Pivot Line

by Rebel Farris

  “We broke up.” She shrugged. “Found out he had more than a few side hoes.”

  “When?”

  “A few weeks ago,” she murmured.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  She frowned. “You’d more important shit to worry about than some fuck boy that didn’t deserve my attention.”

  “And this?” I asked, my gaze darting between the two of them. “You did give thought to all the complications this could create if this goes south? Holly, you’re my best bitch, and Asher is my best guy friend. And he’s the drummer for my band. We work together, live together. You’re both family. And you know what family means to me.”

  “We can adult that shit, but I don’t see it goin’ sideways,” Holly said.

  Asher nodded. “It’s not like that, Mads. We’ve given some thought to it.”

  “Yeah, I’m sure. In the whole hour you’ve been off stage?”

  “It started back in Houston, but we stopped it because we weren’t sure. So it has gotten more than an hour’s thought,” Asher added. “I think we have something real here.”

  Holly smiled and leaned into him. He pulled her to his side, kissing her forehead. He cupped her chin and tilted her to face him and brushed the lightest kiss across her lips. They stared at each other, both filled with longing and hope. It was such an odd match, but apparently it was working for them. And if they were happy, it made me happy for them.

  I sighed. “Y’all are adults. I just expect that you know enough not to drag me into it. I got enough drama on my plate as it is.”

  “About that…” Holly shifted to look down at me. “Where’s your fiancé?”

  “He went back to the hotel suite that Nate booked for the girls and us,” I explained. “He doesn’t do the backstage stuff.”

  I knew where this conversation was going and didn’t want to talk about it, so I shifted my attention to anything else.

  “What is that smell?” I asked. “It smells amazing in here.”

  “She made us dinner,” Asher answered. “Five fucking courses. She just finished. It’s still hot, but also why you didn’t get more than an eyeful.”

  I snorted a laugh. Holly tapped my shoulder, and I sat up, giving her space to move out from under me. I shifted over so I was leaning against Asher, as she set out plates and dishes of food on the table. I didn’t want to move, but my stomach gave a loud grumble.

  Asher scooped me up and carried me to the table, sitting me down on the edge of the booth-style bench. I scooted in as he sat across from me, and Holly took the place next to him.

  “Just because y’need to eat this shit I made for you doesn’t mean I’m gonna drop it. Evan’s taught me some tricks, and I’m gonna get some answers.” She chewed thoughtfully for a moment. “Asher’s told me about most of it, but I wanna hear it from you.”

  I grabbed a bread roll out of a bowl and pulled my knees to my chest. “I don’t know what you want me to say. I don’t have any answers. He won’t talk to me about it.”

  “I’m not worried about him,” she said, pinning me with her gaze. “I’m worried about you. And the girls.”

  “I’ve got it under control,” I snapped. “I’m not letting anything affect my girls.”

  “Hey,” she soothed. “Nobody’s sayin’ you’re not doin’ right by those babies, but shit’s gotta be takin’ its toll on you.”

  “I just gotta convince him to get help, Holls. That’s it. It’s just hard with the tour to make time for it, and I get that. I don’t know, but Asher’s seen it. He’ll be fine one second, and the next, he’s raging against everyone. And the crowds don’t help. Nate’s had to come up with an alternate exit for him to avoid the VIPs and backstage ticket holders at every stop. It wasn’t that bad in Houston or here, but Dallas was a shitstorm.”

  “I saw some of it on TV. Fuck, to see Press-zilla’s face when that shit went down. She’s had to hustle, for sure.”

  “It was priceless.”

  We both broke out laughing, and it felt good to laugh about it. I missed my friends and home. It hadn’t even been a month. Asher had been my saving grace these last few weeks. He kept me sane when the shit hit the fan. I knew it was horrible to laugh about poor Priscilla’s overtime, trying to smooth over Jared’s very public freak-out, but if I didn’t laugh about it, I was going to cry about it. And laughing just felt better.

  “She took it out on a trash can in one of the dressing rooms,” I added on a gasp. “It was Worldstar, trash can edition.”

  Holly wiped at her eyes. “I bet the trash can almost took her out with those pencil-skirt suits and heels.”

