Brawler

by Scott Hildreth

  She countered with an uppercut that fell short, and a right cross that didn’t.

  Her straight right hand caught me on the chin and knocked me senseless for a split-second.

  Fuck, you hit hard.

  I swung a right hook toward her head. The punch was too low and glanced off her shoulder. She stepped back and raised her gloves in front of her face as if she was going to let me exhaust myself. It was a common tactic for a boxer to allow his or her opponent to swing wildly for a long period of time, which would wear them out from throwing repeated punches with no period of rest. Then, the person who was previously being hit could advance, fighting against an opponent who was tired and weak.

  A great idea except for one thing. I didn’t get tired. Just like Kelsey said, I was a brawler. I would never win on finesse or beauty, but in my opinion, I’d never lose in an all-out fight.

  I pounded her body and face hard with at least a dozen unanswered punches. I stepped back to get an idea of how she was going to react, and she came at me with a well-timed series of punches.

  You’re a tough bitch, aren’t you?

  I threw another combination of punches to her body and then her head, all in hopes of at least causing her to stumble.

  Once again, she returned her own barrage of jabs, uppercuts, and hooks in response.

  Jesus.

  “Don’t forget the body, Spaz. It’ll wear her down and you’ll get that head of hers when she’s unable to defend it. The body first, always.”

  I stepped in close and worked her body hard. No differently than when I worked the heavy bag, I punched against her muscled torso until my arms felt like rubber, and then I punched her some more. Her counterpunches bombarded me, hitting me in the shoulders, face, and mid-section, but I didn’t care. I was on a mission, and I wasn’t going to let her stop me.

  This type of fight was what I lived for. All I needed to do was outlast her. We were in a brawl, and if she thought for one fucking minute that she could beat me at my own game, she was sadly mistaken.

  I wanted a shot at a professional fight, and if she was my ticket to the show, I was going to either beat her in all out slug-fest or hang up my gloves. I continued to pound her body, just like Kelsey said.

  She, in turn, pounded my face.

  Eventually, her arms got tired and she lowered her gloves slightly. It was exactly the break I had been waiting for. I had no idea how long she was going to need to recover, but I wasn’t going to wait around and find out.

  I swung a left hook into her ribs.

  Exhausted from her non-stop attack on me, and from my two-dozen shots to her body, she folded up as soon as the punch impacted her stomach.

  I swung a hard uppercut into the bottom of her chin, and she stumbled back a few steps.

  I’m just getting started, and I’m not stopping until your ass in on your back, bitch.

  I threw a hard overhand right that caught her right in the forehead, causing her to stumble even more.

  Immediately, it was apparent that she was hurt.

  Now fumbling to catch her footing, I knew if I could get in another hard power punch, I might be able to knock her down. She’d be humiliated if nothing else.

  “Only throw your hard punches when you know you’re going to connect them. Don’t waste your power.”

  I bobbed my head back and forth and shuffled closer, making myself an elusive target as I approached her. She regained her footing and swung a wild left hook and followed up with an uppercut.

  I easily dodged both punches.

  As her glove swung by my face, I pounded her mid-section with a hard left hand and waited. The punch hit her hard, and the breath shot from her lungs like a rocket.

  I looked for an opening, and she provided it. With her elbows held loosely at her sides, I knew one more body shot should open her up for the kill.

  Sorry, but you’re going to have to add one more loss to your record.

  I swung a hard right hand into her stomach. Her gloves came down, completely exposing her face. It was a split-second opening, but my punches were lightning fast.

  Everyone said the champion’s signature punch was a left hook, so I thought there was nothing better for me to try if he was still watching my fight.

  I swung my left with every muscle that I’d spent a lifetime honing. The punch caught her square on the jaw, knocking her head to the side like she’d been hit by a car.

  Her mouthpiece shot from her mouth and she fell to the mat.

  Hard.

  As the referee ran toward us, I bent at the waist and hovered over her.

  “I’ve got a name, bitch. Jaz Briscoe, don’t fucking forget it,” I growled.

