“Can you promise me it’ll be just us from now on? Nobody else?”
“Yeah, just us.” Rick kissed Max tentatively on the lips. If this was what he had to do to have a chance with Max, he’d do it. Thoughts of London and Neil’s gym flashed into his mind, and he shoved them back down. He’d figure out a way to deal with that later—besides, Neil might not even offer him a position. And then there was the matter of Max being firmly in the closet. He couldn’t help feeling that his life was about to get all kinds of complicated, but the thought of giving up this chance with Max was unbearable. “You do realize what that means, though?”
“That we’re gonna have loads of hot sex?” Max grinned at him, and Rick laughed, pulling him closer.
“That too, I hope.”
“Then what?”
“You’re gonna have to tell Tony and your friends about us.” Max went rigid in his arms. “You can’t hide who you are forever… remember? Especially if we’re gonna be exclusive.”
He took Max’s hand and laced their fingers together, relieved when Max eventually squeezed his hand and said, “Let’s see how things go for a while, see how hot that sex is first.”
Rick ignored Max’s attempt to distract him. “Your friends will guess.”
“No, they won’t. If they guess, I’m denying everything, I told you that already. If they find out, it’ll be by me telling them in my own time. When I’m ready.”
“I hope you realize how hard that’s gonna be… hiding it from them.” He wished he could tell Max that Tony already knew, but it wasn’t his place to say. Tony needed to tell him himself… and soon.
RICK HUMMED along to a country song playing on the radio as he packed up the MMA equipment they’d need for the competition. He wasn’t sure what he was more nervous about: finally going on a date with Max or fighting a guy fifty pounds heavier than his current weight. That was the problem with fighting in the heavyweight division, there was a high upper weight limit, and usually the bigger the other guy was, the more it hurt when you got caught with a punch. Rick was only just classed as a heavyweight at two hundred and ten pounds, and his opponent tonight was two hundred and sixty pounds.
He kneeled and scanned the duffel bags in front of him on the dojo floor. There were four of them fighting tonight, and that meant taking a hell of a lot of kit with them. Art had offered to take the equipment in his car and drop the bags back afterward so Rick could take his motorcycle. He had such a great surprise for Max after the fight and was looking forward to making their date as special as possible.
“Art, can you grab another set of focus pads?”
“Another set? Are we leaving anything behind?” Art grabbed them from the cabinet and hurled them in Rick’s general direction.
Deftly catching them, he said, “Makes sense for us all to warm up at the same time. There’s not much gap between our fights.”
“Oh yeah, I forgot.”
It was Art’s first proper competition, and he didn’t seem nervous at all. Rick wasn’t sure if that was a good or a bad thing. He hoped Art was taking it seriously. You never knew who was watching at these fights.
“What?” Art said and frowned.
Rick shook his head, realizing he’d been staring. “Nothing. Just making sure we’ve got everything. Did you pack the nail glue?”
Art laughed. “What in God’s name do we need nail glue for?”
“You’d better hope you don’t need to find out.” Rick stood and stretched. “I’ll go get some. Can you check we’ve got enough water?”
“Sure.”
Rick made his way into the office and rummaged in one of the filing cabinet drawers. He really ought to get around to sorting all this out. His mouthguard was tucked into one of the filing slings; that was close—he wouldn’t have been able to fight if he’d forgotten it. Rick fished it out, leaned back to throw it onto his desk, and nearly had a coronary. Max was standing on the other side of the desk, watching him.
“Jesus! You scared me half to death. How did you get there so quietly?”
“You know, that’s the first time I’ve heard you nearly swear,” Max said and grinned. “So do I pass ninja level one?”
“What?” Rick’s heart was still pounding, and he turned to properly face Max.
“Ninja level one. You know, like stealth? Isn’t that a ninja thing? Do you know nothing about ninja-shit grading levels?” Max looked thoughtful. “Are you gonna be okay fighting tonight? Should I be worried? Do you want me to fight for you instead? I’ve been practicing real hard after my lesson the other day.”
