Triple Major

by Lana Hartley

  “Hey, you okay?” Logan asks me, resting one hand on my knee and turning to face me. Looking away from the window of the private jet we’re in, a sea of clouds stretching underneath us, I offer him what I hope to a confident smile.

  “I am… I’m just nervous,” I admit, placing my hand on top of his and holding it tightly.

  “I know,” he nods somberly, and now he’s the one looking out the window. Under that sea of clouds, there’s the Mojave Desert; in a few minutes, we’re going to start our descent and land in Las Vegas, the meeting ground for the two best fighters in the world.

  “Is there no other way…?” I ask him again, already knowing what his answer’s going to be. But I can’t help it; even though this fight is inevitable, I’ve been clinging to hope like a drowning man would cling to his lifejacket.

  “No other way,” he whispers back at me, shaking his head. “But whatever happens… We’ll still have each other.”

  “We’ll still have each other,” I repeat after him, my heart tightening and tightening until I think it has stopped beating.

  Natalie

  Las Vegas, the city of sin.

  I’ve been here a couple of times, but the city never seems so alive as it does tonight. Even from inside the limo, I can feel the raw energy that crackles through the city streets. There are thousands of people walking down the streets, all of them happily discussing something. Some of them even throw fake punches against an unseen opponent, playing out the scene inside their heads.

  Even though I can’t hear what any of these people are discussing, it doesn’t take a genius to know what the subject is; they’re talking about the Fight of the Century. While everyone is completely crazy about it, I’m just sitting here, dreading the moment these two look into each other’s eyes.

  I won’t even bother to tell you how many sleepless night I’ve spent trying to think of a way to stop the fight. Everyone would hate me for it; after all, the fans want what they want, but I wouldn’t care.

  I just want my men.

  I even thought of jumping into the ring and telling Hunter about everything that happened, and how the story hit the newspapers. But I know that he wouldn’t buy it. He’d just see it as some kind of ploy to distract him. And so, I’m condemned to see the two men I love shed blood.

  “Hey,” Logan whispers, squeezing my hand in his. “It’ll be okay. Whatever happens, happens. Either way, it’ll be over soon.”

  “I’m so sorry,” I whisper, looking out the window. Right now I can’t look at him, or else I wouldn’t be able to hold back the tears. I can already feel their sting on my eyes. “It’s all my fault…”

  “No, Natalie. This was bound to happen, sooner or later. It has nothing to do with you.”

  “Thank you,” I just tell him, not knowing if I should believe him. However I look at it, I was the one setting the whole thing in motion. If I knew how things would turn out, I doubt I’d go after them and write those profiles… But then again, if I hadn’t done it, my path would have never crossed them.

  “Here we are,” Logan says as the limo halts to a stop in front of a private entrance to the MGM Arena. The security staff jumps out from the SUV in front of us (and from the one in the back), and they immediately form a security cordon around the limo. “Let’s go,” he continues, opening the door and stepping outside. I follow after him, my heart beating anxiously, and let him lead the way.

  Once we’re inside, standing in one of the hallways that leads to the locker rooms, Logan just pushes me against the wall and crushes his lips against mine. “One last kiss for good luck,” he smiles, and I press my forehead against his and close my eyes.

  “Good luck … and be careful out there,” I plead, even though I know it’s impossible.

  “I’ll be careful,” he promises me, but the tone of his voice doesn’t help me calm down. I watch him walk down the hallway, standing tall, and I sigh as I realize that the next time I see him, he won’t be my man… but a fighter loved and hated by millions of people. A God among mortals.

  “Jesus, this place is a maze,” I hear Michelle cry out at the end of the hallway. “I wasn’t sure if I’d able to find you in here,” she tells me, walking toward me as the click of her high heels echo through the hallway. Since Logan didn’t want me to be completely alone during the fight, he got me one extra ringside seat, and I just had to bring Michelle along with me.

  “Let’s go,” I tell her, grabbing her arm and dragging her after me. A few minutes later and we step into the arena, a cavernous space capable of holding almost twenty thousand people. The spotlights are already trained on the ring, right in the center, and the atmosphere feels electric. Even though there are still a few hours to go until Hunter and Logan step into the ring, the whole arena and everyone inside it seem gripped by a kind of nervous excitement. This is a once in a lifetime event, and everyone in here knows it.

  “Jesus, it’s still early and the whole place is already packed,” Michelle tells me as we walk up to the ring. We take our seats while a few journalists snap our pictures, and I’m starting to feel so nervous that I don’t even reply to Michelle. I just sit there in silence, hearing the excited chatter of the crowd as they wait for the event to start.

  We remain sitting there for three hours straight, watching every single preliminary card before the main event. Unfortunately for the fighters that have signed up for these fights, it seems that no one is really paying any attention. Sure, there are some oohs and aahs, but you can tell that the whole audience is still in that excitement phase, the hunger for the main event growing into a fierce monster.

  Finally, when the last fighters finally step down from a ring and all lights go off, I think my heart stops beating for a few seconds. A lone spotlight hits the center of the ring, bathing the presenter in a strong light - white haired and in a sleek suit, he grabs the mic and smiles at the crowd, allowing a kind of respectful silence to grip the whole arena.