  The referee directed me to my corner. I paced the edge of the ring without taking my eyes off of her. He looked into her eyes and asked her a few questions. She stared back at him, looking as if she was drunk. He shook his head and waved his hands over her. The fight was over, and I’d knocked her out.

  It was surreal.

  I would have sworn the crowd cheered, the heavens opened, and the flashes from cameras were going off.

  But I knew better.

  For an instant, I was numb. When I finally snapped back to reality I rushed to my corner. Once again, Ripp was dancing his victory dance, Ethan, pumping his fist, seemed almost as excited as me. I scanned the edge of the ring for Kelsey.

  He was nowhere to be found.

  Excited and glad it was over, I ran toward Ripp and spit out my mouthpiece. I opened my arms. “We did it!”

  “You did it. Never doubted ya. There ain’t a fuckin’ girl on earth that’ll go toe to toe with you in a brawl. Kelsey and me been planning that deal for the last three weeks,” he said.

  I shot him a look. “Planning it? Seriously? That was a set up?”

  He grinned and nodded. “Sure was. We knew you’d kill her in a brawl. Hell, you train for three hours without tiring out. The other night, Kelsey told me to keep you in the ring for an hour and a half and see if you’d give up.”

  I glared back at him. “Me? Give up?”

  He shrugged. “We had to know. We just hoped you’d make it through the first round. Figured it’d take a round of boxing to you get good and mad at her. After seein’ you train, both of us knew you wouldn’t tire out, though.”

  “You fuckers,” I said with a laugh. “Where is he? Where’s Kelsey?”

  “He had shit to do. He ain’t much on celebratin’.”

  The entire experience had me close to tears. I was disappointed that Kelsey didn’t care enough to stay, but still extremely pleased with winning. “Thanks for believing in me.”

  “It’s easy to believe in a winner,” he said. “Now go congratulate the loser.”

  I pulled my headgear and reluctantly walked to the other corner. Sitting down with her trainer and a medic, she looked pissed. I walked to her side, extended my right glove, and waited. After a moment, she extended hers.

  I pounded mine into hers. “Jaz Briscoe, nice to meet ya.”

  “Amy Wilson. God damn you hit hard,” she said.

  I shot her a grin. “You too.”

  “Good fight.”

  “Good fight.”

  I ran back to the corner, and when I got there, the champ was talking to Ripp. Respectfully, I stood at the ropes and waited for them to finish. The champ turned toward me and gave me a half-assed grin.

  It was almost as if he seemed nervous, but I knew better. He made a fist and extended his hand through the ropes. “Shane Dekkar. Nice to meet you, Jaz.”

  I pounded my glove into his fist. “Uhhm. Nice to…uhhm…meet you.”

  “You’ve got one hell of a left hook,” he said. “I’d like to talk to you next week when you get time. About your future.”

  Still speechless, I glanced at Ripp. He grinned and nodded. I looked at Ethan. He seemed to be on the verge of becoming emotional. I shifted my eyes back to the champ and swallowed hard. “My future, Sir?”

  He chuckled. “Ca
ll me Dekk. And, yes, Ma’am. Your future.”

  Still in shock from winning the fight, talking to the champion was almost enough to put me over the emotional edge. I muttered my response. “Uhhm…Okay.”

  He reached up and pulled the hood over his head and grinned a humble grin. “Have Ripp bring you by. Any time.”

  It was a hundred degrees outside. I wondered why he was wearing a hoodie, but didn’t dare ask. “I will. Thank you.”

  “Again, nice to meet you,” he said.

  I stood with my mouth agape. “Uhhm. Same here. Thank you, Dekk.”

  He grinned and walked away, leaving me to wonder just what my future was going to entail.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  Jaz

  Day sixty-six.

  More than anything, I wanted Ethan to continue to be the person he was to me, but I was afraid there would be a point where he became like all of the others – eventually dismissing himself from my life.

  I swallowed nervously and knocked. I’d been anxious the entire drive to his house, wondering why he’d asked me to come over. I’d never been to his home, and expected nothing good could come from the visit. Eventually, men always leave. I fully expected the time had simply come for him to do so.

  The door opened.