  “It so did,” I wheezed out. “Her heel stabbed through it and she was hopping around on one leg, trying to shake it off.”

  “You’re shittin’ me!”

  “No,” Asher chuckled. “It happened.”

  “You guys need a personal chef,” Holly said. “I gotta be around for this shit.”

  I sobered a bit at that. “You know I’d do it in a heartbeat, but we really can’t fit another person on this bus.”

  “I’m just talkin’ out my ass, bitch,” Holly responded. “I haven’t even finished culinary school yet. And the team wouldn’t know what to do without both of us.” She smiled.

  “True,” I agreed.

  “Now eat,” she demanded. “Fuel up, ’cause we’re gonna take on New Orleans. I know ’bout this blues place on the other side of the river. And if that shit doesn’t sound like a Maddie thing to do, nothin’ does.”

  I perked up at that. I’d completely forgotten where I was, with everything going on. I hadn’t had a chance to hang around a group of old-school blues musicians. It would be good to take a break from everything and remember my roots. And once again, I was reminded what awesome friends I had. They kept me grounded, reminding me who I was. I’d never stop being thankful for them.

  Now

  I grab the jump rope off the wall and walk to the center of the warm-up room. I changed upstairs in my room at Nic’s penthouse before sneaking out the back way and heading down here. I left Dex upstairs with Nic—maybe that was a bitch move, but I can’t be bothered to care at the moment.

  I count my skips as I hop on the balls of my toes over the fast-moving wire. I can feel the sweat starting to build up on the back of my neck, and I stop, moving to the heavy bag to warm up my arms. The thumps of my fists fill the void of silence.

  The door to this room squeaks when it’s closing, and that’s the only thing that gives him away. When I look up into the mirrored wall ahead, Dex is leaning against the wall behind me, one leg crossed over the other, hands in his pockets. He looks relaxed, but his eyes hold a tinge of apprehension.

  “Nic brought you down?” I ask. Thump. Thump thump.

  He nods. “Do you want me to leave?”

  “No.” Thumpthumpthump. “Why would I want that?”

  “Because I’m not just a cop, which is already a sin in your book,” he huffs, “but a dirty cop. And a killer. Why would you want anything to do with me?”

  “As if I’m the shining example of purity and all that is decent in the world?” I pause for a moment from throwing punches to belt a dark laugh. Thumpthump. Thump. “You should know enough by now to know that can’t be further from the truth.”

  “Why did you leave, then?”

  I sigh and stop to catch my breath enough to speak, resting my hands on my knees. “Because it was too much. And not all that is you, Dex. Yes, I’m frustrated that you didn’t trust me enough to tell me, but I understand why you’d be reluctant. It’d be highly hypocritical of me to hold it against you. But you’re not the only one who kept shit from me.” I stand back up. Thumpthump, thump. Thwack. The bag swings wildly as I deliver a powerful kick.

  Dex remains motionless, watching me. “You doing okay?”

  “I don’t know, to be perfectly honest.” Thumpthumpthump. “I don’t know how to feel about it. On the one hand,
he’s right—I wouldn’t have agreed to you protecting me otherwise, but on the other, I wish people would stop trying to manipulate me, you know?” Thwack, thwack, thump. “First, Martinez’s story that you’re working to find the stalker, now, Nic’s hand in setting it all up. I just—”

  His lips flatten out to a straight line as he bobs his head in agreement.

  “Can I tell you something?” I ask. Thump. Thump. “I don’t want you to take it the wrong way.”

  “You can tell me anything, Maddie.”

  I lean forward to brace my hands on my knees and catch my breath. “I wish you’d stayed up there,” I murmur. “Not because I don’t want you to know about this, but everyone who knows me… it’s hard to watch. Nic won’t even come down here for my fights. Not after the first time. He lets me do it because he knows why I feel the need to, but he doesn’t approve.”

  “I’ve seen you fight before. I know you can handle yourself.”