  “Ladies and gentleman,” he starts, his deep voice echoing throughout the arena. “This is it… It’s time for the main event, what you’re all here for! The two best fighters in the world will finally settle the question - who’s the best of the best? THE FIGHT OF THE CENTURY HAPPENS NOW!” He shouts at the top of his lungs, and the crowd completely loses it.

  It’s the fight of the century, alright.

  Logan

  "You're a champion; don't forget that," Rocco says. He's working on my right hand, wrapping it with the skilled precision of a veteran in this industry, and then moves to the left hand.

  "I've never forgotten it," I say. "I'm here to win. Defeat isn't in my vocabulary."

  The few photographers in the room are eating it up. They're standing off to the side, snapping picture after picture.

  Tension is building. People have bet millions on this fight, and the odds are in my favor. The entire city of Las Vegas is on edge.

  Today, victory will be mine and Hunter and I can finally put this to rest.

  Rocco slips the boxing gloves over my hand wraps as my physical trainer massages my back and neck, trying to keep me loose. When they're finished, I stand up and give myself a couple of long stretches to loosen any remaining tense muscles.

  I can't believe the moment is here.

  Hunter and I are going to fight; there's no turning back now. It's like the moment when you board a rollercoaster, and the harness locks in place and the ride begins to move. At that point, you know there's no getting off. There's no changing your mind, even if you wanted to. You're in it to win it, and you have no other choice but to see it through.

  "Two minutes remaining until our walk!" a woman says, peeking her head into the locker room. She's wearing a Bluetooth headpiece and is carrying a clipboard. She must be one of the event managers.

  I bounce on my feet, shadowboxing in the air to displace my pent-up energy and to mentally prepare for this moment.

  "You're an animal," Rocco growls in the form of encouragement. "People call you a
fucking lion for a reason. Now let's give the crowd what they came for."

  He slaps me on the back and the same woman shouts out, "30 seconds till our walk!"

  Here we go. It's real. Now's the moment.

  I'm a champion. I'm a lion and Hunter is the gazelle. In a few minutes, he won't know what hit him. I get my thoughts into fight mode.

  "And 5, 4, 3, 2, 1—we're walking!" the woman shouts.

  I place the hood of my jacket over my head, and while surrounded by my team of trainers, reporters, and photographers, we start the walk.

  I'm walking in a wide stance, my shoulders out. I have a bounce in my step and my fists are up, shadowboxing in the air.

  My mind is laser focused on victory tonight.

  I can hear the music pouring in from the arena in the distance. The further I walk, the louder it becomes. The bass is beating a rhythm into my chest. It's as if someone is slowly turning up the volume.

  And within moments, we're out of the tunnel and into the bright lights. The lights are so bright that they're blinding and fans are screaming. It's sensory overload. I'm assaulted at every angle.

  People are hanging over their seats with their hands outstretched, pleading and begging for just a second of recognition.

  "Logan! Logan! Over here! Kick his ass Logan!"

  They're all hoping to touch my hand for a fleeting moment, as if by touching me they will have gained some sort of newfound luck. Like maybe I have the Midas touch or something. And the only thing louder than their screams is the music.

  I can feel the music in my bones.

  As I approach the ring, I still have my team with me. Photographers flash pictures at me as I officially step up to the ring. Once there, I turn to the crowd. With eyes wide I raise my arms up high in the air, fists clenched, abs taut and rippled, and they go wild, erupting in roars of applause. It takes me a minute to realize that they are roaring like a lion in their support for me. The entire ground seems to be shaking with their rabid energy.

  I walk to my corner of the ring and continue to raise my arms at the crowd, trying to face my fans at every angle—north, east, south, and west.

  And then the music changes.

  I know what that means before the announcer says it.

  "And now ladies and gentleman, entering the arena is Huuuunter!"

  Even the lighting seems to change a different color.

  The crowd cheers and it seems the fans are divided evenly because he receives an equal amount of applause. And then I see him. The man I've come here for.

  It's a flash of red in the distance, and I see his robe. Instantly, I feel like a bull taunted by a cape.

  Pride, anger, and focus are a potent cocktail, and right now, it fills my entire body and mind.

  Cameras continue flashing.

  The crowd roars.

  The announcer keeps the energy high.

  It's a buzz that the entire arena can feel.

  It's time.

  It's time for war.

  Hunter

  The crowd is going wild. The announcer is saying something and the flashbulbs are going off but you know what? I don't even fucking notice anything. There's absolutely nothing in the world that's breaking my focus.

  Yeah, I was a mess at the bar. Downing whiskey like it was fucking water.

  But since then, I've taken my body back into fighting shape. Lean. Mean. Ready to dole out punishment and destroy any opponent that is placed in front of me.

  I'm glad I didn't fuck that slut from the bar. I'm surprised I even considered it for a moment. Although I tell myself that I didn't so much consider it as I thought about how much I would've wanted to fuck her back in the day.

  Before Natalie.

  Because today is it. Today is the culmination of everything that happened since the first time I met Natalie.

