Committed (7 page)

“I’ll walk you to the door,” he insisted.

I
snickered, but he did just that.
I
didn’t say anything
until we reached the door.

I
unlocked it and said, “Would you like to come in?”

"I'd love to, except I know you’re tired, maybe
next weekend?” He grinned, still in his role.

Yes, definitely next time. “I'd better give you my
phone number so there can be a next time," I joked. We both cracked
up.
 

He went in for the first date kiss, kissing
me
soft and sweet on the lips. Shivers spread across
my
skin.

“I love you,” he said. That wasn’t quite going with
the theme, but
I
let it go.

That night he went to his bed and
I
went to mine. It had been a fun night. It was nice to dream about how things
might have started differently. However,
I
never
wanted to take back how we ended up together.

CHAPTER SIX

B
RAXTON

The audience at the round of four was extra loud.
I
noticed that with each new round, each time I climbed a
little bit closer to that championship, they seemed to get a little more
excited.
Maybe a little more blood thirsty.
As
I
stood in back behind the curtains waiting for them to call
my name I could hear them talking about my last fight and how there hadn’t been
enough action.

“No blood,” one guy was saying, “Nobody comes to a
fight like this to see a couple guys dance around each other until one finally
lands a lucky punch.”

“Yeah, but you should have been here for the one
before that,” his friend told him. “He looked like Rocky Balboa that night when
he got done. He’s got the Doberman in him he just needs an opponent to unleash
it on.”

I
wasn’t sure if I should be proud or insulted by that conversation.
I
decided the best thing to do would be to ignore it.
I
didn’t want to come out looking for blood like an angry
bulldog, just to turn on a couple of old guys with beer bellies who had
probably never been in a real fight.

Sam came up behind
me
and
gave me a slap on the back. “You ready, kid?”

“I’m ready,”
I
told him and
I really felt like I was. Things were right in
my
world and my head was completely in the ring.

I
heard them call my name and Sam said, “This is it,” as he propelled me forward
and through the curtain.
I
heard them clapping and
chanting my name, but the only thing in the audience I was truly interested in
was sitting in the second row with a camera around her neck.
Emmi
was there to cheer
me
on even
though I knew she hated all of this. She was a great support system.

Sam and
I
climbed into the
octagon and then they called out my opponent. His name was Jake Sandoval but he
went by Crusher.
I
hadn’t had a chance to see him
fight, but Sam had, and he said that Crusher was putting it mildly. As usual,
Sam used his smooth words to encourage
me
.

Crusher sprang through the door of the octagon and
after preening for the crowd he gave
me
a look across
the octagon. It wasn’t a friendly look, nor was it an unfriendly one, it was
more like curiosity.
I
probably had that look myself.
For a few seconds before every bout you looked at the other guy wondering about
him. Then the bell rang and within a few seconds after that you were locked
into merciless combat and trying to knock each other unconscious. It really was
a barbaric sport.

The girls in the audience seemed to be screaming
louder for Sandoval than they were for
me
. That rarely
ever happened.
I
didn’t know if it was his full head
of dark hair or those smoldering brown eyes. Maybe it was the thick, muscular
neck with the veins so fat and pulsating that a vampire could feast for days on
it. Something about him was driving them crazy.

He turned and preened toward the press box. Sarah
was there again tonight and a guy named Lewis from the Chronicle and Jones from
the Sun. There were others there too, probably from other university papers.
Crusher seemed intent on making friends with them all, as if that would keep
me
from kicking his pretty ass.

Sam tapped
me
on the
shoulder and I turned and held out my hands while he slipped tape around them.
Then at last the referee called us to the center of the ring and
I
was face to face with the man who would either be cheering
or crying in a matter of minutes.

We advanced to meet each other and as the bell
sounded Sam clattered out of the cage. We shook hands and both of us
immediately slipped into our fighting personalities.

Instantly, Crusher was in and out and in again,
landing punches all over
me
. He landed a left to
my
cheek and a right to my ribs and when I threw back a jab
he did a fancy duck and dance just in time for me to connect with the heavy
air. He was fucking fast,
both in his retreats and his
counters. The crowd in the stands was seeing a dazzling show. They were
screaming, mostly his name and
I
could already feel my
lungs begging for air, and sweat dripping down into my eyes from my hair.

I
had to keep in mind that his blows were too quick. Sam told
me
all the time that if they were too quick and too neat that they’re not
dangerous.
I
reminded myself to let him rush on while
he wasted all his energy in the first round. When
I
finally landed a punch, it was going to be dangerous, that I could guarantee.
I
fought guys like him before. He was trying to crush
me
with his speed and I needed to counter by being patient,
and then overwhelming him with my strength.

Patience was difficult for
me
because this guy was in and out, over here and over there, punching and then
kicking, and leaping across the octagon like Spiderman from one side of the
cage to the other.
I
caught a glimpse of Sam’s face.
He was trying to tell
me
something but I didn’t
understand the signal. It looked like he wanted
me
to
let him hit me…in the head.
I
had got into a rhythm
with the guy at last, and although most of my punches still weren’t connecting
with the swift-footed son of a bitch, I wasn’t getting pummeled either.

