Jab, jab, punch. Jab, jab, punch.

The teardrop-shaped bag in front of me accepted all the force and strength I put forth. The match that was set out to bring me success in my career was coming up, just a little over a month. In preparation, I got as much training as I possibly could before the crucial event that could change my and Ma's lives. It could send me off to stardom, and I would receive accolades and endorsement offers.

The only way for me was up. I'd given myself no other choice.

In between these rigorous training sessions, there were promotions and interviews I had to attend. Unfortunately, it also meant I had a lot of traveling to do. Anxiety knotted in my gut whenever I traveled. Being far away from Ma made me a nervous wreck. I'd never been more than a quick car ride away from her before. I would always wonder what would happen if there was an emergency and I couldn't go to her quickly. I'd granted great trust on the nurses and doctors of the facility where she lived. I knew she was comfortable and well cared for there, but I couldn't shake off the heart-stopping anxiety.

Ma had taken care of me on her own for years. No matter how much trouble I'd gotten into while I was growing up, she'd been a solid force behind me. At times, she had been my first line of defense against everyone else, including authorities who’d pick me up after a brawl. But as soon as we'd reach home, my ears would bleed from all the tongue-lashings I'd receive from Ma.

She might not agree with what I did these days, but when she was still able to express herself, she'd been my number one supporter. And it was my turn to repay her for all that. I owed her my life. This fight and all the perks that would undoubtedly come from it would help me pay off added treatments for her. All I had to do was win. And survive.

Patton had reiterated that a lot of companies were ready to offer me endorsements if I received the title. It was how fighters like me made most of the money. Only a few knew amateur fighters made measly earnings from bouts. It was hardly enough to live on. The well would run dry even before the next bout was planned. But for a pro, we were talking hundreds of thousands, some even get up to millions.

If not just for the money, an added bonus too was bragging rights. Ma had always said I should stay humble. I thought of myself as humble, but a bit of trash talking and some attitude were prerequisites in my sport. If I didn't look or sound intimidating, I was in the wrong line of work.

"Revenge is in da house!" A booming voice came from behind me. I was known to many as "Revenge," or “Rev” because us fighters could be lazy asses, and I answered to it as often as I answered to my given name.

I steadied the punching bag before turning around. "Hey man, 'sup?" Richard Brent, the love child of the Hulk and Thor, known to many as Rick, stalked toward me.

We did a manly greeting with a bump of our knuckles, a complicated handshake and a final bump of our chests. Of course, being Rick, he added a little tap on my head to assert his place in MMA hierarchy.

"Glad you could make it, man!" he said, spread his arms wide, grinned and nodded his head. "How do you like this, huh? Not bad, huh?" He swung his arms from side to side, showing off the new state-of-the art gym he had recently opened in San Francisco, complete with a couple of cages and rings right smack in the middle of the wide space. The first training facility I worked out in in Vegas was a sad space, hole-in-a-wall beside an auto mechanic. I’d come along way.

"Great place, Rick. You've done one hell of a job here." I wiped the sweat from my forehead with the end of my soaked-shirt. Rick shook his head and handed me a towel he'd grabbed from a clean pile by the entrance of the gym.

As one of the world-renowned MMA Pros, Rick had gained notoriety and celebrity status. The man had powerful punches and kicks, and he had a successful winning strategy, undefeated since he'd become a pro. Years of fighting in the cage had paid off, endorsements poured in, and in more recent years, he'd opened nine gyms in the western seaboard.

We'd met at one of my underground fights a few years ago. Without this man, I could be stuck pummeling unknowns like myself in secret locations, barely scraping enough money to feed Ma and me for a couple of weeks until I could scrounge up the strength to fight again.

"You should see the one in LA. Bigger. And a lot of hot mamasitas." He grinned widely, and circled his spread-out hands in front of his chest.

I shook my head. "Always a hound dog, huh, Rick? How are the kids?" As much as Rick talked the talk when it came to women, he was a true family man, a great single father to his three kids.

He clicked his tongue. "Monsters, I tell you. Bella and Eva are growing too fast." Rick squeezed his eyes with his fingers.

