Fight for Her

by Kelly Favor

  “No,” Gunner said. “Just coffee.” He glanced around the restaurant until his gaze fell on Krista. There was no smile, no warmth, just a subtle acknowledgment that he was here and so was she.

  He strode towards her booth with an easy stride. He was wearing a different pair of jeans, and they were clean and fit him well. Instead of a plain white tee, he wore a black t-shirt with some logo that she didn’t recognize on the front. But that didn’t matter, because all she could do was try not to stare at his chest as he came over and slid in across from her.

  She could instantly smell him, a combination of fresh shampoo and a manly cotton scent that she associated with her daddy’s t-shirts fresh out of the wash.

  Those intense brown eyes locked on hers as he settled into the booth. He was so tall that his knees were brushing her legs beneath the table, and the touch sent a shock of electricity through her entire body.

  “Thanks for coming,” she said softly.

  “I’m a man of my word,” he replied, and that phrase cut deeply, like a knife to her stomach.

  She winced inwardly. She liked to think of herself as an honest person, too. Until now, anyway. “So,” she said, taking a breath, “should we jump right into it, then?”

  Cole stopped over and put down a second mug, filled it expertly, topped off Krista’s and then departed.

  Gunner brought his cup to his lips and took a small sip. She couldn’t take her eyes off his lips. They were perfect, she decided. They looked soft, but not too soft—

  and she imagined that if those lips touched hers, they would be warm and insistent, and passionate.

  “Fine, let’s jump into it,” Gunner replied, startling her out of her imaginary make out session.

  “Okay,” she said, trying on a phony smile. She worried that he’d see her shaking hands and start to pick up on the fact that she wasn’t being honest. She hid her hands under the table. “So, let’s start with when you decided to pull out of your upcoming fight.”

  Gunner placed his cup on the table again and sat back. “Wow, you really are new at this journalism thing,” he said.

  “What—why?” She twisted her hands in her lap. “I mean, I am new, I told you that. But am I doing something wrong already?”

  He raised his eyebrows and scratched his cheek. “Well, normally they do tend to record these things.” His eyes met hers and he cracked a small grin.

  “Oh, shit,” she said, immediately fumbling for her purse. “I…I have a recorder…you know, on my phone. It’s an app. I have an app for that.”

  When she got her phone out and finally looked at him again, she saw that he was trying hard not to laugh at her, but failing miserably.

  “I’m glad you have an app for that,” he said, chuckling.

  A wave of embarrassment rose up, threatening to bring tears to her eyes. This was humiliation at its finest, and on top of that, she felt she deserved it for lying about who she was and why she was really here.

  Krista managed to control her emotions and get the voice recorder working on her cell phone. Then she placed the phone in the center of the table, something she was sure she’d seen journalists do in the movies. “There we go,” she said. “It’s all on the record now,” she added, throwing in another phrase she’d heard in a movie.

  Gunner nodded, as if impressed by her newfound professionalism. “I’m glad to get something on the record,” he told her. Then he sipped his coffee and looked at her.

  “You know, you’re kind of cute when you’re nervous.”

  “Thanks,” she said, feeling the color rise to her cheeks. “Ummm….so…moving on…”

  “What? Why do we have to move on? I mean, I kind of like talking about how you’re cute when you get nervous. I think it’s a great subject for an article.”

  “But not this article,” she said.

  “Are you sure about that?” His eyes twinkled playfully.

  Is he flirting with me? Is Gunner King truly flirting with me?

  She couldn’t be sure. She also thought he might either be making fun of her, or just trying to throw her off balance so she wouldn’t be tough during the interview.

  Whatever the reason, Krista knew that she needed to remain poised at all costs.

  A mistake at this point could prove very costly to her.

  “I’m sure that we have way more important topics to discuss than my cuteness or lack thereof.”

  “I disagree.”

  “It’s my interview,” she said.

  He shrugged, took another sip of coffee. “Who’s going to run this piece anyway?”

  She froze for a moment. “Well…I’m…you know…” she swallowed.

  “God, you’re writing this on spec?” Gunner shook his head.

  She didn’t have a clue what spec was, but it didn’t matter. He was still talking.

  “You really must be naïve,” he continued. “What year are you in school anyhow?

  Don’t tell me you’re a freshman or something.”

  “Actually, I’m in graduate school,” she told him. She’d been considering grad school, at least, so that wasn’t a total fib—although she’d intended to do it for business.

  “Hmmm. Good.”

  “Why is that good?”

  “I can’t be calling some freshman in college cute. It’s too weird,” he said. “So, good, you’re in grad school. Where?”

  “Boston University,” she replied promptly. She’d thought that one up last night before falling asleep

  “That’s a decent school,” Gunner said. “But journalism, for a career?” He grimaced. “I’m not sure that’s the best decision.”

  “I can understand why you might not appreciate that career path,” she said.

  “I didn’t say I don’t appreciate it. I just said it’s not necessarily the best decision.

  Right now, jobs in the field are shrinking and a lot of journalists aren’t being fairly paid for their work. Shit, the Internet’s all about Tweeting and Facebooking now. People don’t want real journalism anymore.”

