Tapped (Totaled Book 2) (33 page)

            The lobby was the definition of opulence, Brett even making a joke about every surface being gold plated and trimmed in diamonds. We were checked in and escorted up the elevator to our suite. I’d never stayed in a true suite before, but I doubted that this was a normal suite. It was more like a house inside a hotel. There were four palatial bedrooms, each with their own bathroom, a gigantic main sitting area with what had to be a sixty-inch flat screen television, a full gourmet kitchen, and a balcony. I skipped admiring the other amenities and went straight for the balcony.

            Sliding the glass doors open, I was almost flattened by the view. It was breathtaking. I literally had the wind knocked out of me by the sight of the crystal turquoise blue ocean of the Persian Gulf before me. The monumental balcony was huge—big enough for us to play a four-on-four football game without moving any furniture. I slowly approached the edge of the railing and looked over twenty floors down at the city that would be my home for the next week, thanking my lucky stars. I had no idea what I did to deserve this opportunity, but I was grateful.

Chapter Forty-One

BREE

            The beauty of Abu Dhabi was unlike anything I’d ever seen. Better than anything I could ever imagine. It looked fake—like something in a magazine that was unattainable for someone like me to ever see in person. Yet there I was, looking out the airplane window descending upon a utopian wonderland.

            I flew overseas alone and dressed in my normal clothes. No one knew I was coming except Chris Gibson and Sue. Chris helped me make arrangements for the guys and secured a place for me to stay that was far enough away from them to remain out of sight but safe enough for me to feel confident in being alone. Sue had to know because she was going to watch over the gym and make sure it was open for business in our absence. I contemplated asking someone else because I figured it would be tough for her to return there so soon after the incident with Brock, but she was insulted and insisted that she was fine to do it. After Drew “saved” her, she was extremely encouraging of anything and everything that would bring us closer together. I’d missed his fight in Atlanta and I refused to miss this.

            It was Sue’s idea for me to wear the common dress of a Muslim woman native to Abu Dhabi and we had a blast selecting and ordering multiple “outfits” for my trip.
The traditional dress for women was a long black cloak over long, loose clothing and a black headscarf. It was perfect if you wanted to stay hidden because the only part that was ever showing were my hands and eyes. I was just hoping that my light blue eyes didn’t draw too much attention.

            With three days of sightseeing already under my belt, it was time to focus on the fight that was less than twenty-four hours away. Chris was adamant that I not go anywhere in the city alone and while I felt like I could handle myself, he was quick to remind me that this was a whole different world. He set me up with an American tour group so I could see what I wanted to see safely. I admired the stark white sandy beaches of the Persian Gulf and dipped my toes in the glass-like ocean. I toured immaculate buildings with stunning architecture and minute ornamental details reminiscent of heaven. I rode on a camel for a short desert safari and picnic meal. I visited the Sheikh Zayed Grand Mosque during worship time and was awe-inspired by everyone’s commitment to faith and traditions. The only thing I really wanted to see, however, was Drew. It was all I could think about, even with all the worldly culture that I was seeing. I wondered what he was doing, what he was eating, what he thought of all of this amazing beauty. 

            I was in correspondence with Chris the entire time so he knew where I was and what I was doing, should there be any sort of issue, but also so I could keep tabs on the guys. When the night of the fight finally rolled around, my stomach was a ball of nerves. I wasn’t sure if I had a bad vibe or uneasy feeling about something or if it was just anxiety of just how important the fight was for Drew. The thought briefly entered my mind that something may be wrong with Liam but Chris reassured me that everything and everyone in our camp was fine and healthy.

            A car service was arranged and I was driven to the arena just before show time. It was impossible to miss the driver’s odd looks as he glanced at me in the rearview mirror multiple times. He was obviously puzzled by why a Caucasian woman with an American accent was dressed in full cover, but he never addressed it and I certainly wasn’t offering any unnecessary conversation. Maybe he thought I was some sort of spy. The thought made me chuckle beneath my veiled face.