  Dressed in jeans and a button down, he looked handsome. His hair, as always, dark and scattered about his head in a perfect mess. He moved to the side. “Come on in.”

  I stepped inside, not knowing what to expect. The sweet smell of something baking caused my mouth to salivate and mind to drift away from thoughts of a disastrous ending to our relationship.

  “Well, are you going to come in?” he asked.

  I realized he was halfway down the hallway leading into the house, and I was still standing at the entrance.

  “Yeah,” I said with a smile, hurrying to catch up to him. “So what’s going on?”

  The landscape crew he worked on had got off work at noon. Realizing he had come home from work, taken the time to shower and changed into the clothes he was wearing, I began to wonder exactly what was going on.

  He glanced over his shoulder, grinned, and shrugged.

  I followed him down the hall and into the kitchen. A long countertop separated where we were standing from the attached dining area. Beyond the countertop sat a small round dining table. On it, several boxes wrapped in fancy paper, a bouquet of balloons, and the source of the sweet aroma.

  A cake.

  I looked at him.

  He smiled.

  “Happy Birthday!” someone shouted.

  Startled beyond belief, I spun around. Ripp and Kelsey jumped up from behind the countertop, each wearing ridiculous paper hats.

  Confused, I exchanged glances between Ethan and the two paper hat wearing fools. “What…”

  “Happy Birthday,” Ethan said.

  Even more confused, I shook my head. “But it’s not my birthday.”

  “It sure is,” he said. “June 6th.”

  He was right, June 6th was my birthday. I didn’t realize it was already June, and furthermore had no idea how Ethan knew when my birthday was. Emotion quickly washed over me. I hadn’t had a birthday party since I was a little girl. The last one I could remember, anyway, was when I was two.

  “How…” My voice began to falter. I stood and stared, incapable of continuing to speak.

  Noticing my emotional state, he wrapped his arms around me and held me close. “Ripp told me.”

  I bit into my quivering lip and turned toward Ripp. Wearing cargo shorts, sneakers, and his typical wife beater, he looked like a complete idiot with the cone-shaped paper hat atop his bald head.

  He offered me the cheesy Mike Ripton grin and shrugged his innocence. “It was on the waiver you signed at the gym. Karen enters that shit in a computer, and it puts out a reminder. Kelsey told me, I told Ethan, and he decided to have a little party.” He motioned toward the table. “Light the candles, Old Man.”

  Wearing his striped sweat pants, a white tee shirt, and the little paper hat, Kelsey looked adorable. He reached into the pocket of his sweats, pulled out a lighter, and lit the candles. He shoved his hands into his pockets. “Blow ‘em out, Spaz.”

  I coughed out a laugh and fought not to cry. Ethan released me and followed me into the dining room.

  I leaned over the cake and prepared to blow them out.

  “Wait!” Ethan said. “We’ve got to sing.”

  And, the three most important men in my life sang Happy Birthday to me.

  “Okay,” Ethan said.

  I closed my eyes, made a wish, and blew out the candles.

  “Open this one first, I’ve got shit to do,” Kelsey said. “I can’t stick around this clusterfuck of a party all god damned day.”

  He handed me a long round cardboard tube with a bow tied around it, but it wasn’t wrapped in paper.

  “Okay.”

  I was still an emotional wreck, but seemed to be fueled by the excitement of actually having a birthday party. I studied the cardboard tube. On each end, a white plastic cap was pushed into the tube, securing the contents from falling out. Eager to find out what it was, I removed one of the caps and looked inside.

  A poster.

  I pinched the paper and carefully slid it from the tube.

  “Be careful with it,” Kelsey warned.

  I nodded as I unrolled the large print, spreading it onto the countertop.

  My throat tightened. My eyes welled with tears. I glanced at Kelsey. He nodded. I shifted my eyes to the print.

  “Good fuckin’ shot,” Ripp said.

  I couldn’t cry. Not after everything I’d been through in my life without crying. Not now, and definitely not in front of the three men who stood before me.

  I fought against the tightness in my throat and swallowed. “It…It uhhm.” I tilted my head toward the print. “How…how’d you get it?”

