.” I cross my arms over my chest.
He laughs from the pit of his belly. “That’s not what I hear.”
That’s it. I can’t deal with him anymore. Not tonight. Not ever. “Get the fuck out of here,” I practically growl, but when he doesn’t move I shout, “Now!”
“Ungrateful son of a bitch,” he spits that last word and I lunge.
“I told you never to talk about her!” Grabbing his shoulders, I shove back until his head hits the wall with a hard thump. He fights back, too. Getting me with a knee to the groin, but I’m stronger and I’ve taken harder hits than that. Scuffling until I’ve got the upper hand, I reach back to punch that goddamn smile off his fucking face. I get one good shot in and cock back for a second.
“Matt!” Mia’s shout halts my momentum, and instead of going for his face, this time I grab for his throat.
“Get. The. Fuck. Outta here. You understand?”
His glare stays hard even with the fresh cut on his lip, but when I dig my fingers into the skin at his neck and squeeze, he gives a slight nod. I let go and take three steps back, breathing too hard from that one hit. My gaze follows him, daring him to say another word or to try and gain entry to the event inside. He must realize I’m not playing around because with his lips in a hard, thin line he turns and walks towards Mia.
“Mia.” Apprehension weasels its way into my tone even though I aim to keep it neutral. I don’t know how long she’s been standing there looking like a wet dream. And eavesdropping over all my family’s dirty laundry. “You came,” I say but her expression doesn’t change.
Her eyes are guarded, along with her smile. “You asked me to.”
“Yeah, I guess I wasn’t sure.” I force laughter but it sounds flat to my own ears.
“Good luck.” My father passes Mia and stops walking. He spits blood from his lip against the concrete floor, turning to meet my gaze once more. His eyes are hard and cruel. “You’re gonna need it.”
If Mia weren’t standing there I’d lay into him again. Closing my eyes, I count to ten and breathe in through my nose. When I open them Mia’s only standing a few feet away.
“So, that was your father?”
My jaw hardens when I consider the man attached to that title. I nod.
“I can see the resemblance.”
That only furthers my irritation and I work my jaw back and forth so I don’t say something rude.
“So . . .” She glances around the now empty entryway. “Any other family members lurking around?”
“Sorry.” I shake my head and blow out another breath to clear my thoughts from that bastard. I need to focus on the reason I’m here. Get back in the locker room with Salvador and Xavier. But first I need to make Mia feel welcome after the horrible greeting she just witnessed.
I take in her outfit as I step forward. Her legs appear miles long in that short skirt; the ripped netting of her tights doesn’t help divert my gaze. An “I love dead things,” block letter T-shirt would appear simple if the fabric didn’t hug her breasts and show off her ample cleavage with the V-neck. She’s made up her face differently though, with an imaginary line down the center splitting her into a half beauty queen, half zombie woman.
“Thank you for coming.” I reach forward and am relieved when she threads her fingers through mine.
“I said I would.” Her lips and eyes are still impassive, not giving me insight into her thoughts, and I hope she’ll forgive the altercation she witnessed between me and my father.
“So, what happened here . . .” I point to the side of her face that’s one hundred percent Mia. “You missed a pretty big spot.”
She shrugs. “Think Jekyll and Hyde, the Zombie-Mia version.”
“I like it.” I stare and think of all the things I should say. How I should explain my dad, my mom, and my fall from grace, but the words get stuck in my throat.
Her gaze drops with disappointment, but when she lifts her chin again there’s a smile on her lips. “It’s exciting out there.”
“Yeah, just wait until we get closer to the main event. Did you catch the first fight?” I ask but she shakes her head with a no. The roar from inside reaches us where we stand. “It was brutal. He’s okay, on his way to the hospital just to be sure. I hope you don’t mind a little blood. Things can get pretty gross.”
“You do know who you’re talking to, right?” She points at her face and the side painted like decayed open flesh wounds. “I think I’ll be good.”
“You’re p—” I almost say perfect. The word’s on the tip of my tongue, but instead I clear my throat and add, “Probably right. You can handle more gore than most of my fighters. Speaking of which, I need to go check on them.”