            I had played up my eye makeup, trying to have a little fun with the fact that it was the only part of my body that could be accessorized. Sue would be so proud of my successful attempt at “the smoky eye” and two coats of black mascara. Unfortunately it wasn’t enough to distract from my blue eyes, as I got cutting stares walking into the arena. There weren’t many women present in the first place, and the few that I saw were with men. When the only thing to draw your attention to amongst the black flowing garment was the eyes, it was all anyone looked at. It was impolite to not acknowledge people and look them in the eyes, but I was uncomfortable with the shocked and intrigued reactions. I thought I’d never get away with it.

            Chris finally met me in a holding area where I’d been patiently waiting. He walked in with three other woman, all Arabic and all in traditional garb to match mine. I was told that we would be seated together in one of the front rows of the arena. I was immediately appreciative for the safety in numbers. Relief spread throughout my tightly wound body; maybe I would be absorbed by the people surrounding me and I wouldn’t be noticed. They were all beautiful and very kind to me, making small talk at first but quickly progressing into rapid fire questions about my American lifestyle. They were fascinated and captivated by everything American; it was difficult not to feel like an animal on display at the zoo but I knew they meant well and were harmless. The questions were more about fashion, pop culture, celebrities, and food rather than me personally.

            We were escorted to our seats, the energy in the room palpable. The arena was more than impressive and jam-packed with mostly white-robed men and the occasional sprinkling of black-robed women as spectators. The noise level was deafening and while it assaulted my ears, it quieted my brain. My body felt like it was a rubber band, pulled taut and at its maximum stretch, and I could snap at any moment. We watched a few preliminary fights and the undercard match, which was a welterweight fight that ended in a split decision. The result was one that the crowd wasn’t happy with and the difference in the way this culture expressed their disdain was quite different than in the United States. There were no hoots, hollers, or boos. An eerie silence of opposition took over the arena. I was riveted and soaked it all up. This once in a lifetime experience was such a blessing.

            Drew’s fight was next up, on the main card but not the main event, but you would’ve thought otherwise by the crowd’s excitement. The announcers spoke in Arabic primarily but followed it with an English translation, which I expected was much abbreviated. In the moments just before they announced Drew, they began talking to the entire arena in only Arabic. I turned to the woman to my left with a puzzled look. Her name was Noura and she was most talkative with me throughout our acquaintance. I looked to her in question and her eyes apologized. She spoke to me in English, explaining and translating what was going on.

            She confirmed that my assumptions were correct as the announcer was speaking, that this wasn’t the main event on the evening’s fight card but was probably the most anticipated one. She said they were describing Knox as a hot-headed bully that was hungry for blood but that he just may have bitten off more than he can chew with young new fighter Drew Dougherty.

            “He says it may be one of the most big surprises in ever the UFC!” She spoke with excitement bursting through her broken English.

            I was hoping for the upset more than anyone. When I heard the first notes of his music blare through the arena speakers, my heart swelled to what felt like three times its normal size and I could hear my pulse above all of the noise. “Intro,” by a band called The xx played, the ominous buildup of the purely instrumental song perfect for Drew. It took a few seconds for him to come into view, with Dad and Tony walking directly behind him, both flanked by Arabic security. Brett and Liam followed close behind. Liam’s eyes were as large as saucers when he glanced around the room and saw the grandeur of the arena and all its occupants. It made me laugh. I was ecstatic that he was able to experience it all.

            Drew stopped at the base of the octagon to be checked by the officials just like always as the announcer once again recited his stats and measurements to the crowd without translating into English. I was able to catch enough and he entered the cage to a thunderous crowd all going wild for him. He was hyped and circled raising his hands to egg them on in their cheers.

            Noura leaned over to whisper in my ear that if he was her husband, she would never leave the house. It occurred to me that none of the women had any idea who I was to Drew or Chris Gibson. Her compliment didn’t offend me, but rather made me proud to call him mine. As he danced around the cage, making sporadic eye contact with the audience members, he came close to looking right at me. I doubted he was able to focus on anyone in the blurred mass of people, but I lowered my chin and cast my eyes downward to avoid any potential recognition.

