I smirked to myself, tearing up the road. Maybe I would be moving back home after all.
I liked it when the locker room was empty.
It was a few days after I’d moved out of Frank’s house. I hadn’t seen or spoken to Alexa, though I did send her the fight details. She hadn’t gotten back to me, but I wasn’t letting that distract me from what I needed to do.
The last few days had been dedicated to training and watching tapes of the guy I was fighting. He was young and aggressive and strong, but I was confident. I was always confident.
I liked it when the locker room was empty. I could sit there and meditate, get my mind right, empty my brain, and get ready for what I was about to do.
And I was about to fight for my life. Every time I entered the ring, I knew that I could die. I was risking life and limb in there, risking my future, my career. One wrong move, one false step, and I could easily get beaten, broken, or worse.
It had happened before. It happened to guys like me. In a sport as brutal and fast-paced and violent as MMA, it would keep on happening.
That was what we wanted. The rush of bodies breaking bodies, of the possibility of defeat, or victory, or serious injury. It was all there and it was right.
It was what I lived for.
And then the promoter came in, and my manager came in, my trainer, some media guys. I didn’t like the locker room as much when I wasn’t alone, but it was part of the gig. I answered questions, I talked strategy, but mostly I worked on keeping my mind right.
And then there was the roar of the crowd as the announcer said my name. I walked through the tunnel, heart beating slow, slow, and my whole body loose and calm, radiating a deadly calm. I had learned how to control my emotions and how to enter into an empty, mindless fighting state at my whim. Skad had taught me that and much, much more, stuff nobody knew that I could do.
It’d been a long time since I was out in front of people, but for some reason my usual pre-match jitters weren’t there. I couldn’t even remember the name of the girl I had been thinking about over and over ever since I’d gotten back to America.
There was only the ring and my opponent, an intense focus I hadn’t felt since the Thai jungles. Hours of training in incredible heat and humidity had hardened me to distractions.
Once in the ring, I stripped down to my shorts, my hands wrapped and ready. People spoke words, but I couldn’t hear them. I couldn’t see them. I could only see my opponent. Time ceased to flow, and I felt nothing but my heart beating softly.
Then we were faced off, circling each other. Somehow the round had started. His hands flashed out and I blocked them.
I dance back, testing his speed with a few jabs.
He swatted them. He was angry, a snarling bull. He wanted to make a move, to see what I was made of.
I floated back. The crowd was screaming, but I couldn’t hear them.
He feinted. I didn’t fall for it.
Then he made his move. He juked forward, trying to grapple me, but my feet snapped out quicker than he could have realized.
I caught him right in the face.
Blood splashed from his nose.
It was all fury and excitement as I lunged.
He stumbled back, shocked, in pain, his eyes wide. He thought he was fast.
But I was faster.
My fists found him then. Pummeling him.
I wanted to break him. Kill him if I had to. I was ready to smash his skull into pieces.
Fury and intensity rolled through me as my fists snapped out, again and again, pounding and destroying. I forgot that the thing I was beating was a human, an actual person. He was just a bag of meat to me then, an enemy that needed to be destroyed.
And then the ref was there, pulling me back. I realized that my opponent was down on the ground and the bell was ringing.
The night came rushing back in a cacophony of sound and emotion.
People were pressed in on all sides in the locker room. It was packed, promoters everywhere, everyone congratulating me.
“Fuck, man,” Ronnie said. “When did you learn to move that fast?”
“Thailand,” I grunted at him, grinning.
He laughed. “That shit was crazy! You made that kid look like a fool!”
I basked in my victory, in the crowd, but my eyes kept scanning for her. For Alexa.
I’d come back to myself as soon as I had won the match. It was always a shit show after a knockout, especially a fast and brutal knockout like that. People were screaming and cheering. I scanned the crowd, trying to find her, but people kept getting in my face, congratulating me, wanting something from me. I had nothing to give them.
But I was elated. Nothing felt better than a victory, especially a victory you needed so desperately. And I needed to show everyone what I was still made of. That I was still a threat.
“Hey,” Ronnie said. “Isn’t that your stepsister?”