"How old are they now? Eight?"

"Ten. It's been a fucking hell. Puberty is shit," he complained.

"Puberty at ten?" I chuckled at him. It wasn't hard for me to imagine his twin girls ruling his entire life. Rick had a big heart, and he had always told me the twins were exact replicas of his wife who'd passed away when his girls were three years old.

He snorted. "You best believe it. Good thing I have Stephan to balance things out. He's been a great help with his sisters."

"That's great, man." I tapped one of his wide shoulders. "Is he coming to see me fight?"

"Like I could stop the kid! He trains here some times. Maybe I can get you to spar with him, teach him the ropes, then crush his dreams of becoming one of us." Rick gave out a dry chuckle although his eyes stayed serious.

"He wants to get into MMA?" He nodded and clucked his tongue inside his cheeks. "What's wrong with that?"

Rick leered at me. "You know what. This world isn't for him. He's an intellectual like Diana." His voice softened at the mention of his wife's name. "I just let him believe I will let him fight because he's been a good kid. But apart from the training, Stephan will never set foot inside the cage, not if I can help it."

I understood where he was coming from. If I had another choice, I probably would have gone that road. Don't get me wrong, I loved what I do. The adrenaline rush that came with fighting was incomparable. Well, it wasn't nearly as good as sex, but a close second. If I had a different path to a better future, I couldn't see it from where I stood.

"How's your Ma doing?" Rick asked with his voice lowered.

I returned to the bag and started jabbing at it again. "She's been getting worse. Her doctor was able to get her a few more tests. He has a theory that it may not be Alzheimer's but a disease that resembles it. The symptoms are the same. But the other condition is apparently treatable." My punches became harder as I talked about Ma's illness. He was one of the few people in my life now who’d been able to meet Ma before her condition became known.

"Well, hang in there. Don't give up hope." Rick patted me on the back and stood to watch me take my frustrations out on the bag. "Hey, you have time to hang out tonight?" he asked, and I knew it was his way of taking my mind off of my mother.

"Yeah, a couple of the guys want to hit the bars with some of the promo girls. You want to come out with us?" I took my eyes off the bag for a few seconds, without stopping the punches.

Rick hesitated. "As long as you can promise me I'm not babysitting you fuckers after. That night in Vegas was the last time anything like that will happen."

I laughed at my friend and mentor. "Yeah, nothing like that, I swear."

"Right. You're the worse of all of us!" He pointed an accusatory finger at me.

I laughed, continuing my assault on the punching bag.

* * *

Bailey continued to "accidentally" touch me under the table. I kept an arm hanging over the back of the booth just above her shoulders. She was a nice girl, pretty, but she could be a bit much. Of course, I supposed I could be blamed. Bailey and I had happened just one night. We'd been drinking heavily, and I'd given in to her advances.

What a mistake that had been. Bailey was the type to make herself difficult to shake off. But she was fun to hang out with, and she liked to party. And my boys liked to hang out with her girls.

Earlier, I'd received a thumbs up for a rest day from interviews and meetings tomorrow, so I had a bit of drink tonight.

Bailey's hand snaked higher on my thigh.

"Bai, watch it," I warned her between gritted teeth, bringing my drink up to my lips.

She sent me a sweet smile with her pink lips and fluttered her fake lashes. "Sorry." Yeah, right, like hell she was. The girl wanted me bad, every which way I could give her.

Bailey retracted her hand and reached for her pink fruity drink which was the same color of her hair. She'd had three of those drinks. She was no lush either and the night was still young, she would drink more than her hundred pounds could take. I worried about the state of her liver.

The bar we were at wasn't anything new or amazing, but one of the girls said she'd seen a lot of celebrities trickling in and out of it some nights. I doubted that, even with the amount of paparazzi outside, but all I wanted to do was relax and hang out, so I convinced everyone—in particular, the girls—that we'd be better off staying here.

"Oh. My. God!" Mel, Bailey's best friend, piped up, staring at her cell phone. She could be a bit melodramatic and loved to wear enough makeup to use for all the Miss Universe contestants, according to Bailey.