            His opponent, with whom I was extremely familiar, was announced next, greeted by negative roars and disgusted expressions from the horde of spectators. He chose to react with smack talk and expletives the entire walk up to the octagon which didn’t please the extremely conservative audience. He apparently didn’t get a memo of the cultural differences or just chose not to care that swearing in public was actually an arrestable offense in this country. He was a cocky, showboating asshole but had definitely been able to back up his big mouth thus far. His tattooed body danced around the ring, tracing the top of the fencing as he ran around in circles. I thought he should save all that energy for after the bell rang because Drew wasn’t just going to lie down and let himself get beat on.

            The announcer declared that it would be a three round non-title fight and brought the microphone around to the referee’s mouth for him to address the fighters. It was all in English since the fighters both spoke English. He warned that he wanted a clean flight and recited all the standard instructions, asking them to touch gloves. Knox refused, clearly caring nothing about sportsmanship and trying to ruffle Drew mentally. I shook my head at how ridiculous it all was, and all for show.

            Round one began and Knox created a performance of taunting and teasing Drew into attacking first. He often did this with other opponents to gauge their striking speed and level of intensity. Drew answered with a front kick to the face which connected and snapped Knox’s head back. He stumbled back and shook the haze of the blow off while the crowd went berserk, including me. The women I was with all collectively turned in their chairs to give me a look of surprise. Drew followed by capitalizing on Knox’s foggy appearance with multiple strikes to the head and body, his form looking perfect. He was energetic and intense and I felt the fever spreading through me.

            The majority of the audience was watching for entertainment and to a certain degree, I was as well. But with all my MMA knowledge, I couldn’t help analyzing every move made by either fighter, my own thoughts sounding like a commentary in my head. Drew’s footwork was fantastic and he was landing most of the strikes and elbows he was throwing, but I wanted to see the takedown. His strength was on the ground and I was afraid that if Knox was able to keep him up, he would tire of the kickboxing match and falter.

            About a minute into the first round, Knox, apparently not pleased with the noise level of the crowd, decided to back away from their boxing match and dance around a little. He punched fancy combinations into the air and displayed his flying knee and double roundhouse kick to dead space. Drew stood, aggravated and unfazed by the pageant. Knox approached him upon encouragement from the crowd and threw a front kick towards Drew. It only grazed his body as he turned out of its path and Drew caught and held his heel before his foot could land. I started to stand in excitement and caught myself before exposing incorrect decorum. Sure enough, he drove his body to the ground using Knox’s leg for leverage.

            As Knox tried to wrap his legs around Drew and positioned his arms to protect his guard, Drew seized the chance to earn points by raining elbows and strikes to his head. He connected one after another and it was one of the most beautiful ground and pound displays I’d ever seen. I saw Drew glance at the clock—only fourteen seconds remained—and he executed another flurry of punches which Knox was unable to answer before the ref called the round.

            I beamed with pride under my hijab and I knew without a doubt that if Drew kept this level of activity up and defended himself, he would walk away with a win via decision. He wouldn’t be pleased with that result as he had always said that a win by decision was a loss in his book, but I disagreed. A win is a win and he was going to find it difficult to win by submission against Hayes Knox.

            I was close enough to his “corner” to hear my father and the other guys talking to him, yelling advice and boosting his confidence. It wasn’t long before they called the fighters back to the center for the start of round two.     

Chapter Forty-Two

DREW

            “Round two!” the announcer’s deep voice echoed, and I stepped forward towards the center. When the ref clapped his hands together to start the clock, I went directly on the attack. Knox was pissing me off, obviously more intent on creating buzz and dancing around in some sort of performance than fighting. Or he just didn’t take me that seriously. Either way, I’d grown irritated and had enough of the fucking shenanigans. It was time to end this bullshit.