Taking her hand in mine, I pull her toward the room where my guys wait.
“What do you all do beforehand? Backstage?” She nods down the hallway. “File your toenails? Warm up with a quick round of jazzercise? Wait, I know! Watch cooking tutorials on YouTube.”
“Nah.” I laugh and shake my head, stopping when we reach the door marked South Side. I run my fingers through my hair and tuck it behind my ears. “Sorry to disappoint but Salvador is most likely stretching and Xavier’s lying on the table listening to Metallica on repeat.”
She winces. “Wow. I would’ve pegged him more as a Tupac kinda guy.”
“Is that because he’s black?” She’s never made a racist comment before, but that doesn’t mean she’s not.
Mia laughs out loud but when I don’t join in she shakes her head. “You’re serious? No. It’s nothing to do with that.” Her brows draw together and she glances over her shoulder.
“I guess I better go back inside,” she mutters and won’t meet my gaze.
God, I’m acting every bit a jerk. It’s as if I can’t help myself. I’m always an intolerable asshole after seeing my father. “Find your seat, okay?”
“Yeah. I’m right next to your brother.” She nods.
“My uncle out there yet?”
“You have an uncle? Is he also a dickwad?” She lifts her brow and for a moment I wonder if she’s insinuating I’m the dick, but then realize the reference is to my father.
“Oh, no.” I blow out a breath. “He’s nothing like Pop. He’ll love you.”
She inhales deeply and blows it out in a rush. “Oh, goodie. The whole family is here.” She tries to smile but she’s obviously uncomfortable. After what she witnessed with my father I’m not surprised. Maybe a little disappointed. She shoves her hands into her back pockets and meets my gaze. “What about your mom?”
Doesn’t matter how long it’s been or how many times someone asks, that question still packs the same punch. My face falls before I can right it. I open my mouth but Mia reaches out to touch my arm.
“She’s gone.” I manage to get out.
“I’m sorry, Matt. I didn’t know. How long since?”
“She passed eight years ago. Cancer.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“You didn’t know.”
She pushes up on her toes and wraps her arms around my waist, burying her face in my chest. Little as she is, her hold is tight and safe, a comfort I need more than she knows.
Laughter sounds from behind the door and it’s a reminder that I need to get back to my guys. “I’ve got to go,” I mutter into her hair.
She lets me go with a sad smile, and without another word walks down the hall to rejoin the crowd. I watch her until she’s out of sight, and I have to wonder. How much longer will she stick around now that she’s seen my past? Hell, she’s only had a preview. If she knew how badly my last fight in the octagon played out—the months following—she’d run and never look back. I want to explain. I want to make her see. Let her in enough to share the pain, but that’s completely selfish. I put the idea out of my head and resolve to spend the rest of my night focused on what really matters. Getting my guys through these fights and emerging with a UFC contract for Xavier. Anything less is unacceptable.
Salvador’s fight is the complete opposite of Ricky’s. He and his opponent go the full three rounds and give the crowd a great show, and he wins by points. It’s exciting for the gym and all my South Siders cheer and shout on our way back to await Xavier’s turn.
He doesn’t speak much. I admire his focus and am thankful for it. My mind, as much as I try not to let it, continues to wander back to the past. It’s as if I’m not fully here in the moment. I’m sure no one notices, or if they do it appears my thoughts are on the fight.
Before we know it, Xavier’s called on deck. As the final fight on tonight’s card, this is the coveted spot and expectations run high. We again arrive as a team, and Xavier enters the octagon with total focus. I can’t help but turn around once to find Mia in the crowd. She stands with my brother, Nikki, and Uncle Jimmy, cheering along with everyone else. Our eyes meet because unlike everyone else in attendance, she’s not watching my fighter. She’s watching me. That alone fills me with pride.
As soon as the buzzer sounds, Xavier pounces with his attack. He doesn’t hold back or wait to feel things out. It throws his opponent off balance, and they hit the cage with a loud rattle. I wince because the other guy is gonna have waffle bruises down his back from that alone. Xavier gets in a few great hits, but Sanchez blocks his next attempts and they break apart.