Sam was rubbing his knuckles. That was what he was
trying to tell
me
. He wanted
me
to let him hit me in the head, right in the back of my skull where it was as
hard as a rock. That would hurt his knuckles more than it did
me
and maybe slow him down a bit. With a grimace and a quick
duck and a rise,
I
connected my head with his fist. It
hurt like a bitch but
I
glanced at Sandoval and I knew
it hurt him more.

As the clock ticked,
I
had
only gotten in a few kicks and one or two soft punches. The first round was
definitely his. Toward the end, when only seconds remained
I
used my defense as an offense.
I
let him come at me
like a whirlwind, throwing punches right and left as I blocked and ducked and
covered up, but never threw one back.
I
was avoiding
sure punishment if he connected and at the same time I was letting him wear
himself down. Occasionally a punch would connect, letting
me
know where his nickname came from. But for the most part, until the bell rang,
I
had avoided them.

The true pain was coming from the audience, most of
who knew nothing about fighting strategies and thought that by not throwing
punches
I
was just being a big pussy. They were verbal
about it and as
I
tipped my head back for Sam to pour
my energy drink in I caught
Emmi’s
eyes. She was
giving
me
what I’m sure she thought was an encouraging
look. From where
I
sat, it looked more like
constipation. Maybe
I
wasn’t seeing things correctly
from being so drained.

I
glanced over at my quick opponent in his corner. He was sitting on his stool
with his legs stretched out in front of him and his arms resting on his chest,
which was heaving as he
deeply
gulped down air. He had
his eyes closed and
I
was sure that he was soaking in
what the crowd was saying. They mostly wanted him to knock
me
out, pin me or break something vital. They wanted him to “end the pussy” in the
second round. They were screaming about how much faster he was than
me
, telling him to knock me on my ass.
I
blocked it all out as best I could.
I
knew I was doing
the right thing.
I
looked at Sam and he winked at me,
he knew it too.

The bell rang and
I
advanced slowly, letting him come the longer distance to reach me. He
was fired
up again and although he was tired, he wasn’t done
yet. He soon would be though,
I
realized as I watched
him. He didn’t have a Sam. No one had told him that when you face an opponent
of equal strength and skill, reserving some of your stamina for the end was
entirely necessary.

He started attacking in a tumultuous onslaught of
kicks and punches with the audience still screaming at
me
to fight back. He wanted the pace to be
fast,
he
wanted the fight to be over so he could go celebrate with his friends, his
girlfriend or his wife.
I
wasn’t going to accommodate
him.
I
went on holding on to my strength, because I
still knew that with this guy, that was going to be the key.

Meanwhile, he was throwing his away as quickly as he
could and audience favorite or not, he was perilously close to losing it all.
To the majority of the onlookers it seemed like
I
was
hopelessly surpassed, but I knew there were a wise few out there who knew that
if they had bet on me, their money was just as sure as if it were already in
the bank.

When the second round ended,
I
knew I was still losing.

The third round began the same as the previous two.
He was still doing all the leading and
I
was still
taking most of the punishment.
I
could see the change
in his eyes, the overconfidence that came from dominating the first two rounds.
I had fallen for that one myself a time or
two
. It was
enough to cause him to leave
me
an opening and as soon
as he did, I took it.
My
right arm flashed out the
second I saw it and it was the first real punch I had landed all night.
I
had pivoted my body before I threw it and it had landed
against his left jaw with all of my weight behind it, knocking him to the
floor. The audience suddenly reevaluated their opinions of
me
and they were on their feet screaming at me to finish him off.

Crusher
was visibly shaken
.
He rolled over in slow motion and attempted to get up but by that time
my
full weight was on his back and he was pinned to the
floor. The audience was screaming. No one was going to have a voice in the
morning. Their excitement gave him a surge of adrenaline and he was actually
able to get one knee underneath himself and push us up off the floor about half
an inch.
I
used the strength that I had been saving
all night to force him back down. In a foolish lurch, he got an arm out from
underneath him and tried to land a backwards punch. As
I
grabbed his arm just below his elbow I felt a sickening snap. All
I
meant to do was stop the punch but Crusher’s arm was
broken and the last bit of strength in his body was gone.  

The audience was all on their feet and complete
chaos ensued.
I
could see Sam grinning at me and
giving me a thumbs-up sign as the referee lifted me off Sandoval and held my
arm up to the crowd. Sandoval’s guys and the EMTs with their gurney in tow were
rushing in to help him as he lay writhing in the middle of the floor.
I
could see the big bouncer security guys trying to hold the
crowd back so that I could get out of the cage. As
I
stepped out I saw a sight for my sore eyes, it was
Emmi
,
waiting just behind one of the big guys.

“She’s with me,”
I
told him
as I reached behind him and pulled her forward. She threw her arms around
me
, which hurt a bit. But once her lips pressed against
mine
, the pain was all forgotten.

When she pulled back she said, “Good fight…I love
you, Braxton.”