by Grey, Priya
I lost my fight against Jose Silva because I was angry and couldn’t control my emotions. Instead of thinking about my next move, my mind was on Max. Right now, standing in this cage, about to square off against a solid fighter named Enrique Rosa from San Diego, I'm still angry. But my anger is focused. This poor dude standing in front of me doesn't know what he's up against.
I've had everything taken away from me that I've loved: my son, my gym, and Melody. Now, Shane is asking me to sacrifice the only thing that remains in my life – besides my sister – that I hold dear. I love to fight because there is honesty and truth in the cage. There is nowhere to run, all your illusions are stripped away. In the heat of a fight, and the crushing blow of a moment, you discover what you're made of. Outside the cage, in the bullshit society we've created for ourselves, the truth is sometimes hard to see. But inside the octagon, with a crowd screaming for blood, and the smell of sweat and fear in the air, the truth is facing you, as clear as day. If you're the fastest, the quickest, the smartest, and you don't lose your cool, you'll survive. You'll be the victor.
What Enrique Rosa doesn't know, as he takes a few steps toward me, is that I see the truth staring straight at me. If I throw this fight, I'll lose the one thing I believe in: the honesty of the cage. But not only that, I’d also be letting Max down. It would be as if I had taken my own life after he died. If I throw this fight, I won’t respect myself. And when a man can’t look himself in the mirror, what's the point?
Fuck Shane. Fuck money.
If he wants to kill me once the fight is over, I’m ready to die. Because the honor of the fight is all I have left to live for. Everything else has been taken from me.
As I take a few steps toward my opponent, one thing is obvious: I'm not losing, not today.
Enrique starts with some jabs to my body and my face. But I take a quick step back and surprise him with a roundhouse kick, throwing him off balance.
The crowd erupts in applause.
I lunge forward, hit him with a left hook, a quick jab to the body, then hurt him upstairs. I take a step back and nail him with a strike to the liver.
At that moment, everything goes into slow-motion. It's like I see his moves before they happen. I can react accordingly. I duck or slide out-of-the-way every time he’s about to make impact.
After I land a few more blows, Enrique begins to tire out. He's waiting for the round to come to an end so he can catch his breath. I take advantage of the opportunity and knock him with a flying knee. He falls to the ground.
The crowd cheers. I turn and face them. Shane is staring straight at me, and I can tell he’s pissed.
“Finish him!” I hear people shout.
I turn and watch Enrique slowly get up from the ground. He’s got a busted lip and his chin and chest are covered in blood.
I run forward, lunge into the air, and pound him with a superman punch. He falls back to the ground. I unleashed a fury of punches – a clinical ground-and-pound – till I'm able to place him in a submission hold. Then he taps out.
The fight lasts a total of three minutes.
Poor Enrique never stood a chance.
The crowd erupts in thunderous applause and chants my name, “Kade! Kade! Kade!” But all I’m focused on is Shane. He’s staring at me with disgust. He turns his back to me and walks out of the warehouse, Vince and Leo following close behind.
I may have won this fight, but in all likelihood I'm a dead man.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
By refusing to throw the fight, I've undermined Shane. After all, there's one thing Shane values above all else: money. Even though I saved his life when we were kids, I think in Shane’s mind that debt was wiped clean when he paid for Max’s medical bills.
So now I’m waiting… waiting for the knock at my door, waiting for Shane and his two henchmen to drag me away and put a bullet in me. I wonder if I’ll see my boy, Max, in heaven… if that’s where I go.
When you're waiting for your death, it gives you time to reflect on your life. And when I look at the sum total of my existence, I'm filled with regret. I could have done better – as a father, and definitely as a person. That's why I got so angry when things with Melody ended. When I was with her, I felt like I was being a better version of ‘me’. I was improving her life by being in it. So when she cut the cord and ended our relationship, I felt cast adrift.
I’ve been floating at sea ever since.
The knock finally comes. I sit up in bed and take a deep breath. I slide open the drawer of my nightstand and stare at my gun. After Max's death, I’ve put the muzzle of that gun in my mouth several times, struggling to pull the trigger. Now, I have a decision to make. Do I put up a fight against Shane? Or just take what’s coming my way?
I decide to leave the gun in the drawer and slide it shut.
There’s another knock. I slowly rise. My time is finally up. I take another deep breath and answer the door. My eyes widen.
It’s not Shane standing before me…
It’s Monique.
I hardly recognize her. She’s dressed in a buttoned-up white blouse and black slacks. Her long dark hair is pulled back in a ponytail. When she sees me, she immediately looks at the ground, nervous. Then she gathers the courage to look up and half-smiles.
“Hey Kade,” she says softly.
“Hey,” I whisper in a daze. The last time I saw Monique, she was hollow-eyed, with sunken cheeks. Her voice was on edge, and her shivering body badly in need of a fix. The woman standing before me is a far cry from that memory. Monique looks healthy. Her cheeks are rosy, and her eyes are bright.
“You look great,” I comment.
She nods slowly. “Thank you.” Then she adds sadly, “It's taken me a long time to get myself together.”