The thought of Max stepping into the ring and fighting was ludicrous. His opponent tonight was probably double Max’s weight. “Stealth’s not gonna help you much when you’re in the octagon. What kind of weird grading system is that, anyway?” Max opened his mouth, but Rick cut in before he could speak. “I’ll be fine. Get in the dojo and help us pack up the kit, will you?”
“You’re not taking those smelly gloves, are you?” Max wrinkled his nose and headed for the dojo door. “I’m not touching those again.”
“No, we’re not. And quit calling it ‘ninja shit’ while we’re around the others.”
“You’re no fun.”
Rick leaned forward and whispered in Max’s ear as they reached the door. “I guess I’d better change what I had planned for later, then.”
Max shivered and then glanced over his shoulder. “Fine by me.”
“You don’t even know what I planned.”
“Did it involve you fucking me?” Max whispered, and Rick’s breath caught.
“Are you serious?”
Laughing, Max opened the door and said, “See? No fun.”
Rick watched in disbelief as Max walked over to Art. Was he messing with him? He had to be… didn’t he? Rick sighed and shook his head. It was going to be near impossible to concentrate on his fight now.
“Rick,” Max shouted across the hall, “what the hell is this for?” He held up a metal block and waved it in the air.
“It’s called an enswell. It’s an eye iron. You use it to help delay bruising during a fight,” he said and made his way toward them.
“This ninja shit is weird. I was right.”
Rick glared at him, but Max laughed as he threw the enswell back into the bag.
“Ninja shit,” Art said. “I like it. Are you going to help in the corner tonight?”
“No, he’s not,” Rick said.
“Na.” Max sat down next to the bag, picking up random items and throwing them back in. “I’m here for cheerleading or something.”
“Don’t you dare.”
Max winked at him. “Maybe not. I’m sure I’ll find something fun to keep me amused tonight.”
Rick’s cheeks heated, but luckily Art wasn’t looking in his direction. “We should finish packing up. We don’t want to be late.”
THEY ARRIVED at Elfinbrook Stadium at six o’clock, two hours before the first scheduled fight. That would give them enough time to get checked in, weighed, and warmed up. Rafael, one of Rick’s black belts, would be fighting first, and Rick was a little worried for him, as his opponent was a seasoned fighter with a ton of experience. As featherweights, they were lightning quick, and Rick had been working with Rafael on increasing his speed—he just hoped all their preparations would be enough for a victory.
Rick waited for Max to climb off the back of his motorcycle before dismounting. It had been nice to have Max riding with him, holding on tight around his waist, and he was excited about spending time alone with him later. Max had told his friends he was meeting up with some girl so they wouldn’t start asking awkward questions. Rick wasn’t sure how he felt about that, but it did mean they got the whole night to themselves, so he wasn’t about to make a fuss. Right now he had a job to do and needed to focus. Art pulled up next to them in the parking lot. William and Rafael were meeting them there and were waiting by the doors to the stadium.
“Hey!” William shouted as they
approached. He looked relaxed and was holding a large bottle of water that was half-empty; that was a good sign. It meant he’d been keeping hydrated and wasn’t burning out on nervous tension before he even got in the octagon.
“How are you feeling?” Rick asked.
“Really good. Rafael and me went for a run. Thought we’d start warming up.”
“Great stuff.”
Art opened the trunk and began unloading the bags, and Rick picked up the two heaviest. “Let’s take these inside. Get signed in.”
He led the way into the building. They would be fighting in the hall. It was a pretty decent venue compared to some of the dives he’d fought in over the years. Being in a sports club meant that the fighters had access to the gym and changing rooms, unlike some places where you were shoved into a room, all the fighters together—including your opponent—and had to get on with it and make the best of the situation.