  Today is going to be the day that we destroy and desecrate the past because of the present. Natalie and Logan have destroyed the memory of Sarah.

  The woman I love and the person who would most likely be my best friend.

  The entire country is watching. The entire world is betting on this fight. It's been a long fucking time coming and no one can stop us from destroying each other. We have been training. I know I have and I can sure as hell bet you that Logan has as well. There is no way he would miss the opportunity to take me out and grab the purse for himself.

  I think that the only reason that he ever wanted to defeat me is the purse but I figure that the fringe benefit of finally defeating the one enemy he's had in his entire life has also gotta count for fucking something.

  I don't fucking deny he's in love with Natalie and that's also probably an overriding concern of his. Why he does the shit that he does.

  But he wants to play with fire if he's trying that shit with me. Trying to destroy Hunter is going to be like trying to push back a steamroller. Because once I fucking start, I don't ever stop.

  The bets are enormous. They've overtaken the bookmaking business and given a new take on the entire industry. Logan and I are the toast of Las Vegas.

  This fight is simulcast in several different languages across the globe.

  I am as ready as I am ever going to be for this.

  That's when the announcer says something and the crowd goes even more wild if possible. The level of noise and activity in the arena is deafening and I give myself a moment to let it wash over me.

  From the edge of the arena I see the door open and that's when I know it's him. He's entered. He's coming.

  Logan.

  We are coming to the end of a struggle that we've waged against each other in silence for much of our adult lives.

  It ends tonight.

  I watch Logan as he stalks down the aisle, with his entourage. He's as ready as he'll ever be. I have no doubt that he's pushed himself as hard as me. Trying to go harder.

  Sun Tzu has always said that the only way to defeat your enemy is to understand them. Well, I fucking understand what Logan is thinking right now. He sees me as the threat that he needs to take out. He sees me as the only thing standing in his path between happiness forever and a life of loneliness.

  You put a man's back against the wall, and he'll do desperate things.

  What Logan doesn't realize that I do is this.

  You fuck with me, I'll die before I ever stop trying to defeat you.

  He approaches the ring and I watch as his trainer gets him ready. He's got his gloves on and they make sure he's got everything. He nods several times to the questions they're asking him and finally he gets in the ring as the crowd cheers even louder. Everyone in here realizes the fucking historic nature of the shit that's about to go down. No one doubts for a moment that there won't be blood. If one of us dies tonight, it's for the best. Because I guarantee you there won't be much left to live for whoever loses.

  The referee is saying something. The standard fucking boilerplate that ref's always say. Give me a clean fight. As many rounds as it takes. The rules.

  I've memorized this shit by now.

  Logan holds out his glove and I hold out mine and we make contact.

  Fuck, why the fuck am I losing focus here?

  Because that moment of contact, I wonder if we really need to even go through with this. Do we need to do this? We've been on a path of no return I thought, but there is actually still time to stop this.

  Everything we ever had, and everything that we could ever rescue will be destroyed the moment the bell rings and we start swinging at each other.

  Because in that moment, nothing in the world can ever make us stop until one of us is defeated.

  Whoever wins will find it hollow because most likely the shadow of the vanquished will still cast a light over everything.

  Whoever loses will realize that they've lost everything.

  In the end, there will be no winners from tonight's fight. Just two losers.

  Before we go down that path, we need to be absolutely sure. Because this is quite literally the
few seconds before we push the button that launches the nuclear missiles.

  I can tell that Logan is contemplating too. He's got that fucking look in his eye.

  And that's when the bell rings.

  For a moment, a long moment that would be fatal almost in any fight, we remain silent with our guard down as we stare at each other.

  My eyes meet his and both of us seem to realize the implicit nature of what we're about to do. Without exchanging any words or even gestures, we realize we've fucking doomed ourselves.

  Our guard goes up the next millisecond.

  We back away and begin rolling back and forth on the balls of our feet.

  It's time to fight.

  Natalie

  I can’t even look.

  Each punch they land, I feel it deep inside my soul… And it’s been jab after jab, a flurry of punches right from the start. The moment the bell signaled the start of the fight, they ran into each other like sharks chasing after blood. Even though Logan’s trying to outmaneuver Hunter, this is probably one of the most vicious fights I’ve ever seen.

  They aren’t fighting for a belt, money, or prestige; they’re fighting for honor, and I wouldn’t be surprised if they fought to the death. And all this because of me. I had to go and uncover their secrets, putting them on a collision course. If only I hadn’t used that stupid recorder, none of this would be happening right now.

  “Oh God,” I whisper to myself, watching as Hunter lands a powerful punch on Logan’s jaw. He takes two awkward steps back, but somehow manages to regain his balance and ducks Hunter’s next punch. He keeps on bobbing his head from side to side, avoiding punch after punch, but he won’t be able to keep up the pace for long. If he doesn’t start fighting back, Hunter’s going to crush him.

  This is even worse than what I expected. I thought that watching Logan spar somehow helped me grow indifferent to all the violence, but Hunter is light years away from the men that sparred with Logan. He’s faster, stronger, and he’s fighting with purpose - sure, it might be a misguided purpose, but it’s still propelling him to move forward.