by Ranae Rose
Her eyes didn’t stop shining with concern. “Have you had any headaches – migraines – since Friday night?”
He caught her hand in his and lowered it, intertwining his fingers with hers. “No. I’ve been fine since then.”
A small indentation appeared in the full swell of her lower lip as she bit it from the inside. “I read something over the weekend.” She said it like she was confessing something, like she thought he’d be mad. “Melissa’s sister had it, and I took a look – it was a medical pamphlet, about TBI. Her fiancé is in the Army Reserve and just came back from a tour of duty in Afghanistan.”
A pause stretched between them as her words whirled through the silence that echoed inside his skull like a blast wave.
“I was wondering if that’s the cause of your migraines.” Her eyes never left his, and he was still holding her hand.
“Yeah. That’s what they diagnosed me with, anyway. After the blast.” The truth came out, flat and factual. It wasn’t like he could lie or refuse to answer her question. Denying her anything wasn’t within his power – not while her body’s heat and moisture was still lingering on his.
“When I read about it, I couldn’t help but think of you.”
He did his best to keep his expression neutral as he maintained eye contact with her. “You thought right. It didn’t seem like something to mention on a first or second date, you know?” Mentioning it still didn’t seem right, but she obviously already knew. “And then you saw what it can do… Still, most people don’t know what TBI is. Those three letters are just out-of-sequence pieces of the alphabet to them.” Would he ever have brought it up on his own?
He brain defied him to come up with a scenario in which doing so would’ve seemed natural, or at least bearable.
“I didn’t know what it was either, before I saw that literature. I’ve spent some time researching it since then, trying to understand what it is.”
“It’s basically the after-effects of a concussion,” he said. “My case is considered mild. Traumatic brain injury – it’s not as dramatic as it sounds.” He’d always thought the term made it sound like he was brain-dead or something like that. He wasn’t nearly that bad off, thank God. He didn’t think or function like before, but he still thought and functioned.
She was still biting her lip.
“I’m seeing a doctor,” he added, “at the VA Medical Center. The migraines and everything… They’ll most likely go away eventually. I already don’t get them as often as I did at first.” Or at least, he hoped to hell they’d stop someday.
“I’m glad you’re getting treatment. And I understand that recovery can take a while. But fighting … isn’t that dangerous?”
“Entering a ring and knowing you and the other guy are both going to try your damndest to beat the hell out of each other before you get out – of course it’s dangerous. You’d know. Haven’t you ever been hurt fighting?”
“Yes. But I’m not talking about the standard risks – aren’t you endangering yourself and jeopardizing your recovery by voluntarily risking more head trauma?”
A sinking feeling struck him – not for himself, but for her. Her worry was obvious in her voice and her eyes. In a way, he felt bad knowing he was its source. But there was nothing he could do to ease it. “It’s been almost a year. I waited that long to get back into competing. I’m not going to wait any longer.”
“What does your doctor say about you fighting?”
“I haven’t mentioned it to him. Look…” He gave her hand a squeeze he knew wouldn’t quell the look in her eyes – a mix of concern and stubbornness. “I know Friday night must’ve freaked you out. And it’s nice that you read up on TBI. You’re kind, Ally, and that’s rare. But I’m not going to stop competing. I know what I’m doing.”
She’d seen him fight. She knew he was capable of handling himself. He wasn’t some idiot who’d stumbled into the ring after watching one too many UFC matches on TV.
“I know you know what you’re doing in the ring. But that doesn’t mean you’re not going to be hit in the head, because you are. And I’m going to think about that every time I watch you fight. Every time you step into the ring I’m going to wonder if you’re going to come out in so much pain you can’t even drive or walk, let alone fight another match.”
The sinking feeling went deeper, and suddenly, touching her felt awkward. “I’m sorry I’m putting you through that.” He kept holding her hand like an idiot, the cold sensation in the tips of his fingers cutting him off from her heat and warning him that his touch didn’t belong there.
