by Ora Wilde
Coach Mikey always had his way of firing me up. Nothing was ever too low for him at this stage of every fight. Once, he pretended to be my father as he continuously slapped me, reminding me of the childhood I had to endure. That succeeded in rousing my anger and channeling my rage towards my opponent.
That time, however, he used something too dear... too personal... to fresh... and it stung like hell.
Did it succeed in getting me pumped up for the fight? Yes.
But it didn’t make me forget.
About her.
A lingering thought that I just knew would be my downfall.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
MEG
“You placed a bet against Conner?!”
I was so mad at him that I almost threw his cellphone on his smirking face.
“What’s wrong with that, hon?” he asked flippantly as if it wasn’t a big deal.
“What’s wrong with that?! What’s wrong with that?! You have the audacity to ask me what’s wrong with that?! How dare you?!”
“No... please do enlighten me,” he responded while laughing. Despite the anger I was showing, he was still thinking that it was about something minor. “I really don’t get it. So I placed a bet. Big deal!”
“You placed a bet against Conner! You knew about his injuries. I told you about them! That’s a big deal! That’s a big, big deal! I trusted you, Lucas... I trusted you with all my heart!”
“Hey... what’s wrong with a little inside information?” he continued to laugh. “We’re gonna make a killing tonight, you and I. It’ll be enough to extend our honeymoon here in Vegas. The odd’s 3:1. That’s a $10,000 profit. We’d even have enough for a downpayment for a new house, honey.”
“What’s wrong with it that you promised not to tell anybody!”
“And I didn’t!”
“But you used it for personal gain!”
“Our personal gain, honey. Our. That’s the difference right there. I did it for us. Us. It wasn’t like I was being selfish or anything.”
That made me pause and ponder on his explanation. If it was true - and I hoped it was true - then could he still be considered in the wrong? He did it for us, he said. He was thinking about our finances, to have a good start for our married life together. That wasn’t really what can be considered as an ill intention...
Still...
It was at the expense of Conner, my stepbrother, my family, the one who confided in me a secret that could make or break his career... a secret that Lucas used to win some money.
I turned away from the man I was supposed to marry. I stared angrily at the wall on the left side of the room. He touched my shoulder as he tried to appease me. I shrugged it off. I wanted to be left alone. To think.
Your man is a selfish son of a bitch.
Conner’s words. I dismissed them as a self-serving statement... a remark caused by jealousy, or a desperate attempt to win my affection.
You’re just too blind to see through him.
Was I? I have known Lucas far longer than I have known him, and Conner... he wasn’t really a good judge of character.
I’m too blind to see through him?
Love can do that to a person.
Stolen from Shakespeare. Love is blind and lovers cannot see, the petty follies that they themselves commit. But was I really blinded by love? I always prided myself to have kept a clear mind on things... even those that concerned the ones dearest to my heart.
And that included him.
Conner.
Despite his flaws, despite his constant stream of inexplicable anger, despite his incessant desire to remain as he was without regard for those around him... I gave him a chance. I tried to understand him... to reach out to him... to bring out the man I knew he was... to bring out the man I knew he could be.
And to a certain extent, I succeeded. And my heart opened up to him.
It wasn’t enough. My bond with Lucas was stronger than that.
But...
Is that the reason why I have finally decided that Lucas was the one? Chronology? History? Timing?
No, no, no...
That would be too shallow... too stupid... too insubstantial. Love isn’t like that.
Love...
Love isn’t something that’s born from convenience. Love isn’t a matter of who came first and who came last. Love isn’t a set of multiple choice questions that would lead to the right answer through a process of elimination. Love is supposed to be about acceptance. Whole-hearted, altruistic acceptance.
Which made me ask, at that instant...
Have I truly accepted Lucas?
“Honey... please don’t be mad...” he pleaded from behind me.
His tone was gentle.
His voice was sweet.
He never, ever wanted me angry.
I began to smile.
All was alright again.
We were getting married and I shouldn’t let this incident ruin that.
Then my hands suddenly trembled. A rather strong vibration shook my palm. I looked at it and realized that I was still holding his phone.
A message.
From Tristan, his friend from work...
dude, i’ve placed my bet on jones.
you better be right. don’t wanna lose
my 2 grand.
Before I could even react, another text arrived.
luc, 1K on jones. tnx 4 d info.
fight’s abt 2 strt.