We stare at each other in silence. There are a million things I want to say to her, but I don't know where to start.
“How's Max?” she asks.
I look at the ground and sigh. Now, I know exactly where to begin.
“You better come in, Monique. I have something to tell you.”
After the initial shock, Monique’s face turns pale. Tears form in her eyes, and she starts crying in pain. She curls herself into a ball and lies on my bed. I lie next to her and wrap my arms around her trembling body. I try to comfort her as best I can.
“I didn't deserve him,” Monique cries through her tears. “I was such an awful mother, and he was such a good boy. I'm the one who should be dead. Not him. He did nothing wrong. I’m the sinner.”
Monique sobs uncontrollably. I try to soothe her but realize she needs to release all this grief – just like I did when I listened to Melody’s song.
“I tried to find you; but you disappeared,” I tell her.
Monique continues crying. I don't know what to do. I just cradle her in my arms. With some time, she calms down. She wipes her nose and turns to me. Her eyes are puffy and red.
“We didn't deserve him,” she repeats.
I nod. “I know. He was perfect.”
Monique turns away and stares into nothingness.
Almost an hour passes as the two of us lie together in sad silence. Eventually, I get up from the bed and enter the bathroom. I splash some water on my face. Then, I step into the kitchen and pour Monique a glass of water. I return to the bed and hand it to her. She takes the glass and slowly sits up. She wipes her eyes and guzzles down the water. She places the empty glass on my nightstand.
She looks at me and asks, “Where’s he buried?”
“With my parents,” I tell her.
She slowly nods.
“I’d like to see him,” she says quietly.
“I’ll drive you.”
We drive most of the way to the cemetery in silence. Monique just stares out the windshield, numb.
“He would have been proud of you,” I tell her. “For getting clean. I am.”
Monique looks at me. Her eyes are filled with regret. She sighs. “I
never thought it would happen to me, Kade – that I’d become an addict. I just felt so alone, so much pressure. I was raising Max on my own, with no help. You were away in Iraq. I’m not making excuses. I let myself go there. I put myself before my son. Finding the next fix became more important than him. I wasn’t thinking right. But I was just so miserable, Kade. When you came back, you were like a zombie. You didn’t want anything to do with us.”
I nod. “I know. I’m sorry.” It still pains me to remember how I was back then.
Monique sighs again. “We were both fucked up in our own way. That’s why I’m so angry that Max is the one that got taken. It should have been me, or you, not him. Not him.”
She’s overwhelmed again and begins to cry.
I reach across the car seat and hold her hand.
She continues to whimper on the way to the cemetery.
After parking the car, I hold Monique's hand as we walk among the tombstones. When we get to Max’s burial spot, she steps forward and kneels down. She kisses Max’s gravestone. I hear her mumble softly, “I’m so sorry, sweetie. I'm so sorry.” She begins to cry again.
When I think the time is right, I step forward and help Monique get up. Holding her, I walk her back to the car.
Inside, we sit in silence. Then Monique says, “We have to make him proud, Kade. You and I are still here for a reason.”
“Sometimes I have a hard time believing that's true,” I confess to her.
That night, Monique stays over. She has nowhere else to go. We share the same bed but that is all. There’s only sadness and regret between us now.
The following morning, she asks if I can drop her off at Union Station so she can catch a bus back to Detroit.
“What's in Detroit?” I ask her on the way there.
“My church,” she replies. Then she glances at me. “You should go sometime, Kade. It helps. I’m a volunteer.”
“I do go to church,” I tell her. “Except mine doesn’t have any pews. It’s the cage.”
She smiles softly. At Union Station, I pay for her bus ticket. Before she boards, she turns to me and surprises me with a kiss goodbye on the lips.
“Take care of yourself,” she whispers.
“You too.”
As we stare at each other, I realize I may never see her again.
I hug her and say, “I’m so proud of you for getting clean.”
“I’m going to stay clean, for Max,” she replies.
Then she boards the bus and leaves.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
I’m back at the gym. The media people that were gathered outside have left. Someone mentioned that one of those famous reality TV sisters was found having a threesome at an amusement park. With another story to follow, the swarm of paparazzi bees took off. My fifteen minutes of fame have gratefully come to an end. So, too, has the boycott of my gym. With the reporters and paparazzi gone, many of my clients return.
I fall back into my routine of managing the gym and training clients. I still haven't seen Shane. It's been five days since the fight, and I thought I'd be dead by now. After Monique left, I decided not to wait around for Shane to knock on my door. So, I went back to work. I wasn't going to run from him. Shane knew where he could find me.
I'm instructing that young kid, Rico, on the finer points of a double leg takedown. Luke, one of my trainers, is helping me demonstrate. The double leg takedown is a basic move but always effective.
“Put your lead foot between your opponent’s legs,” I tell Rico as I demonstrate on Luke. “Then, drop your knee to the floor. But make sure it’s behind his leg. Now you have to slide around your opponent's legs and wrap your arms around the back of his knees. Then step forward with your trailing leg and get onto your feet.” Holding Luke’s legs, I get up and knock him off balance. He crashes to the mat. Then I quickly pin him.