“Welcome, guys,” the man on the sign-in desk said. “Can I take the name of your club?”
“Bernstein’s School of Martial Arts,” Rick said and dropped the bags to the ground.
The guy looked down his list and made some marks on the paper. “There’s four of you fighting. That right?”
“Yeah, that’s right.”
“Rick Bernstein, Art Garcia, William Johnson, and Rafael Miller.” Rick nodded. “Okay. Great. Rick, can you step on the scales, please?” He indicated to the left of the desk, and Rick did as asked. “That’s great. You can get off now.” The man wrote down his weight. “Art, you next, please.”
Art was one hundred and eighty-seven pounds. Two pounds over the maximum for the middleweight division. Rick was going to have to talk to him about how to make weight, give him some more specific instructions. Two pounds should be okay; once he’d removed his sneakers and pants he’d make weight. Art looked horrified when the sign-in desk guy asked him to strip and get back on the scales.
Trying not to laugh, Rick said, “Leave your underwear on.” For now, that was. If he still didn’t make weight, they would make Art get on the scales totally naked. Art undressed in front of them decidedly uncomfortably.
“Okay, you’re good to go,” the guy said, and the tension left Art’s face immediately.
“Shit, that was close,” Art said and laughed.
While the others were getting weighed, Rick took him to one side. “That’s actually good you were in danger of being over. The closer you can be to the maximum weight, the better. It’s definitely not good to be over, though. Your opponent can refuse to fight you, or the other option is that you forfeit some of your fighter’s purse.”
Max whistled. “Jeez, that’s pretty serious.”
“That’s nothing,” Rick said. “If you come in overweight for a title shot, then even if you win, your opponent keeps the belt.”
“I’ll be more careful next time,” Art said. “Sorry, Sensei.”
“Don’t worry about it. It happens a lot. I’ve got some tricks I can show you for next time that won’t weaken your body for the fight.” Rick patted him on the shoulder.
“I need you to sign this form, and then you are good to go,” the check-in guy said to Rick. “They’ve opened up the football field to use for warmups if you like. Your fight times are on this card.” He handed it to Rick. “Somebody will come find you when it’s time.”
“Thanks,” Rick said.
“The changing rooms are through that door there.” He pointed straight ahead. “You guys have a good night.”
“This is exciting,” Max said, bouncing along next to them. “It’s kinda like being backstage at a gig, only with way more rules.”
Rick laughed. “Is that so?”
“Yeah. Lee used to deal with all the serious stuff, like money and things. I guess Tony will be doing that now. How long until your first fight?”
Rafael said, “Am I still up first?”
Rick glanced at the card as he held the door open for them. “Yeah, you are. Ten past eight.”
“Will all three of you be in my corner?”
“It’ll be me and William.” Rick frowned at the card. The fight order had been moved around without anyone telling him. “Hold on. Art’s fighting right after you.”
“What about my warmup?” Art said. “Does that mean I’ll be on my own before my fight? That doesn’t sound right.”
Art was right. That wouldn’t give them much time. And it certainly wasn’t ideal leaving him on his own before his first fight. But there was nothing he could do about it. Rick needed a second person with him ringside. Tending to any wounds Rafael might get, keeping him cool and hydrated, and giving him instructions for the next round of the fight would be too much for one person in the short amount of time they were given. It wouldn’t be fair on Rafael if Rick tried to do all that on his own.
“I can stay with Art. It’ll be okay,” Max said, and Rick gaped at him.
“But you’ve never even been to a fight before. You won’t—”
“Maybe not, but I know what it’s like to have to get out there and perform for hundreds of people, and what it takes to prepare for that.”
Rick had never considered that what Max did for a living had any overlap with fighting, but when he thought about it, Max definitely had a point. Maybe he could do this—
“Just give me instructions on what you need me to do.” Max grabbed his arm and stared at him. He was serious, and somehow Rick had every faith that Max would have his back with this. That he would have Art’s back too.
