Sacrifice

by Adriana Locke

  “I shouldn’t be here,” I say, batting tears back. I feel extremely guilty looking at gold balloons tied to everything that will stand still, creating a festive feeling in the park. Kids are laughing and running and I have an iced tea in my free hand while my daughter is sick or sleeping. Fighting for her life either way.

  I drop Crew’s hand and turn towards the harbor. I need space. I need air. I need to keep myself together.

  The water is peaceful, rolling gently towards the shore. A couple and their two children are playing by the water. They seem like the perfect little family, the dad tossing a little red football to his son while the mother and daughter hold hands and dip their toes in the water. They must get out a little too far for the husband’s liking because he stops and says something and they walk towards him laughing.

  Pangs of jealousy hit me head on.

  Why can’t I have that? What did I do so wrong in my damn life that I can’t have even a bit of that?

  Crew’s arms come around my waist, his front pressing against my back. He just holds me, rocking me gently back and forth. The connection helps me relax and the tears to scatter across my cheeks.

  “Everything’s gonna be okay,” he whispers.

  I nod but don’t say anything. I’m afraid to say anything out loud. Just when I start to believe it, something sets us back.

  Crew’s phone rings and we both jump, my throat squeezing shut. I grab mine out of my pocket, afraid I’ve missed a call.

  “It’s Sal. Let me take this, okay?”

  Relief washes over me like the waves on the shore. He walks away and I turn back to see the little family on the beach coming towards me. I wipe my eyes, trying to not look like a complete mess.

  The little boy rushes towards me, giggling.

  “Ben! Get back here!” his mother shouts. The father races forward and scoops him up, making him laugh harder.

  “Hello,” the lady says as they approach.

  “Hi.”

  “Are you okay, Miss?” the little girl asks, her eyes full of concern. She’s a little older than Everleigh, but not by much.

  “Yes, I am. Thank you.”

  “I’m sorry. Annie is at that stage where they haven’t yet learned manners,” the man laughs, rolling up his sleeves. “We’re working on it.”

  “No worries,” I say, smiling at Annie. “I have a daughter just about her age.”

  “You do?” she asks, her eyes lighting up. “Is she here? Can I play with her?”

  I smile sadly. “No, she isn’t. She’s in the hospital.” I look up to the woman, a confused look on her face. “I’m actually here for her benefit,” I say motioning behind me. “I probably should get back.”

  I don’t know why I’m telling these strangers this. I’m rambling. I know it but can’t stop.

  “What’s the matter with her?” Annie asks.

  I don’t want to say something and scare the little girl. It’s not my place. The woman smiles, seeming to understand, and takes her hand and the little boy’s. “I hope she’s okay. I’ll pray for her,” she says. She exchanges a look with her husband and leads the children away.

  “If you don’t mind my asking, what’s the matter with your daughter?” he asks, tucking his sunglasses in the front of his shirt.

  “She has neuroblastoma.”

  His face hardens, his eyebrows pulling together. “I’m sorry. Are you here alone? Do you need anything?”

  I shake my head, feeling foolish. “No, no, I’m okay. My . . . Crew is right over there. We’ll be going back to the hospital soon.”

  He glances at Crew. “Okay. We’ll be thinking of your family. Nice to meet you.”

  I sit on the ground and watch the waves roll in. It just seems like yesterday when we would come to the beach and splash around happily. How times have changed.

  “Ready?” Crew asks. He takes my hand and pulls me to my feet.

  “Yeah. Everything all right?”

  “Just a few promo things we have to do. He doesn’t want to do them because he thinks they’re distracting. But the NAFL is pushing hard, so he ran it by me.”

  “Okay. Let’s get out of here. But I need to say goodbye to Mrs. Ficht first.”

  He guides me through the maze of people until we spot her. She’s twirling pink cotton candy out of a machine, a bright smile on her face as always. She sees me coming and wipes off her hands. “Hey, sweetie,” she says, pulling me in for a hug. “Are you enjoying yourself?”

  “Yes. This was amazing. Thank you so much. We are going to get back to the hospital, though. I’m just worried sick and hate not being with her.”

  “Do not explain. I’m a mother, too.” She releases me and looks at Crew. “Nice to meet you.”

  “Same here,” he grins.

  “Well, you be careful. Call me if you need anything.”

  “We will.”

  “We’ve gotten more donations than I thought,” she says, a curious look on her face. “Do you happen to know anyone by the last name Alexander?”

  I shake my head and look at Crew. He shrugs his shoulders.

  “A man came over and gave me a check for five thousand dollars a few minutes ago. Cane Alexander, I think he said his name was. I’ve never seen him before.”

  I gasp. “Did you say five thousand dollars?”

  She laughs in disbelief. “I don’t know if the check will cash, but we’ll put it in your account. Worth a try, anyway, right?”

  “My God,” I whisper, wondering who he is. “Thank you so much for everything.” I hug her again. “I appreciate this so much.”

  “Go on. You get back to your little girl.”

  “Thank you again,” I say, my voice breaking. “Thank you so much.”

  CREW

  The room on the other side of the wall goes quiet. My stomach twists, reminiscent of the way it feels before a fight. Except there’s no fight today. Not a physical one, anyway.