And another...
u married olrdy?
fight’s gonna start soon.
1K on jones. u btr b ryt
or else...
Lucas heard the beeps and saw me reading his messages. He panicked. He hurriedly approached me and tried to grab his phone from behind. I extended my hand away from his reach.
“Give me that! That’s my phone!” he screamed. Angrily. The first time he was ever mad... at me.
I kept stretching my hand, and he tried to wrestle my arm to pull his phone closer to him. I saw the look on the faces of the people in the room... the minister... the elderly assistant... the two witnesses who looked like a homeless couple... they were all shocked to see us engaged in a scrap like that.
“No!” I yelled at him. I don’t know why I didn’t just hand over his phone as I have already read everything that was there. Maybe I was too angry to even consider it.
Then he pushed me, and I lost my balance.
I fell forward, almost bumping against the wall towards where I turned.
The minister... and even the witnesses... dashed forward to help me avoid the concrete panel. They didn’t reach me in time. They didn’t have to. I shifted my body, and my arm collided with the wall.
Lucas... he lost it... temporarily.
He saw me fall.
He was sorry about it.
He would apologize.
He would wrap his arms around me and thank the heavens that I was alright. He would say how sorry he was. He would express how grateful he was that no serious harm befell me.
But he didn’t do any of those.
Instead, I felt the entire weight of his body against my back as he lunged to retrieve his phone.
I didn’t offer further resistance. I handed it over.
He stood up and checked the screen. He probably realized that the messages have been opened. The furious look on his face disappeared, replaced by guilt and shame and anxiety.
“Honey... listen...” he started to say.
I got up. I didn’t turn to look at him. Instead, my eyes focused on the door. The door that would lead to the hallways and into the lobby. The door that would lead me away from the place... and away from him.
I trusted him.
With all my heart, I trusted him.
Yet, he lied.
He got angry, and he hurt me.
Anger can do that to many people. In a fit of rage, they would tend to forget everything... and everyone... including the people they love... or the people they were supposed to love.
&nbs
p; Anger... it’s a curse that makes people lose their sense of what is right... a blight that makes them act on impulse and instinct.
Lucas... he got angry... and he wasn’t able to control himself.
But Conner...
Conner got angry... many, many, many times... more times than I could count...
But he never hurt me.
He never even directed a single expletive towards me.
He... he respected me...
You deserve more...
I wanted to believe he was right.
You deserve an aisle with an immaculate white carpet and tulips lined up on the sides...
Yet I found myself inside a decrepit chapel that was cheaper than a motel.
You deserve the most beautiful wedding dress in the world, elegantly long and embroidered with pearls...
And I was garbed in a white Stone Temple Pilots shirt and an A-line skirt, redeemed only by my leather blazer and my Doc Martens boots.
You deserve to be ferried by a ridiculously long limousine... or a carriage pulled by two white horses... or a white Harley just to be different...
Lucas and I, we walked from the hotel to this place... and we would’ve walked out of here back to where we came from.
You deserve invitations printed on gold. You deserve a ceremony attended by your nearest and dearest, and other people too... because the world has to know that one of its most beautiful creatures was saying goodbye to her single life that day.
And I was away from them. In this, what should’ve been the most important day in my life, I was away from the most important people in my heart.
You deserve so much more..
Did I?
“Honey... please... we can eat at a crabs place afterwards,” Lucas continued to beg. “Crabs... your favorite, remember?”
You deserve a reception as grand as a movie premiere, where people would dress up in their best suits and dresses to celebrate your wedding... to celebrate you. You deserve the tallest wedding cake possible because no matter its height, it would never draw more attention than the lovely bride....
You deserve so much more...
Yes.
Yes, I did.
And for the longest time, I have tried to hide how much it pained me that Lucas didn’t even consider what I wanted... that Lucas thought that this - a chapel in Vegas and a hotel room and a seafood dinner - was all that I deserved.
And it pained me more to know that he could treat me that way when he was angry, and that he could lie to my face about something that I have trusted him with.
“Lucas?” I began to say without facing him, yet I felt his face light up, thinking that he was off the hook.
“Yes hon?” he gleefully replied.
“I... I’m sorry,” I told him with a tinge of sadness in my voice, though my resolve didn’t waver.
“Sorry? Sorry for what? What do you mean?”
“I’m sorry, Lucas... but I deserve more...”