I look up at Rico. “Ready to give it a try?”
He nods. “Yeah. I think so.”
I get off Luke and offer him a hand up. “Give it a try on Luke.”
Rico steps forward and practices the move.
“Good,” I say as Rico takes Luke down. “Keep pressure on his torso with your shoulder when you got him down. Try it again.”
Rico and Luke get back on their feet. That’s when I see him. Shane is standing by the front door with Vince and Leo behind him. Slowly, he walks toward me. His eyes are steady, his face expressionless.
Shane snarls at Rico, “Lesson’s over, kid.”
Rico looks at me and I nod.
I order Luke, “Clear out the gym.”
“You sure, boss?” he asks, shooting me a worried look.
I nod. “Do as I say, Luke. Clear it out.”
Luke walks around the gym and tells everyone to leave. When my customers get the stare down from Vince and Leo, they get the hint, anyway. While this is going on, Shane and I just stare silently at each other. So, this is how it’s going to go down… in my gym. In a way, it’s sort of fitting.
When the last person leaves the gym, and the doorbell jingles behind him, Shane finally speaks. His voice is calm and even.
“These last couple of days, I’ve been doing a lot of thinking, Kade.”
I don't respond.
Shane begins to walk around the gym, stopping when he reaches the punching bag. He presses his hand against it – pushes it – so that it begins to sway. Then he glances at me. “You didn't run.”
“I’ve got nowhere to go,” I reply. “This gym is all I have.”
“Too bad I own it,” Shane taunts.
He walks toward me. He eyes Vince and Leo and nods. The two of them start pulling down the window shades, and they lock the front door.
“You should've skipped town, Kade.” He walks up to me and whispers, “Now, you've put me in a tough spot.”
“You've got to do, what you’ve got to do,” I tell him, looking him straight in the eyes.
For a brief second, I think I see some sympathy, but then it disappears. Shane takes a deep breath and nods. “I lost a lot of money on that fight.”
“You want to add that to my tab?” I reply.
He looks at me, smirks, and then hits me with a left. My jaw stings. I’m about to swing back, but his henchmen pull out their guns.
“Not yet!” shouts Shane as he massages his hand. I guess it hurts from hitting me.
He takes a deep breath and exhales threw his nostrils. He stares at me and huffs. “Kade, I'll be honest with you. I don't want to kill you. You saved my life when we were kids. And on top of that, you're one of my best whores. But you can't disrespect me and expect to get away with it.”
I sigh. “Shane, fighting is all I have. I've lost everything else. I couldn't throw the fight.”
He looks at me and sighs. Then he wags his finger and says, “That’s some sentimental bullshit, dude. What good is honor if you can't even feed yourself?”
I don't bother to reply. Shane and I see the world differently. We always have and always will. In his view, it’s kill or be killed, make money or lose money. Everything is black and white, and there’s no room for grey.
“You still seeing that burned-up chick?” he asks.
“No.”
“She pay up?”
I nod. “I got two hundred grand.”
That gets his attention. “It's yours,” I declare.
He nods. “Good. That should settle all of Max’s medical bills.” He looks at me. “You and I would've been square if you didn't let your sense of honor get in the fucking way, Kade. Why’d you have to be such a fuckin’ idiot? I was about to give you back your gym. But then you go and fuckin’ disrespect me by not throwing the fight.”
“I told you. It wasn't about disrespecting you. It had nothing to do with you.”
“I lost three hundred grand because of you!” he shouts.
“And I took a bullet in my back to save your life,” I comeback, staring him straight in the eyes.
He doesn't respond.
He just keeps looking at me. I can tell he’s trying to figure out what to do. He glances down at the ground and takes a breath. Then he looks at me and shrugs.
He pulls out his gun.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
I can hear the audience outside my dressing room. They’re chanting my name. Randy is ecstatic; the Forum is sold out.
“I told you they’d forgive you,” she says, beaming. I stare at her reflection in my dressing room mirror. I feel sick.
She squeezes my shoulders.
“Now, just remember to thank the fans for all their support while you were recovering. And thank the label too, if you can. I want to make sure we stay on their good side.”
“Randy, why couldn’t we have started with a small show? I’m not even comfortable leaving my house yet and I’m performing my first show at the Forum? This is crazy,” I complain. “Why couldn’t we have done something at the Whiskey A Go-Go or a smaller venue? There are over 17,000 people out there, Randy. I’m not ready.”
“We didn’t have a choice,” says Randy staring back at my reflection. “The label–”
I hold up my hand, cutting her off. “Enough with the fuckin’ label!” I shout, shaking my head.
Randy squeezes my shoulders, trying to calm me down. “Once you’re out there, you’ll feel comfortable again. You’re just having some jitters.”
I shrug her off. I’m annoyed and wracked with nerves.
“I’m going to have 17,000 people scrutinize me,” I tell her. “They’re going to take pictures of me. Then they’re going to inspect the photos, analyze the scars on my hands, my neck. Then the reviews are going to come in. The comments will be focused on my mask and how I carried myself after the accident. My entire being will be dissected after this first show… scrutinized, critiqued.”