  Krista stared at him. Her nervousness shot through the roof, because Gunner wasn’t just gorgeous and sexy and strong and extremely charismatic. He was also really, really smart. “Getting back on track,” she said.

  “We are on track, Krista.” He leaned over the table slightly, his chin angling towards her, his eyes gazing at her intently. “Look, I want to help you. If we do this whole interview thing, you’re going to have a really big scoop on your hands. I need to help guide you through this, make sure you cut a good deal for yourself.”

  “But first we need to actually do the interview,” she told him. “And so far you’re asking all of the questions.”

  He sat back and waved her off. “Fine, ask your questions. Go on.”

  “Well,” she said, flipping her hair over her shoulder and trying to get composed again. “Let’s start at the beginning. Why did you decide to pull out of this fight, the biggest of your entire career?”

  “First of all, I don’t really look at fighting that way.”

  “What way?”

  “I don’t care about how big something is for my career. I don’t care if people think a fight is too small, because I take all of my opponents very seriously.”

  She nodded, trying to look as though she was taking in what he was saying. “But you have to admit, your opponent for this upcoming fight is someone that people think will truly test you.”

  Gunner’s jaw tensed and his shoulders seemed to tighten under his shirt. “Zane Davis is a great fighter, I take nothing away from the guy. But I didn’t pull out of this fight because I was afraid of him. That’s just not the case.”

  “But does it concern you that people will believe that?” she said. “Even now, if you go on the message boards and all the sports websites—“

  “I don’t go on Internet message boards and websites and try and see who thinks what about me,” Gunner interrupted. “I don’t give a shit if people think I’m afraid of Zane
Davis. Those people don’t know me and their opinions don’t matter to me.”

  “It’s your legacy, though,” she pressed.

  “If people can’t see what kind of fighter I am from the twelve hard battles I’ve had in the UFF, than I don’t see how one more is going to make any difference.”

  Krista reached for her mug and twirled it back and forth. “I suppose some would argue that this would be your defining battle. Zane Davis has proven himself to be equally dangerous, equally able to defeat the highest quality opponents, and he’s undefeated, like you.”

  “But I don’t fight to define myself, and certainly not to other people.”

  “So why do you fight?”

  For some reason, this question seemed to stop him cold. His jaw shifted from side to side as he glared at her, and she suddenly realized that he was angry. Very angry.

  “I thought you said yesterday that you agreed with my decision not to fight.” His voice was low, controlled, but beneath the calm she sensed a well of rage.

  “I do agree with your decision,” she said, caught off guard. “But I’m a journalist, I need to ask the questions people want to know.”

  The lie coming out of her mouth tasted worse than ever, as she saw the repulsion in his eyes. But, she knew he would be even more repulsed if he knew her real job and her true feelings.

  “And these are the questions people are just dying to ask me?” he said, his voice sarcastic and bitter.

  “Yes,” she answered. “I mean nobody can figure it out. You cancel on the biggest, most important fight of your career without giving any kind of an explanation.

  You turn your back on the organization that helped you become rich and successful and famous. You turn your back on your fans.” She went in for the kill. “Don’t you think it makes sense to go back to Vegas and face the questions? Don’t you think it might make sense to do this one last fight and silence the critics and the doubters for good?”

  “You know what I think?” he said slowly. “I think you’re just like all the other so-called journalists I’ve run across. I should’ve known better than to trust you. You don’t have real beliefs, real values, and you don’t care about what I’m going through.

  You just say whatever you need to say to get the story.”

  “That’s not true,” she told him.

  But he was already getting up. He pulled out his wallet and threw a ten-dollar bill on the table. “That’s for coffee,” he said. “And the extra is for your gas back to Boston, Krista. I’m sure you’ll get plenty of interest from the other bloodsuckers out there who will sink their fangs into that recording you got. Enjoy it while it lasts.”

  And then he was gone, and she was left alone, sitting at the table with a sick feeling, and Gunner’s half empty coffee mug staring accusingly at her.

  ***

  The next few hours were hell. She went back to her room at the Inn and curled up under the covers, crying. She felt bad on so many levels.

  She hated that she’d lied about being a journalist. Perhaps, she thought, if she’d just had the conviction and self-belief to be honest, Gunner might have actually listened to what she had to say.

  And even if he hadn’t listened, she would still have her integrity. But now she didn’t have that, and she’d also blown her chance to win his trust by being so aggressive as a “journalist.”

  She’d blown it on so many levels, it was sickening.

  And the thing that hurt even more was that she could have sworn that she had a connection with him. Even thinking about it made her feel embarrassed, because she could imagine how everyone would laugh at the idea of Gunner King liking some young girl, fresh out of college with natural boobs and no plastic surgery—a normal girl with nothing to set her apart from the crowd.

  But she couldn’t help it. She knew Gunner felt something for her. It was palpable between them—it was like an electrical current and there was no escaping it.

  Well, other than the fact that he had escaped it. As a matter of fact, he’d basically run away from her as fast as his legs could carry him.