“You sure about this?”
Max nodded and Rick smiled.
“Thanks. I owe you one.”
“You don’t owe me anything.” Max winked at him. “Consider it payback for helping me out with the bass situation.”
They found a spot in the changing rooms, which were already pretty full. The organizers of this event had sensibly separated opponents between the two changing rooms so there was less chance of fights kicking off before the event. Mostly Rick found that fighters respected one another and stayed out of the way of their opponents before their fights, but occasionally he’d seen fighters playing mind games and trying to unsettle their opponent to gain the advantage later.
“Are we going to run around the football field?” Art asked. He looked a little too excited by the prospect, but then he was a massive football fan.
“Yeah, let’s do it. Max, do you want to come with us?”
Max narrowed his gaze. “How fast will you be going?”
“It’s just a jog. Don’t worry, it won’t be a warmup like in class,” Rick said. “To start with, anyway.”
“I’ll come and watch.”
On their way to the field, Rick said hi to the other trainers and fighters he knew. It was usually the same clubs attending these events, but they changed up the fighters they brought pretty regularly. There were a few fighters Rick knew well, and who he knew were trying to make it big and took it very seriously. It was tempting to try to lure them to his club and have them as part of his stable, but he was struggling to compete with even these smaller clubs in terms of equipment and funding.
After the warmup, Rick took his fighters through some stretches and made sure they drank plenty of water. Max was starting to look bored. He was kicking at the grass at the edge of the field.
“Hey, Max.” Rick beckoned him closer.
“What’s up?”
“I reserved you a seat ringside for when we’re fighting. Shall we go take a look so you can see where you’ll be? It’ll be pretty packed in there when you go out after Rafael’s fight.”
“Sure.”
Rick left William in charge and told them they’d meet back in the changing room in a minute. As they headed inside, Rick said, “What do you think so far?”
“Honestly? It’s just like a gig, only with loads of hot guys running around half-naked.” Max grinned at him, and Rick gave him a gentle shove.
“Mm, I guess I should’ve thought harder about my choice of firs
t date. Taken you somewhere with less competition.”
A fighter ran by. Sure enough, he was bare-chested and wearing the standard tight fighting shorts, and Max made a point of staring as he passed them. He was still smirking, though.
“You’re gonna tease me about this all night, aren’t you.”
“You have nothing to worry about, Rick. You know that.” Max glanced up at him.
God, he looked sexy. “I wish it was time to leave already.”
Suddenly, Max was serious. “No. You need to focus. This is important to you, right?” Rick nodded. “Then pretend I’m not here as your date. There’s plenty of time for us to be on our own later, okay?”
“Now I’m thinking about later. I wish I could kiss you right now.”
Max raised an eyebrow and looked pointedly at a group of fighters a few yards away.
There was no way they would have heard him. Rick sighed and wished Max wasn’t so far back in the closet.
“Tell me what I need to do with Art while you’re not there,” Max said.
RAFAEL WAS fighting well. He’d improved a lot since his last professional fight, and that had all been down to Rick’s instruction. Rick watched him from the sidelines as Rafael darted closer to his opponent with a flurry of punches and then quickly got out of there again. When Rafael had first come to him from another club, Rick found he had picked up the bad habit of moving within reach of his opponent before starting his attack. The problem with that was that it meant he was also in range of his opponent’s fists. That bad habit had totally gone, and Rafael was now looking strong.
The horn sounded, and Rick grabbed the small stool. He and William dashed into the octagon and began their work. William handed Rafael some water, got the enswell on a potential bruise at the corner of his left eye, and did his best to try to cool him down. Rafael had a split above his right eyebrow, to which Rick applied Adrenalin Chloride 1:1000—to constrict the blood vessels—before packing the cut with Vaseline to help any incoming punches slide off it so they didn’t split the wound open farther. While Rick was working, he shouted instructions for the next round.
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