There’s no reason to shout direction because Xavier’s doing everything as he should. He’s more than ready for this night. Sanchez attempts a few kicks, but Xavier reads the third one and catches it in his hand. He throws Sanchez to the ground and jumps atop him to rain down a series of hits that not even I could block.
The ref watches closely this time and shouts a halt to the match. The bell rings and Xavier bounces off the mat and back to our corner. The cheers simmer to an echo of murmurs from the crowd. Xavier paces along one side of the cage while the medics enter to attend to the man down. Before they can reach him, however, Sanchez sits up and waves them off. The crowd cheers and after he stands, Sanchez walks over to Xavier and shakes his hand. The shouts from fans escalate to whoops and hollers. Xavier put on one hell of a fight. Short but precise, and I’ve no doubt he’s earned himself a room full of followers.
Watching the ref raise Xavier’s hand high and declare him the official winner, I should be filled with pride. Pride for this kid. Excitement for my gym. For the opportunities ahead. Instead, what’s on my mind is how my old man is ten grand richer tonight. In some sick and twisted way I’m a part of that. It dilutes this moment. Sours the win. My lips might pull into a smile for the fans, but on the inside I haven’t been this angry in years.
I go through the motions. Xavier accepts his belt, the new owner of this semi-pro title for the time being. I spot the UFC scouts as they talk together and flick gazes at Xavier. All the guys from the gym, including their family and friends crowd around to offer their congratulations. Tonight was a big win for us, for South Side, and I only wish I could allow myself to enjoy the victory.
“Congrats! Oh, my God! Matt, that was so exciting!” Mia winds her way through the crowd and leaps so I have to catch her. Her smile is so damn wide, and with the crazy face paint she looks almost out of this world.
She plants a kiss on my lips, a rare form of PDA and the shock of it pulls me to the present. “Yeah, it was,” I say as she steps back.
Her eyes are wide and exhilaration drips from her words. “Xavier was unbelievable. I can see now why you have so much faith in him.”
“He did good. He did exactly what we trained for.” My lips pull into a smile, maybe the first real one all night, but it’s more for the beautiful zombie girl grinning back.
“Haywood! Congrats, bro. You train some beasts over there at South Side. I’m gonna have to come check it out.” Shawn Spencer, the imposter of a fighter and rival gym owner interrupts our moment. Mia takes another step out of the way.
Forcing a smile I don’t feel, I accept his handshake. “Hey, Spencer. Good seeing you again. Stop by anytime.” He better not, though. Snake is probably hoping to poach my best fighters.
“Sounds good, bro. Catch ya later.” He winks and heads toward Xavier. He’s a bold motherfucker, I’ll give him that. I’ve no doubt he’ll try and sway Xavier over to his gym right now. Son of a fucking bitch.
“So, do you have to stick around or can we head to the party now?” Mia says.
My eyes meet her expectant stare. Party. Right. The thought of hanging out with a bunch of drunk assholes in costume sounds like absolute hell right about now. Glancing over Mia’s shoulder, I spot Kyle waving me over. He’s with the UFC scouts. It’s not possible to miss them all tramp stamped out in their sponsored apparel. “Actually, I need to stick around for a while.”
Mia nods. “Oh, okay. Then I’ll meet you there? I’ll text you the address.”
Damn it. Right before my eyes Spencer’s got his arm around Xavier’s shoulder, pointing at Kyle and the UFC scouts. “Yeah. Hey, I gotta run . . .” I drop a kiss on the side of her face, the one that’s not covered in stage makeup, and jog over to Kyle before this day gets any worse.
“Matt Haywood! Here’s the coach of the hour. Noah Bibby, Ethan Sharp, you’ve met Matt before, I think.” Kyle makes introductions.
“Noah, Ethan. It’s great to see you again. Enjoy the fights?” I say.
Ethan nods. “Hell yeah, we did. That Xavier Johnson is really something. You got time to grab him so we can talk?”
This is it. Everything I wanted. So, why is it after I snag Xavier and we sit down to a late dinner with these UFC reps I feel as though I’ve lost the best thing I ever had in my life?