  That’s because I pushed too hard. He saw through my act and he was hurt and angry. But I know that if I just got another chance…

  There wasn’t going to be another chance, though, and she was slowly coming to grips with that fact.

  Somehow, despite her angst, or maybe because of it—Krista managed to sleep for a couple of hours. When she woke up, she took out her phone and listened to the interview over and over. Every time she got to the end, the place where she started pressing him on why he didn’t want to fight Zane Davis, she could easily hear the shift in his voice. And then she’d pushed harder still, telling him to go back to Vegas.

  It was cringe inducing.

  And yet, she couldn’t help wondering why he was so defensive. She also couldn’t help but question his assertion that he didn’t care about his legacy, or what anybody else thought of him.

  Was he truly scared of Zane Davis? Was that what all of this was about?

  Everyone on the planet knew that Zane was a monster. The guy was big, strong, and he hit like he had bricks in both hands. Krista pulled up a YouTube highlight video of Zane’s knockouts and watched him flattening guys left and right. The knockouts were stunning in their ferocity.

  Some people theorized that Gunner knew he couldn’t withstand Zane’s power, and that’s why he was quitting the sport.

  All over the web, person after person was opining on the fact that Gunner was scared of Zane Davis. Comment after comment, one person after the other called Gunner a “pussy,” a “coward,” a “bitch.” They laughed at him—they said he was all hype, and that he’d been a paper champion all along.

  It actually hurt Krista to read that stuff about Gunner. Before she’d met him in person, he’d just been some guy she’d read about and a superstar who worked for the same organization as her. But now she knew that there was much more to him.

  Gunner was special. But he was also human.

  He didn’t deserve all the hate he was getting from people.

  It was later into the afternoon and she was still surfing the web and shaking her head at all of the cruelty toward Gunner, when her cell phone rang.

  Maybe it’s him, she thought. But then she remembered that they’d never exchanged phone numbers, and her heart sank. She looked at the caller ID and saw that it was the last person she wanted to speak to right then—Drew Ellis.

  But there was no escaping her boss. She had to answer.

  “Hi, Drew,” she sighed.

  “Tell me the good news.”

  “Well…” she started.

  “Don’t give me bad news right now, Krista. I don’t want to hear about failure. I don’t accept failure.”

  “I didn’t fail,” she lied. “I just didn’t succeed…yet.”

  “Why not?”

  “It takes time to gain someone’s trust, Drew,” she said, rolling her eyes as she toyed with her computer keyboard.

  “We don’t have time. If we’re going to make this fight happen, we need him back in Vegas by the end of the week. The event is scheduled for Saturday.”

  “Everyone thinks it’s cancelled anyway,” she said.

  “Yeah, but we’re still keeping hope alive. Every day I field questions and tell reporters that we’re still in talks with Gunner about making the fight happen. People don’t know how bad it really is yet.”

  “Well, I’m not giving up,” she said.

  “What did he say? What happened?”

  “We just talked. I took it slow. He’s very jaded about reporters and the media.”

  “He’s going to be a hell of a lot more jaded at the end of this if he fucks me, Krista. Why don’t you explain that to him? Maybe you need to draw him a picture of just how fucked he’s going to be after I’m done suing him, and he’s living in a cardboard box.”

  “That’s just mean, Drew.”

  “It’s true. He needs to hear it, Krista. Can I count o
n you to get the message to him or not?”

  “I’m doing my best.”

  “Get it done. I’m not playing games here anymore. Christ. Just get it done.”

  That was the end of that conversation.

  She tossed her phone onto the bed and put her face in her hands.

  This whole thing had turned into a nightmare, and it was one that she couldn’t wake up from. She hadn’t had the guts to tell Gunner that she worked for the UFF, and she hadn’t had the guts to tell Drew Ellis that Gunner wanted nothing to do with her after the disastrous conversation this morning.

  Krista knew that she couldn’t give up just yet, though. She’d screwed things up, but there was still a chance that she could make it right. She went to the bathroom and cleaned all the smeared eyeliner off her face, washed with soap and water, put her hair back in a ponytail.

  She took some deep breaths and tried to calm down.

  A plan was starting to form in her mind.

  When she was sufficiently cleaned up and relaxed, she went downstairs and paid for one more night at the Middle River Inn.

  After that, she went back to the restaurant next door.

  Cole was behind the counter, chatting with his brother Caden, when she entered.

  She gave them a slight wave and then sat down at one of the stools. “It got quiet around here since this morning,” she said, as Cole approached.

  Cole glanced at his watch. “We just finished up the lunch rush about forty-five minutes ago. Things tend to die down between two and four.”

  “I’m Krista by the way,” she said to Caden, who smiled and nodded. He was wearing a white apron. She still couldn’t believe how much alike the two of them looked.

  “You hungry, Krista?” Caden asked.

  She smiled back. “A little bit.”

  “You like grilled cheese? I make the best grilled cheese in the state. Trust me.”

  “I love a good grilled cheese. That would be amazing.”

  Caden clapped his brother on the shoulder and walked back to the kitchen.

  Cole watched him go. “He’s trying to impress you,” Cole said. “Want something to drink?”

  “Diet Coke would be great.”