I arrive early at the Kezar Pavilion on Saturday afternoon for my fight with Carla Gordon. Torment, Sadist, and the rest of the Redemption team are in the arena to cheer me on. Zack is outside the changing room, fussing over me like a mother hen, making me wonder if I made a mistake crossing the personal/professional boundary with him. Over the last few weeks, we’ve caught each other up on our missing years, watched crime shows together, trained together, and had raunchy sex on every surface in my apartment. We’ve shared everything from fight diet meals to nutrition and training tips and from saliva to strawberry protein shakes. I feel like I’ve found my friend again, although friendship isn’t all he wants from me.
“Have you got your tape?”
“Yes, Zack.”
“Mouth guard?”
“Yes.”
“Gloves?”
“Yes.”
“Don’t forget to warm up before you come out. Wear your track suit to the ring.”
“Yes, Zack. Did you pack my lunch for me and remember my library books?” I grin as I take my gym bag from him. Such a gentleman. He carries my gym bag when I’m about to go into an MMA ring and hopefully knock Carla Gordon unconscious.
Zack’s lips tighten. “I think you should reconsider wearing a chest guard.”
“Too late. I’ve practiced without one. I’m not about to put one on now. If I get hit in the boobs, I promise you can kiss them better.”
Not even the little sexual innuendo can make him smile, and I realize he is probably just as stressed as I am.
“Keep your face away from her fists.” Zack kisses my cheek outside the door, finishing the litany of advice I have heard three times already. “We don’t need a repeat of what happened in the ring with Sandy.”
“I highly doubt a man from my past is going to walk into the event and distract me at the exact moment my opponent decides to throw a punch.”
His brow creases in a scowl that has become all too familiar after weeks of brutal workouts and an intense training regime.
“I know.” I sigh before he can make another comment. “She’s a striker, and I’m a submission specialist. I need to take her to the mat where I have the advantage.” Carla Gordon is a nine-year amateur veteran who is still looking for that “breakthrough” fight. She had a five-fight skid over the last two years as a featherweight and has revitalized her career by dropping to my bantamweight class. She is 6–1 since making the change and ranked number ten on the amateur circuit. She has a reputation for unnecessary brutality, and I am scared as hell of facing her. Not that I would ever tell Zack.
“I’ll be in your corner.” Zack is my corner man for the fight, which means he is there to give support and advice and help me with water or minor injuries during break times, if there are any. As with professional fights, no one is allowed in the ring except the referee and the ring doctor, and the referee is the only person authorized to stop a fight.
After Zack leaves, I head into the changing room. Mats have been spread out on the floor for prefight stretching, and the promotion has provided water, sports drinks, and snacks. My opponent is already changed and stretching on the mats. Although we’re equally matched in weight, Carla is taller, with ropier muscles and a face slightly twisted by a number of breaks.
We share a few tense words, and then Carla is called out to the ring. I follow a few moments later. The modest crowd cheers as I climb the steps to the raised platform that holds the fight ring, but not as loudly as the Redemption team, who fill the mostly empty pavilion with a loud roar of my name.
Zack checks my gloves when I reach my corner and pulls me forward for a quick kiss to the forehead. “Go kick some ass, sweetheart.”
“That’s a contradiction in terms,” I tell him as I warm up with a few jumps. “Ass kickers are not sweethearts.”
“Mine is.”
Carla and I shake gloves in front of the referee. He turns to answer a question from one of the judges, and Carla tightens her grip and pulls me toward her. “I’m gonna break you, fucking bitch,” she mutters.
Is that the best she can do? I hear worse from the Redemption fighters in yoga class. I growl in return. “It’s going to be hard to break me when you’re unconscious on the mat.”
The buzzer sounds. Professional matches are three rounds of five minutes each, but for amateurs, we only have three minutes to get the points we need to win.
Carla cracks me low off the counter, and I respond with a stiff jab and then another. She goes over the top with a right, but I keep right on jabbing, using the new offensive techniques I practiced with Zack. But something feels off. She moves so quickly, I can’t land a blow, and her punches just keep coming. Zack wasn’t kidding when he said she was a striker. She hasn’t used her legs, and we’re already a good thirty seconds into the fight.
Taking a deep breath, I reassess. My best chance is to get her down to the canvas, but with her speed and rapid-fire punches, I’m afraid to take the risk of leaving myself open.
Damn. Wasn’t this the exact thought pattern I’ve been working with Zack to avoid? I need to take risks. I need to give her an opening so she leaves herself vulnerable. I try to imagine her as Damian and this is my one chance for revenge. I get in a good uppercut and then another. She retaliates with a one-two punch followed by a spinning back fist, leaving me the opening I need, but by the time I work up the nerve to take advantage of her moment of vulnerability, the opening is gone.
This isn’t working. Nothing is working. I’m using the moves and routines I practiced with Zack, but I can’t get past her guard. Carla shoots in for a takedown and drives me to the canvas. This is good. I have an advantage here. But my advantage doesn’t last. She rolls and gets me in a triangle choke. I manage to slip free and get to my feet, but now my confidence is shaken. She is vastly more skilled than me, easily outmaneuvering me on both the canvas and on our feet.