  “Hired a photographer. Surprised you didn’t see the flashes goin’ off,” Kelsey said. “He shot a few hundred, but that’s the one I picked. Damned good lookin’ left hook.”

  The photo, taken an instant after impact, was of me hitting Amy Wilson with the knockout punch. My upper body was twisted, every muscle in my back was flexed, and my glove was slightly past her face. Her eyes, wide and glassy, expressed her concern.

  There was one thing in the photo, however, that made me fill with more pride than winning the fight. Beyond the ring, standing next to Dekk, stood Kelsey.

  With his hands raised high in the air and his mouth opened wide, there was no denying the pride he felt for me winning the fight. A picture was worth a thousand words.

  I rolled up the picture and slid it into the tube. “Thank you.”

  “Happy Birthday, Spaz,” he said with a nod. “Now I’ve got shit to do. Ethan, thanks for having me.”

  He glared at Ripp, tossed his hat onto the table, and without speaking another word, left.

  “Here,” Ripp said.

  I turned toward him. He handed me a box, wrapped with fancy paper and tied with a bow. I eagerly accepted it and carefully unwrapped it. A cardboard box, clearly marked with the insignia of the manufacturer.

  Converse.

  I glanced at Ripp and then at the box. I removed the lid. Inside, a pair of white and purple Ed Hardy Chuck’s.

  “How’d you know my size?”

  “Got it off them raggedy fuckers in your gym bag. You need to toss them pigs in the trash. Stinkin’ fuckers,” he said.

  I will,” I said with a smile. “Thank you.”

  He folded his arms in front of his massive chest and nodded. “Happy Birthday.”

  One gift remained. A large box, approximately three-foot by three-foot square, and six inches thick, sat beside the cake. I glanced at Ethan. He nodded. “Open it.”

  “From you?’

  “Yeah,” he said. “Open it.”

  I inhaled a deep breath. “Okay.”

  I removed the bow, carefully removed the paper, and lifted
the box. It was surprisingly heavy. Anxious to see what was inside, but not wanting the event to ever end, I reluctantly removed the lid.

  A sea of purple silk.

  I scrunched my nose and stared.

  At least they know my favorite color.

  I reached for the fabric, lifted the heavy garment from the bag, and held it at arm’s length.

  A silk boxer’s robe, just like the champion’s wore. I’d always dreamed of the day I would have my own. I imagined myself wearing one, jogging down the aisle while people reached out in hope of slapping my hand as I rushed toward the ring. With the crowd cheering my name, I would duck under the ropes and wave, only to have thousands of screaming fans wave back.

  It was a dream for sure, but one I liked thinking of.

  “Turn it around,” Ethan said. “But don’t get mad.”

  I shot him a playful glare. “I’m not going to get mad.”

  I turned the robe over and stretched the material wide. Across the back, in large gold letters, a name had been stitched into the purple silk.

  BRAWLER.

  My heart swelled. It was perfect. I draped the robe over the box, turned toward Ethan, and kissed him full on the lips.

  On that day, the 6th of June, I turned twenty-five in the presence of one grumpy old fucker, my trainer, and the man I was quickly falling in love with.

  And it was the best day of my entire life.

  TWENTY-SIX

  Jaz

  Day sixty-eight.

  We were sitting in Dekk’s office at the gym, talking about my future. Eager to find out what was going to happen next in my career, I listened as he explained matters.

  “There was some pretty heavy talk about Amy Wilson,” Dekk said. “She was actually scheduled to go pro, and was expected to fight an undercard fight at a championship fight. But, no contracts had been signed yet.”

  “And now that I beat her?” I asked.

  He shrugged. “She’s still going pro, but they aren’t asking her to fight on that card.”

  Ripp slapped his hand against my shoulder. “What are they sayin’ about my girl, Jaz?”

  The champ looked at Ripp. “Her knockouts have made some people talk. Beating Rose and then beating Wilson got a lot of people wondering just who she is and where she came from. That’s kind of why we’re here. I told Kelsey not to respond, but the promoters have been calling all day asking me.”