Chapter Thirty-Nine
CONNER
I was jogging around behind the curtains that led to the arena when Ride of the Valkyries played. English horns and clarinets heralded the arrangement before trumpets and trombones began the orchestral hymn.
It has always been my entrance music, so much so that it has become synonymous with me.
And the crowd at the MGM Grand that night knew it.
Some of them cheered. A lot of them jeered. And when a PA peeked through the curtains, I caught a glimpse of the aisle that I will traverse, littered with beer cups and debris. It was a rowdy crowd, and they knew how to express themselves.
Security people dressed in all black flanked me. They were ready to escort me to the octagon. Coach Mikey was by my side. Jersey and Pearson were behind me, bringing all the things that will be needed in my corner - bandages, wound balms, a stool, an extra mouthpiece... the instruments of war.
“Hold up! Hold up! Wait for me!” Artemis screamed from behind as he made his way through the thick security that crowded me.
He placed his arms around my neck and gave me a kiss on the cheek. A Jewish custom, he once said, to express profound brotherly love and the sincerest of wishes.
“Good luck,” he said amidst the noise that surrounded us.
Luck is for losers, I always told him whenever he said that before. But not at that moment. I just nodded, acknowledging his gesture, thanking him for his kindness.
“Shit, Conner, you’re making me nervous,” he commented, shocked by my reaction.
“Luck is for fucking losers,” Coach Mikey answered, verbally, on my behalf. “McXavier’s got this. Now scram!”
Artemis retreated to the back of the pack as the PA opened the curtains. Bright lights quickly filled up the back area, blinding me a little. It was followed by the riotous noise of the crowd with their hurrahs and their boos and the curses they hurled towards me.
Asshole!
Murderer!
Jackass!
I was used to it. I have built a notorious reputation throughout the years. It was how I sold fights. The recent incident with Donner only made it worse. I almost killed the guy. In the middle of the octagon. On live TV. And Donner? He was a fan favorite... he did a lot of charity work in between fights, signed a lot of autographs... a quintessential good guy, his trash talking aside.
Sister fucker!
Now, that one elicited a reaction from me. My eyes darted towards the direction where it came from. I saw a lot of angry faces. They were bold enough to show their hatred for me. We were separated by metal railings and a dozen or so security people.
But that didn’t stop me from expressing my disgust.
“Fuck you!” I screamed at that section of the audience. “Fuck all of you!”
And the jeers got louder.
A smile formed on Coach Mikey’s face.
“Welcome back, McXavier,” he said. “It’s about fucking time!”
I bumped my fists together to signify my assent.
Sister fucker? Fucking crowd! If they have painted me the villain and Jones their hero, I’d beat the living hell out of their favored one and leave them sad and in tears. I’ve done it so many times before. I damn well sure could do it again!
I held my head up high the rest of the way, throwing a scowl on the crowd left and right. They booed me. They cursed me. They threw things at me. But I didn’t care. At the end of the night, the man they revile would become their new champion.
The referee met me right at the foot of the octagon. Coach Mikey inserted my mouthpiece. The referee checked my gloves, my shorts, my elbows and my knees. When everything was clear, he gave me the go signal to enter the octagon.
And I did.
I pranced around the ring to more jeers. I shadowboxed and performed roundhouse kicks in the air, and the boos got even louder.
I was feeling it. The hatred in their screams. The fear on their faces. The excitement in the air.
And I reveled at it.
My music stopped.
A few seconds later and another tune was played. Michael Jackson’s Bad. Many times before, me and my team laughed at his ridiculous choice of an entrance theme.
I wasn’t laughing at that time.
My eyes turned towards the aisle at the other end of the arena.
The curtains opened, and out he came... together with his entourage and a number of security personnel that easily dwarfed mine. He was humming with the song, skipping and hopping on his way to the ring.
I wanted to meet him right there in the aisle and punch his ugly mugger.
He took his time, stopping every now and again to draw out his cellphone and take a selfie.
A fucking selfie!
Was that how he was belittling our fight? Was he under the impression that this would be an easy encounter for him? An automatic win that will soon be tucked under his belt?
As the rage started to possess me, a thought began to plague my mind...
Conner, listen to me. Your entir
e career... you’ve been fed with pansies, people you can easily beat, people who are a good match to your style. They have been grooming you so that they could feed you to a more marketable champion.