I try to find my passion for the fight. I imagine how I used to feel on stage, how I would become part of the music. But there is no music here. There is only the relentless thud of Carla’s feet on the mat, the harsh rasp of her breath, the look of death in her eyes.
Another fist comes my way. I duck and clinch, drive her to the ropes. She hits hard with her back. Just as I’m moving in with another fist, she delivers a devastating knee to the head. I stagger back, blinded by a fierce rush of pain. Carla pushes me to the mat and delivers three right hands to my head. Barely conscious, I see the referee as a blur before he pulls her away.
For the longest time, there is no sound. No Redemption team cheering. No Carla shrieking with victory. No words coming from the referee’s mouth, although I can see his lips moving. My arms and legs aren’t interested in obeying my brain, so I turn my head to the side and look around. There is Zack, struggling to get into the ring. But Torment and Sadist are holding him back.
Another man kneels beside the referee, blocking my view of Zack. He has dark hair and dark eyes, and he is wearing a shirt with a red cross on it. Doctor Death has a shirt just like that, so I guess he is the ring doctor. I move my mouth and discover I have regained control over that part of my body, so I say “Hi, Doc,” to be friendly, but that just makes him frown.
“Did she lose consciousness?” he asks the referee.
“I don’t think so.”
“No.” I find my voice, speak for myself. “No. I didn’t lose consciousness.” I push up on my elbows, fighting a wave of dizziness. “I’m fine. I’ll get out of the ring so you can get the next fight started.”
“I called time,” the referee says. “Gordon fouled you with the knee to the head. You have five minutes to recuperate. I don’t think it was intentional. She was bouncing off the ropes, and she says she lost her balance. If you don’t get up, it’s no contest.”
My only chance at making it to the state finals and getting a professional contract comes with a win. A no contest isn’t good enough. Gritting my teeth, I push to my feet. “I’m up.”
The ring doctor helps me to the corner of the ring where someone has placed a nice comfy stool. I sag down, and Zack holds an ice pack to my head as the ring doctor kneels down in front of me and rummages in his bag.
“Why didn’t you stop the bout?” Zack shouts. Both the ring doctor and the referee have the power to stop the fight.
“She didn’t lose consciousness, and she was able to get up. I see no reason—”
Zack cuts him off with a furious glare. “She’s had two damn head injuries in the last two months where she’s lost consciousness, and one of them was only three weeks ago.”
“No.” I shake my head and then wish I hadn’t, because the pain is so much worse. “I didn’t lose consciousness the last time.”
“You did,” Zack barks. “It was only for a few seconds, but you did.”
“I was there. I would know.”
“I was fucking there, too. I watched you go limp in the ring.”
“I was stunned, not unconscious. I got up and won the damn fight.” My head throbs and pounds, and I wish he would shut up, because all this shouting is making the pain worse. I thought Torment was overprotective when he told me I wasn’t ready for tonight, but Zack is taking it to a whole new level. “Don’t interfere.”
“So this fight you’re talking about was three weeks ago?” The ring doctor waves his shiny flashlight in my eyes.
“Just over three weeks. And don’t listen to him. He’s making a big deal out of nothing.”
“You can’t let her fight,” Zack says to the ring doctor as if I’m not there. “She might have a serious head injury. Sometimes they don’t present themselves right away. Or sometimes it takes a few hits to the head—”
“Zack!” I push to my feet, shout his name. “Your issues about Okami are not my issues. I say I’m fine. I was medically certified as healthy before the fight. The ring doctor says I’m fine—”
“Okami?” The ring doctor frowns. “Zack? Zack Grayson! Slayer! You’re Slayer!”
Zack shrugs. “Yeah.”
“Big fan.” The ring doctor pumps Zack’s hand. “I watched that Okami fight. Sorry you had to go through it. I don’t know how everyone missed the signs when he stepped into the cage. I would have had him DQ’d before the fight even started. It was only thirty days after his last knockout.”
Zack freezes, and his face shutters, but not before I see a flicker of pain. I open my mouth to assure him that the signs a professional ring doctor would have noticed are not the kind of signs a fighter would notice when the doctor shakes his head.
“You know, that does raise a concern here.” The doctor gives me a gentle pat on the arm. “I’m sorry, but I’m going to end the bout. Slayer is right. We can’t be too careful with head injuries, and talking about the Okami fight just reminded me of the rules.”
“What?” I stare at him, aghast. “It was nothing. I didn’t even need to see a doctor the second time. He’s just being overprotective. I’m good to go. A no-contest result means I can’t get into the finals. I have a professional contract riding on this fight.”
