“Tap!” the ref screamed.
“Fuck,” Trent responded, in agony.
I was sick. I was sick of the fight, sick of Trent, sick of the stress. I wanted it all to be over, to be fucking over. I wanted it to end.
I shifted my hips farther and violently wrenched his wrist. It shattered with a satisfying crack.
He tapped the mat, and the ref pulled us apart.
It was all a blur. One second I was breaking Trent’s wrist and elbow, and the next I was standing in the back locker room, drinking a bottle of water. The cheers of the crowd, the interviews and congratulations, it all felt like it had happened to someone else.
The locker room was packed. There were media people, most of whom Ronnie was talking to, but there were also other fighters and promoters and industry people milling about. It felt more like a party than a locker room.
After a minute, Ronnie turned back toward me. “Man, I can’t believe you broke his elbow,” he said.
“Wrist too,” I grunted.
He grinned. “Good point. Can’t forget that.”
“I think my tooth is loose.” I wiggled one of my molars.
He laughed loudly. “You fucking kidding? Have you looked in a mirror yet?”
“Not yet.”
He reached into a locker and produced a hand mirror. I grabbed it from him and stared at my face. I was bloody and bruised and looked like a piece of meat someone had pounded on for an hour. I barely looked like myself. Hell, I barely looked human.
“Fuck,” I said. “I used to be so pretty.”
“You’ll get there again.”
I tossed the mirror away and sat down on a bench. “Tough match,” I said.
“You’re not kidding. You okay?”
“I don’t need a doctor, if that’s what you mean.”
“Nah, man. You just look . . . depressed.”
I shrugged. “I guess I wanted to hurt him more.”
Ronnie sat down next to me, shaking his head in disbelief. “Man, you fucking went toe to toe with one of the best standing strikers in the game. Then you break his fucking arm and you complain that you didn’t hurt him enough?”
How could I explain it to him? I always felt like this after a fight. The incredible rush of the violence was suddenly gone and I missed it, would do anything to get it back. Fighters were constantly chasing a high that they could never truly achieve, because in the ring they were too busy fighting for their life to appreciate it, and they could never get that same experience outside the ring.
And then suddenly there was someone standing in front of me.
“Uh, Cole?” Ronnie said. “You got a visitor.”
I looked up.
Everything suddenly seemed okay.
Alexa smiled back at me. I got to my feet. “Hey,” I said.
She threw her arms around me, hugging me tightly. It hurt in a thousand different places, and I grunted my pain, but I grabbed her and held her tighter.
There was the thrill I had been missing.
All of the emotions I had repressed for so long came flooding back. All of the anger and resentment and fear, but also the love, the fucking love. I felt her body crushed against my own bruised and broken torso and knew that I’d never stop fighting, because she was going to be with me.
She pulled back slightly. “You look like shit,” she said.
“Thanks.” I moved back farther, looking at her seriously. “Listen, Alex. Everything is going to be okay. I’m ready to give you the divorce now.”
She bit her lip, frowning. “Are you serious?”
“I’m serious. No more fucking around. Get me the papers and I’ll sign them.”
She stared at me for a second and then threw herself at me again, crushing her mouth against mine. It hurt like a fucking bitch, but it also felt incredible.
I wrapped my arms around her and kissed her back.
The room went fucking dead silent. I didn’t care, though, as I kissed her roughly and passionately, knowing that it was all finally done and we were finally making it real.
“Uh, guys?” Ronnie said.
We broke apart, but the only thing I could see was her. She smiled slightly, looking right into my eyes.
“So that’s a yes?” I asked. “On the divorce. Just so I’m clear.”
She hit me and laughed. “Whatever you want, asshole.”
“You know there are like ten cameras in this room and everyone is staring at us, right?”
She slowly turned red. “I know.”
“And we just did some crazy shit to hide this?”
“I know.”
I grinned. “Why now?”
“Because I don’t want to hide. Not you, not anymore.”
I looked up at the room. “Everyone get the fuck out,” I said loudly.
There was a slight murmur. “Man, I’m not sure—” Ronnie started to say.