  “It’s not that, Dex.” I grab my water bottle and take a deep pull. “This is a fetish club. The first fight, I’m usually paired off with another woman. That’s something akin to mud wrestling. Two sexy women, fighting each other.” I shrug. “It’s easy. But when I fight a guy, that—” I release a breath through my nose. “It’s rape fantasy, Dex. The guy will try to grope me at some point. I’ll make him pay for everything he does, but you need to be prepared that you’re not going to like it. You can’t step in. No matter what it looks like, I’m in control. We have safe words to stop if things get out of hand.”

  “Why?” he asks.

  It’s a loaded question with such a complicated answer. I shrug.

  “For them, it’s fantasy fulfillment. For me, it’s penance.”

  He doesn’t say anything. His nostrils flare and the muscle in his jaw twitches, but he remains motionless, his face impassive. A knock at the door interrupts us, and I turn to find Parker at the door.

  “You’re up,” he says.

  “You have that mask Nikki gave you earlier?” I ask Dex, crossing the room to gather my stuff.

  “Yeah,” he answers.

  “You need to put it on now. I can tie it for you,” I offer.

  He reaches in his inner coat pocket and pulls out the silky black mask, handing it to me.

  “You’re gonna have to squat or go down on a knee.” I smile at him.

  He obliges, and I make quick work of tying it with a loose flat knot. When I’m done, I tie mine around my ponytail to make sure it’s secure and follow Parker out the door. Parker holds open my black satin robe, and I slip my arms into it. I can feel Dex behind me, but he doesn’t comment. I’m beginning to recognize this as his observer mode.

  We walk to the entrance of the arena. There’s quite a crowd out there tonight. The lights are down, and music is playing as the announcer introduces my opponent. A spotlight follows her as she walks in from the opposite entrance. I missed the name, so I’ve no clue who I’m fighting tonight.

  The spotlight swings my way. “Please welcome the one and only undefeated champion of the Black Society…”

  I tune it out as I search Dex’s face for any kind of emotion. I want to know what he’s thinking more than anything.

  “Phoeeeeeeeenixxxxxxx!”

  That’s my cue, the stupid fight name that Nic gave me. You’ll rise again, Neddie, he told me.

  Catching Dex’s hand, I start walking. About halfway there, I can see Vixen standing on the far side of the cage. She’s weak but a masochist, so the pain only spurs her on. I can feel the adrenaline flood my system in anticipation.

  I start to hop up to the edge of the platform but stop and twist around, pulling Dex by his lapels.

  “You gonna wish me luck?” I smirk.

  “You don’t need it. Just make me proud.”

  He kisses me slow and unhurried before letting me go. The crowd cheers as he lifts me up and sets me on the edge of the stage. I shrug off the robe, and Parker takes it from me. The referee shuts the chain-link gate behind me, separating me from Dex. Dex turns to Parker to say something.

  I face my opponent, feeling the fight surge within me, the need for violence a siren’s call to the darkness in my soul.

  The referee rambles on about the rules. I tune him out because I’ve heard it all before. I shake out my arms and legs, bouncing on the balls of my feet. I shake hands with Vixen when the ref tells us to. She offers me a smile. Fights here aren’t competitive. It’s more for show, so we keep it pretty friendly. I stretch my neck, keeping a straight face. I’m not in the mood for niceties.

  The bell rings, and she rushes at me. I stand there, relaxed, and step to the side, turning on my toes to follow her movement. I catch the back of her neck and shove her into the fence. She can’t slow her momentum, and the cage gives a satisfying rattle. The crowd responds.

  She recovers quickly and moves toward me, more cautiously this time. We circle each other, looking for an opening.

  “Rough month, Phoenix?” she taunts.

  “Could be worse.” I shrug. “I could be fixin’ to get my ass kicked.”

  “It’s going to be that kind of night?” Her eyes gleam in anticipation. “Sounds good. Bring it.”

  While she’s talking, I take the opportunity to inch closer, closing the distance between us. I keep my guard up high, so the right hook I throw comes easy. The smack of skin meeting skin is muffled by the sounds of the crowd as I connect my fist to her lower jaw. She stumbles to the side a bit, but a satisfied grin takes over her face. I’m watching her eyes, so I fail to see the tell. Her leg sweeps out, catching me behind the ankles and knocking me flat on my back.