“I’m sorry.” The doctor shakes his head. “I’m not ending it because of what happened in this fight. I’m ending it because of the thirty-day rule. You aren’t allowed to compete within thirty days of a knockout. You’ll be disqualified for breaking that rule. Gordon will advance despite the final. I hate doing this, but part of my job is to protect fighters, even from themselves. And I’m sure Slayer can attest to the devastating effects of a head injury, not just for the friends and family of the injured fighter, but for the opponent as well.”
My heart drops into my stomach, and not just because of the doctor’s decision. This wouldn’t have happened if Zack hadn’t opened his mouth.
“No. You can’t.” I try to stand, and my knees wobble. Grabbing the rope for balance, I take a step toward the doctor as he picks up his bag. “He’s not right about that last fight. I didn’t lose consciousness. And not in the fight before that either. Tell him, Zack. Tell him you made a mistake.”
But Zack doesn’t tell the doctor anything. He just glares at me as if I’m the one doing something wrong.
“Wait. Please.” I grab the doctor’s arm. “Ask Torment. He’s really my head coach. He runs Redemption. Or Sadist. He’s a pro fighter, too. He was at the last fight. If you just give me a minute to find them—”
“My decision stands.” The doctor shakes Zack’s hand. “Good to meet you. Hope to see you some day in the cage. Everyone’s rooting for you to come back. You were my son’s idol. Your fights were really something to watch.”
He crosses the ring to speak to the ref, who then goes to speak to the judges. Within minutes, I have been disqualified for fighting while on a “CAMO ill” designation, meaning I have been accused of doing exactly what Okami did—fighting after a concussion when I should have been on the unavailable list. Carla Gordon shrieks with joy when she hears the news, and bounces around the ring.
“We should go.” Zack moves to help me stand, and I slap his hand away.
“Don’t touch me.”
“You can’t walk alone, Shay. You were unsteady even when you stood up.” He puts an arm around me, and I push him away.
“I said don’t touch me. Don’t look at me. Don’t speak to me. You know I didn’t lose consciousness, and he didn’t need to know what happened at that fight. It was an underground fight that you set up. I shouldn’t have a CAMO ill designation from an underground fight, but I couldn’t tell him I was in an underground fight or I’d lose my amateur license. Is that what you planned? Did you set it up so I couldn’t fight again?”
He shakes his head. “No. Of course not.”
“Then why?” My head is hurting so much, I can barely see. Every time I shout, the world turns red, and I don’t know if it’s because of the blow or my anger or the tears that are leaking from my eyes. “Why did you do that? Why did you think you knew what I needed better than me? Why did you betray me all over again?”
I’m losing it so badly, both physically and emotionally, I know I’ll never make it out of the ring on my own, but damned if I’m going to lean on him ever again. “Sadist!” I shout for my Redemption buddy. “Sadist!”
“Shay. Let me take you home. We can talk.” Zack holds out his hand, and I step away.
“You thought this was Okami all over again, didn’t you?” I am reaching, but when he flinches, I know I’ve hit the mark. “Is this your idea of redemption? You save me from an imaginary danger to make up for what happened with Okami?”
“No.” He runs his hand through his hair. “Of course not.”
“I’ve got you.” Sadist’s deep voice rumbles through me. Warm broad hands reach through the ropes, and he helps me through. He doesn’t ask if I need help. He just puts his strong arm around me and half walks, half carries me away from the ring.
I don’t even look back at Zack, and Sadist doesn’t ask why we’re leaving my coach behind. When we reach the changing room, I rest my head against the cool door and let out a sob.
“What happened?” he asks quietly.
“He told the ring doctor I was knocked out in my last fight, which wasn’t true. I was DQ’d under the thirty-day rule, and I couldn’t tell them it was in the underground, because that would be a breach of the rules. I could have won that fight, or at the very least had her disqualified. It was an intentional foul.”
“They ruled it accidental.”
“Then I could have had a no contest and fought next week. Now I’m facing a penalty, and I’m on CAMO ill for at least another week, which means no training. I’ll need a doctor’s note and permission to compete again. There’s no chance I’ll make it to the state finals now. And I will lose my shot at a professional contract. Zack is still carrying that damn chip on his shoulder about the Okami fight, and today, he gave it to me.”
Sadist gives me a friendly hug. “You want me to talk to Torment? See if he can appeal the foul? Or maybe he can smooth things over? He knows everybody. There’s gotta be something he can do.”
Defeated, I give a shrug. “I can’t imagine he’ll be pulling strings to get me another fight when he thought I wasn’t ready for this one, and on its face, it looks like I proved him right.”
“I’m sorry, Shill,” he says, inadvertently reminding me that I will be stuck with that damned ring name for at least another year, maybe forever. “I wish there was something I can do. Maybe Zack—”
“No. I’m done with him.” I push open the door, look back over my shoulder. “I’m going back to how things were. I want Torment and Fuzzy coaching me again and Stan beating me up on the treadmill when I show up late in the morning. I want to train like I was training before. Things were simple before Zack showed up. I want them to be simple again.”
“You improved a lot when you were training with him,” he calls out.
“Maybe I did, but the price was just too high.”