"What's wrong?" Bai stopped sipping her drink and eyed her best friend.

Mel waved her phone around. My boys were not interested in whatever she was saying, but they looked on because any time now, she could have a wardrobe malfunction. Mel also was not the type to wear a bra, not when all the silicone in her breasts was enough to keep them up.

"Tartyn Dale is having a party at his penthouse. I just got the address. We have to go!" Mel was already on her feet, her short dress rode up her thighs, but she didn't try to cover herself up.

"Who's Tartyn Dale?" It might be the wrong thing for me to ask. There was a loud collective gasp, which came from the four girls sitting with us.

Rick shook with laughter. "You need to stop living under a rock. Even I know who Tartyn is." I waited for further explanation, but he didn't divulge any more. I suspected it had something to do with his twins.

"He's only the hottest guy ever! He's total BAE." Sharie, or Carrie, I couldn't remember, told me in particular. "He's in like the best movie with Arriana Kerns."

"We have to go!" the other girl said. "If Tartyn’s there, Beckett and Harry might be there too! Oh my god. I might get to meet Harry!" She bounced on her seat while she clapped and giggled.

The girls were all on their feet, purses clasped, boobs bouncing and skirts riding high before any of us guys agreed to their plan.

I took a quick, silent vote from my boys and they all shrugged, meaning it was up to me. I nodded once at Rick, and he shrugged too. "Let's go then," I decided, rapping my knuckles on the wooden table.

"There better be free drinks," Travis muttered as he stood, after chugging the last of his beer.

"There will probably be more girls," I told him, and he perked up. There was a reason why he was called "Travis The Hound."

I motioned for our waitress to catch her attention and signaled for the check. She sauntered our way and smiled widely at me. "It's okay, sugar. Big guy there already took care of it." She pointed at Rick, who smirked at me. I didn’t even see him get up to pay for it.

The waitress nonchalantly handed me a piece of paper. I unfolded and stared at it. "My number. Call me anytime. I'm Casey," she said, inching forward so that she got close enough to run her boobs up against my arm.

She was pretty, and she had a wicked rack, but I'd learned my lessons from one of the biggest mistakes I'd ever made, whose rack was just as wicked as Casey's. Girls hadn't been on top of my list for a while.

But to show that I was a good sport, I pocketed the paper with Casey's number on it. "Thanks." I spread my lips into my killer smile. She’d never know I would deliberately lose her number later tonight.

Rick ambled up to me while we made our way toward the exit. "Every single time. How do you do it, playa?" He clapped a hand on my shoulder.

I chuckled. "Must be my big...heart." We both roared with laughter, following our group out of the bar.

Flashes hit my eyes as soon as we stepped out. Travis and Stone were virtually unknowns. The clicks were for Rick, and maybe some were meant for me. My status in Pro-MMA wasn't the only thing that interested them, although I wished that was all they would ask about.

I squinted my eyes trying to figure out where our driver Bennett had parked the limo. I was sure he’d seen us walk out of the bar. Evading paparazzi was something Patton had asked me not to do. He kept saying I should embrace the publicity. He may very well be right. By this time next month, my name might already be forgotten.

A warm breeze carried an intoxicating scent and made me turn away from the blinding flashes. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a figure with great long legs walking away from me. Blonde curly hair fell down to her lower back. I squinted to see if I could catch a glimpse of the pert little nose, wide eyes and pink pouty lips on the storefront windows' reflection. I would know her face anywhere, even just from a momentary passing. I'd only carried her picture everywhere with me ever since I'd accidentally stumbled upon it.

I called her name, but I guess she couldn't hear me. It might not even be her, but my gut told me otherwise. Some kind of magnetic force pulled me toward her. The paps yelled out questions. One was pointedly asked at me. I ignored it and broke off the group. I strode toward the girl and called her name again, "Maggie! Margaret Stewart!" This time, she stopped and did a slow turn.

The wind was knocked out of me, while my heart beat wildly at the sight of her. She looked even more beautiful in person. And I could not help but smile like an idiot as I approached her.