She dropped her gaze and said something about the movie they hadn’t watched, but he didn’t feel the sense of relief he’d imagined the end of the disagreement would bring. He didn’t feel anything, really, besides a stifling awkwardness and a gnawing sense of discomfort brought on by the fact that she was obviously worried he’d put her through another night like their first.
* * * * *
Anticipation had Ryan’s nerves humming like live wires. Ally stood beside him, keeping him company while he waited for his match. There were several more to go before it’d be his turn to face the undefeated guy from Philly. He was already thinking about it, his mind half on the fight and half on what Ally was saying.
She’d asked him how he’d gotten into MMA in the first place and he’d told her how he’d been obsessed with martial arts as a kid, how he’d begged his parents for karate lessons when he’d been little and had taken up MMA as a teen back in New York. He spoke without really thinking about it, letting his mind glide over the surface of the memories thinking back to then brought up. The fact that he was focused on his upcoming match allowed him to talk about the past without dwelling on it.
“They hated it,” he said, aware that she’d asked him what his parents had thought of his involvement in more extreme forms of martial arts. “As far as they were concerned, anyone would have to be half brain-dead to want to waste their time giving out and taking beatings inside a ring.” A thread of irritation wove its way through his thoughts, a remnant of his parents’ distaste.
He resisted the feeling and instead thought back to the training sessions he’d had with Cameron during the past week. Thinking about the past sucked. Once his mind scratched the surface of those memories, it was like falling into a tar pit – old times clung to him, sticky and crushing, the recollections unwanted.
“What about now that you’re an adult? Do they still hate it?”
He shrugged, willing his shoulders not to knot with creeping unease. “I’m sure they do.”
“I guess I’m lucky. I originally got into MMA because of my parents. Well, because of my mother.”
“Really?” He jumped on the change of subject as someone took a hard punch inside the nearby cage.
“Yeah. She signed me up for a women’s self-defense class when I was seventeen. That was mostly just being taught to shout ‘no’ and strike your attacker in sensitive areas, but it turned out my instructor was a female martial artist, and I signed up for some other classes under her. I got into jujitsu and boxing that way, and then a couple years ago I started training at Knockout.”
“Did you compete before you came to Knockout?”
“Just in a few tournaments my instructor chose for me. Not for money – just to see if I could and what it was like. I liked it more than I thought I would. I started competing for money a year ago when Cameron started up his women’s nights. What about you?”
“Yeah, back in New York I competed in just about all the amateur events I could make it to.” He’d relished the escape fighting provided even then. Escaping from his parents’ control-freak tendencies and rigid expectations, escaping from the abrasive memories that whirled through his mind like a desert sandstorm – there always had been and always would be something he wanted to forget about for a little while. The inside of a ring or cage was perfect because there, nothing but the fight mattered.
“Really?”
“Yeah. Lived in New York my whole life until I enlisted, so that was where I got into MMA.” Tonight’s match would be an escape from both sets of memories, from his entire past. Not that it was Ally’s fault, but her questions had unearthed sour feelings he’d done his best to bury years ago.
At least he’d be able to shed those emotions in the ring, and then they could spend the night together like they’d planned, the basic but awkward questions out of the way. It was probably best that she’d asked him now, really.
“Why’d you choose to live here when you got out?”
He shrugged while focusing on the men grappling inside the cage. “Had to live somewhere. Didn’t want to stay on the North Carolina coast where I’d be looking in from the outside on the Marine Corps every day, so I decided to get out of the area. Didn’t want to go back to New York, either. So I ended up here, about halfway between those places. Got an apartment and a job.” He shrugged again. “Here I am.”
“Will you stay?”
Chapter 10
“Don’t know where else I’d go.” It wasn’t like he belonged anywhere anymore. Baltimore was as good a home as any.
He felt her gaze leave him as she shifted her attention to the cage. “Were you undefeated in New York?”
He fought a small smile. “Afraid not. But don’t tell anyone here that.”
