by Callie James
I was able to watch more of the second round because it looked like Sam had him beat. Then the champ slammed his knee into Sam’s side three times, lifted him, and tossed him back first onto the platform. I covered my face with my hands, nauseated and wanting to cry. I heard the repetitive pounding against the platform and Jonas yelling the same instructions, repeatedly, which told me Sam had to be stuck.
I glanced up long enough to see him slammed flat to the platform again. Closed my eyes and heard another slam.
The horn blasted.
Both fighters had walked back to their corners when I looked up. Bobby held an ice pack to the back of Sam’s neck while Jonas made him spit bloody water into a bucket as he talked to him. The ice would cool him quicker. Sam had red welts on his body, he was breathing hard, but he wasn’t bleeding. Not externally anyway. He looked focused and nodded. Listening to everything Jonas said while taking small sips of water.
“What do you think?” I asked. “Is he winning?”
Ryan didn’t blink while staring into the cage. “Um...”
Great. I started panicking as the fighters began.
The champ wasted no time and pinned Sam to the cage wall before flipping him through the air and to the platform. He was on Sam in a second, putting him in a hold that suggested he might break Sam’s arm. I wanted to look away but couldn’t while waiting and hoping for Sam to tap, something that Bobby told me he’d never do.
Veins bulged in Sam’s neck from the pain while his fingers ground against the platform. Jonas yelled out several words I couldn’t understand, no doubt a countermove, and Sam contorted himself to roll into the hold, finally breaking away. He moved his legs above his opponent’s shoulders and grabbed him in a scissor-like grip, bringing the champ down to the platform. Sam jumped him, landing numerous blows to his face and shoulder. The champ flipped around, tried to get away, but Sam pulled him back and the wrestling ensued. I wanted Sam off the floor because I could never decipher who had who.
The horn took eons to sound.
When it did, I noticed Sam bleeding at the corner of his eye. He blinked rapidly and sat on the stool, pulling out his mouthpiece while Bobby took something from the ice bucket and placed it against the cut. Sam breathed hard and deep, holding his shoulder in such a way, I worried he might be injured. Jonas shook his head, making him spit out more water as he talked nonstop.
“Sam!” Ryan yelled.
“He can’t hear you,” I said, looking to the champ whose right eye had started to swell shut.
“Sam!” Ryan jumped. “Sam!”
I turned to Ryan. “What are you doing?”
Ryan lifted two fingers to his mouth and let out one of his ear splitting whistles. “Sam!” he yelled louder.
We stood close enough to Sam’s corner that he heard Ryan’s whistle and last shout and looked over. My brother grinned and Sam’s gaze pivoted to me, his eyes rounding.
For five seconds, only Sam and I existed. He smiled but I recognized the worry in his eyes. He knew this was difficult for me to watch.
“Acaba con él!” I shouted, pumping both fists into the air as I bounced on the balls of my feet.
He smiled at my shout to finish off his opponent. I’d learned so many Spanish variations for punch and jab and hit while watching Jonas and Bobby train Sam. Words like chingadazo and madrazo.
Jonas smacked Sam’s cheek and pointed at his eyes, telling him to pay attention.
When Sam stood again, I asked Ryan, “Why’d you do that? You broke his concentration. Now he might lose.”
“I swear it’s got to be obvious to everyone but you,” Ryan said, cheering and clapping loudly. “He had to know you’re here. No way will he lose in front of you.”
The two fighters went at each other as though it were the final round. I remembered Bobby’s words about the crowd’s preference for pummeling over floor work, because the second both fighters started trading kicks, punches and knee jabs, the crowd roared, sounding like an uncontainable mob.
Sam began to hit relentlessly, a series of right-handed blows. After six hits, the champ could barely jab back before taking another hit. When his hands dropped a fraction, Samuel “Stonefish” Guerra made his move. In two fluid hits, he landed a killing left uppercut, followed by his decimating right hook that spun the champ and dropped him on the platform in an unconscious heap.
The crowd roared as I grabbed onto Ryan, screaming and jumping while a blur of waves and cheers sounded around us. When I looked back to the cage, the ref lifted the new champ’s arm.
I kissed Ryan’s cheek, hugging him while he pulled out his phone to take a picture of Sam with his arm up. Savanna and Isabel would want the good news as soon as possible.
Sam pulled his mouthpiece out and turned to us.
“You did it, baby,” I mouthed, bouncing on my toes so he’d see me.
That half-grin I loved so much formed as he pointed at me. “For you,” he said.
About the Author:
I spent the first three decades of my life in Portland, Oregon, before picking up everything and moving to the South for much needed sunshine and a change of pace.
When I'm not reading or penning young adult novels, I'm absorbed in all things supernatural, fantasy and sci-fi. Most recently, I've become hopelessly addicted to the BBC and anime.
My husband and I are also very devoted to our numerous adopted animals.
Discover other titles by Callie James at https://calliejamesbooks.com
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