  Shit. I’m not even fully on the ground before Vixen’s on me. She pulls her arm back to return my punch, but I see it coming this time and close the distance between us. I wrap my arms around her shoulders, pulling her to my chest. She bucks and pulls, but my left fist is secure in my right hand. I’m locked on. Her only move is to use her lower body. I’m counting on that as my opening.

  When she moves, as expected, I push my hip up with her, knocking her off balance. It’s just enough to draw my knee up and get my leg wrapped around her waist. I pull her using all my weight until we roll over. She’s been practicing and breaks my hold. Her fist connects with my stomach. I lean forward, pushing my weight on her to manage her range of motion.

  We grapple for a bit, while I try to contain her hands. I finally get a grip and rear back, nailing her with a three-punch combo. One, five, three. She laughs. Her cheeks, turning pink and puffy, are going to bruise.

  She screams in frustration and goes wild, bucking and clawing, her composure and training out the window. I let loose and just start throwing punches. My vision narrows. Darkness closes in until the only thing I see are the spots where my fists connect to her body.

  Someone comes at me from behind. I don’t think. I can’t think. I throw back my elbow and turn to launch myself at the newcomer. Next thing I know, I’m being pinned to the ground by three men.

  One sits on my legs, another has my left arm, and the referee has his knees digging into my right while holding a rag over his bleeding nose. The crowd is going insane. Their cheers and chants are at near-deafening levels.

  “I’m okay,” I say to the guy on my left. “You can let go.”

  “You sure?” he asks.

  “Yes, let me up,” I yell over the music and crowd noise.

  They watch me as they reluctantly let go. I stand up and find that Vixen’s partner, husband, boyfriend—I don’t know, but he’s always with her—is helping her up off the ground.

  I walk over to her and gently grab her face. “You all right?” I ask.

  She nods. “It was a good night. You got me.” She smiles.

  “I’m sorry. I think, maybe I shouldn’t’ve fought tonight.”

  “Don’t be.” She leans on her partner. “I’m so turned on right now. We are about to get our fuck on. If I were halfway interested in
girls, I’d ask you to join. It’s just not my thing. He just doesn’t like to hurt me, and I need the pain every once in a while, so this is our outlet. Thank you.”

  The ref grabs our hands as the announcer’s voice booms over the loudspeakers.

  “The winner… by submission—Phoenix!”

  The referee holds my hand in the air.

  The only thing I can think is that I didn’t see her tap out. That’s dangerous. I feel off tonight. I think missing the last fight has led to a buildup, or maybe it’s just a perfect storm of everything going on. The guilt feels heavy in my gut, but I channel that into energy for the next fight. Vixen kisses her guy deeply, and he picks her up, carrying her from the cage. My eyes search the audience, but I don’t see Dex anywhere. There are several spotlights trained on the cage, but the audience is in the dark. I can’t see past the first two rows.

  “You good to go?” the referee asks.

  I nod. The announcer, who turns out was the guy holding my left arm, raises his mic. It’s hard to recognize anyone here. Everyone, even the fighters, wears masks. His deep voice reverberates through the room as he calls out my next challenger. I lean against the cage, mopping my face with a towel and drinking the water that is handed to me. A medic comes over and starts fussing over the state of my hands, but I can’t feel it. I’m more annoyed with his presence as I shoo him off.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, this is the main event of the evening. Iiiiiiiiitttttttttt’ssss tiiiiiiiiimmmmmmmmmeeeee! This fight is three rounds of extreme cage fighting in the Black Society Third Thursday competition. In the blue corner, our current reigning, undisputed champion with forty-nine wins and zero losses, trained in American boxing, Krav Maga, and Brazilian jujitsu. Weighing in at one hundred and thirty-five pounds at five feet eight inches tall— Phhhooooeeeeeeeeennnnixxxx!”

  He stops to let the audience cheer and whistle. There are a few boos thrown out as well. I’m not well-liked in the mixed-gender fighting. I’ve seen other fights, and they usually end up fucking. I’m just not here for that. It’s not the reason I fight, so I disappoint this crowd. Every. Damn. Time.