“Your secret’s safe with me.”
“I know.”
The latest match ended when one of the guys tapped the other out.
“Won’t be much longer now,” Ryan said, rolling his shoulders and stretching them, willing the tension to leave his muscles.
They watched several more matches together, mostly in silence until Cameron approached, talking a mile a minute as usual.
“Don’t forget your mouthguard,” Ally said as Cameron rambled on, encouraging Ryan to get out of his hoodie and into his gloves.
“Got it,” he said, showing her the piece of equipment he’d been carrying in his hoodie’s pocket.
“What are you waiting for?” she asked as he lingered despite Cameron’s urging.
“For you to kiss me for good luck,” he said, flashing her a grin. Her sweet mouth against his was exactly what he wanted to feel before he entered the ring.
She leaned in, placing a hand against his chest. “I’d do a lot more than kiss you if I thought it would affect the outcome of the fight.”
“Why don’t you go ahead and try anyway? You never know.”
She smiled, her full lips curving, not far from his. “We have a plan, remember? After the fight we go to your place and I spend the night.”
“Believe me, I haven’t forgotten.” Thoughts of this night – the fight and then going out with Ally – had dominated his mind all day. All week, really. Fighting strangers and loving her – his mind had adjusted quickly to revolving around those two things, the highlights of his existence.
“Just a kiss.” She rocked up onto her tiptoes and pressed one against his lips. It was relatively chaste – probably because Cameron was close too, practically breathing down their necks – but he savored it nonetheless. “The sooner this fight is over, the sooner we can do more.”
His heart rate sped up a notch, and not just because he was about to go head-to-head with someone who’d never been beaten. “I won’t fuck around with Ivanov. Not when I could be doing that with—”
“Cameron, you’re breathing down my neck,” she interrupted, more loudly than necessary.
He grinned as she shot Cameron an exasperated look. “What are you doing?”
“Hydration is important,” Cameron said, donning an equally exasperated expression.
“He already has a bottle of water.” Still, she accepted the fresh one Cameron had brought. “I’ll save this for when the first round is over.”
Ryan pulled his hoodie over his head, stripping down to his fight shorts.
“Come on,” Cameron said seconds later, “you’re up.”
He popped the guard into his mouth and pulled on his gloves. Before he entered the ring, he took one final look at Ally. The heat of her good luck kiss still lingered on his lips.
The moments before the fight began seemed to take forever. The ring girl did her thing – he could tell by the catcalls that rose from the crowd – but he didn’t really see her. All his attention was on Ivanov. The guy was a little taller than he was, about his size. Dark eyes and a shadow of dark hair over a recently-shaved head. His square-jawed face was the face of an undefeated fighter, apparently.
That was about to change. Ryan couldn’t afford to lose – not with Ally watching and worrying over him. He’d show her what he was capable of; he’d beat Ivanov. He was ready, physically and mentally. He’d cast off all his other cares when he’d stepped into the cage and his nerves were buzzing like live wires, alight with energy.
When the match started, Ivanov was the first to strike. He threw a jab and missed, then followed it up with a punch that clipped Ryan’s ribs, a glancing blow. The contact spurred him on as he threw a punch of his own, a left hook that didn’t quite land where he’d intended, but still hit the top of Ivanov’s head.
Ivanov seemed surprised by the hit, even if it hadn’t been as hard as it could’ve been. Maybe he hadn’t fought many left-handed fighters.
Or maybe he had. He dodged the next blow, leaving Ryan’s fist to sail through empty space.
Back and forth, they traded punches for a while, until Ivanov threw in a knee.
Ivanov had just taken a hard punch to the jaw, so the knee wasn’t as brutal as it could’ve been. There was no denying the force of it though when it hit Ryan’s ribs, sending the air rushing out of his lungs as he doubled over.
Still, the blow didn’t knock him down. He straightened in time to take Ivanov by surprise, throwing his arms around the man’s body and using his hip to take him to the mat.
His ribs twinged in protest as he went down too, clinging tightly to Ivanov. He ignored the pain and focused instead on the fact that he had Ivanov’s back – if he pulled something off fast enough and well enough, the match would be over within seconds.
He snaked an arm around Ivanov’s neck and pulled it in tight, his arm against the other man’s throat. He could feel the tension building in Ivanov’s body as air and blood stopped flowing to his head. He wouldn’t be able to hold out much longer – he’d either tap out or pass out.
When a timer sounded, it set off a slew of curses inside Ryan’s head. The round was over; he’d come within a hairsbreadth of forcing Ivanov to submit but hadn’t pulled it off in time. He released the other man from the chokehold and rose, his side throbbing where he’d been kneed.
Cameron was there for him when he retreated to one side of the cage, opposite the one Ivanov headed to. He accepted the water the other man offered him and nodded at the advice he was given, though half of Cameron’s words seemed to roll off of him just like sweat was rolling down his face and back.
There wasn’t much of a break between rounds, but he stole a moment to look at Ally before facing Ivanov again. She was there, near the cageside, incredibly beautiful. A bead of sweat slid into his eye but he didn’t wipe it away – he only had a second to look at her and he wouldn’t waste it.
She smiled, but he could see the tension in the way she sat, the way her eyes searched his body for signs of damage instead of holding his gaze for more than a split second.
The ring girl made another round before Ryan and Ivanov went at it again.
Ivanov was more aggressive this time and threw a hard kick at Ryan as soon as the timer sounded.
He dodged it and parried, preserving his ribs from serious damage.
Ryan landed the first blow, a punch that met Ivanov’s jaw perfectly. Seconds later, he had him backed against the side of the cage. He took advantage of having the upper hand – a situation that was always potentially fleeting – by hitting hard, fitting in as many punches as he could without sacrificing power.
Ivanov hit back, fittin
g in the occasional punch here and there, but mostly taking blows.
Ryan hit harder, took a few punches to the torso and one that glanced off his chin, jarring him a little. Still, it wasn’t until Ivanov landed a lucky elbow that he was forced to relent.
There was the immediate shock of being laid into by the hard point of bone, and then there was the hot gush of blood from his nose, like water from a faucet. It rained on the mat but didn’t deter Ivanov, who moved in close enough to throw Ryan to the mat.
Ryan didn’t stop bleeding and he sure as hell didn’t stop fighting. Finishing the match on the ground would be messy, but he wasn’t going to let Ivanov beat him. He rolled, struggling for dominance.
Eventually he ended up in an ankle lock, but Ivanov didn’t have the hold tight enough to bring it to fruition. He almost did, but not quite. Ryan withstood the strain and made Ivanov fight to maintain the hold.
It was the timer that saved him. This time, it was a relief when it went off, signaling the end of the match.
Ryan pulled his leg from Ivanov’s loosened hold and stood, the joint throbbing with relief.
When he retreated to his side of the ring, Cameron thrust a towel at him. He took it and pressed it to his face, letting it absorb the hot, sticky mixture of blood and sweat that had accumulated there.
He lowered the towel and met Ally’s eyes before taking a drink of water. She was just as refreshing; the sight of her face reminded him that the night wouldn’t be over after the fight. It also reminded him why he couldn’t lose.
Round three. It would be the last round no matter how it ended.
Ryan landed the first punch. He took a few, too, but managed to back Ivanov against the side of the cage again, pummeling him with strikes designed to keep him there and wear him down.
It worked. Six, seven, eight punches and Ivanov was out, knocked unconscious by a straight to the face. He slid down the chain-link, crumpling at Ryan’s feet.
A rush of mingled satisfaction and relief coursed through Ryan as he unclenched his fists, raising one into the air. He was covered in sweat and blood, but inside he was glowing. He faced the roaring crowd, where Ally waited. The exhilaration rushing through his veins was so strong that at first, he almost didn’t notice the silver lights lingering in the range of his peripheral vision.