  In just a few minutes, I have to walk around a thick, black curtain and take a seat a few feet away from Hunter. There’ll be a mic in my face, a swarm of reporters staring at us, hoping to get some quote they can spin. A few reporters asked to meet with me privately before the start of the conference, but I denied them.

  I don’t want to be here.

  This fight isn’t some ploy to get famous or endorsements for me. I’ve seen the reporters come and go from Hunter’s dressing room all afternoon and I know he’s using that to his advantage. He has a whole team around him designed to build press. I look around the room. Sal is leaning against the wall, drinking coffee from a thin paper cup. Will is flipping through his phone. This team was designed to win one fight. That’s all I need.

  My stomach rumbles. I try to focus on what I’m doing and not on what I’m feeling. Because what I’m feeling is like a whore. Not because I’m fighting for money, fuck that, but because I’ve already been informed that the reason why I’m fighting will come up. Apparently the NAFL decided that it was a good marketing ploy and reporters will undoubtedly be asking me questions in regards to Everleigh.

  I don’t want my personal business out there like that. I don’t want her name in the mouths of those vultures. I don’t want what’s precious to me to be tainted with the filth that I know is this industry. I don’t want some asshole in a suit, some silver-spoon fed motherfucker with insurance no less, making money off of my niece’s sickness.

  My blood singes my veins. I stand up, needing air.

  Will looks up from his phone. “Keep your head together.”

  “How in the fuck do I do that?” I kick my chair, sending it skidding across the room.

  “Because,” Will says, standing, too, “if you don’t, those cocksuckers win today.”

  “They already win!” I roar. “I had to call Julia and listen to her cry today! I had to tell her it’s going to be okay when she takes her sick kid home later on and I’m not there because I’m here, fucking using her situation, splashing her business all over the fucking med
ia!”

  “This situation blows. I get it. I do. But, man, look at it this way: maybe this will get people to donate. Maybe this will help them.”

  I pace a circle, untucking my black dress shirt. Fuck appearances.

  “Just go out there and say what you want. Don’t say what you don’t want. But stay fucking calm. Hunter’s gonna try to get under your skin. You know this. So be prepared.”

  I laugh and watch Sal toss his cup in the trash. “I want to break his face on any given day. How do I stay calm when he’s across the table from me, asking me to fuck him up?”

  Will laughs and shrugs. “Pretend you aren’t you, I guess.”

  Sal walks towards me, his face stern. “You have a few weeks ‘til the fight, Gentry. Your sidekick here is right. Davidson is going to try to work you up. That’s why we’re here, to some extent. You know that. Play with it, try to have some fun with it. Use this to your advantage.”

  “What if I just smash him in the face?”

  “Then I’ll jump across the men with pens and start throwing. I’ve got your back.”

  “Don’t encourage him, Will,” Sal barks.

  “Be ready to bang,” I wink at Will.

  “If you don’t fucking stop, Davidson won’t have a chance to kick both your asses because I will,” Sal says, popping open the door. “It’s showtime.”

  CREW

  I didn’t know cameras still clicked.

  I walk up the steps and onto the stage. A long table is set up along the edge, a podium separating the two sides. Journalists and members of the media are sitting in folding chairs facing the man standing at the podium. I take the last step and make eye contact with Hunter Davidson coming up the other side.

  Suddenly, this room doesn’t seem big enough for both of us.

  He smirks, his surfer-boy blonde hair sticking up every which way.

  I want to rip him apart right now. And he hasn’t even said anything yet.

  Sal and Will are sitting in the front row, facing the seat I pull out. Coach gives me a look, obviously noticing I’m ready to rock. He points to his head, mouthing, “Use it.”

  I grab a seat as Kyle French taps the mic. He’s the face of the NAFL, a slightly overweight former fighter turned mouthpiece, a guy who, quite frankly, couldn’t walk the fucking walk.

  “On behalf of the NAFL, I want to thank you all for being here today. We are so excited about this card coming your way on July 13th.”

  The journalists’ cameras click, the lights above us hot. The air is thick, the room filled to capacity.

  “Not only are you getting the title fight between Deacon Love and Mario Brusci, you’re going to get to see two old enemies go head-to-head in the form of Hunter Davidson and Crew Gentry. It’s going to be an amazing night!”

  Kyle glances at Hunter, then me, and then turns back to the crowd. “All right. Let’s get down to business. This is gonna be one helluva fight! On this hand, we have Hunter who has been tearin’ up everyone we’ve thrown at him since his debut. No one’s made it through the second round against this animal. On this hand, we have Crew Gentry, a kid that owns the only blemish on Hunter’s record.”

  “Tickets go on sale today for this card and I suggest you get them quick. This fight alone will be worth it,” he says. “Now let’s open the floor to your questions! Media, raise your hand and we’ll send someone out with a mic.”

  I keep my eyes focused on the back wall and try not to buy into the chaos surrounding me. Hunter is pulling some antics on the other side because I see heads turning towards him and laughter erupts.

  Focus.

  “Bob from The Gazette. Kyle, this fight is replacing the one that was supposed to happen between Davidson and Reyes. What made the NAFL decide to replace Reyes with Gentry?”

  I look at Kyle. He’s shifting from one foot to another like he’s jacked the fuck up. “Well, to be honest, there wasn’t anyone left in this division that would be an interesting fight. Davidson’s pretty much cleaned out this division and his camp didn’t want to wait the nine, ten months to see him fight again. When Gentry resurfaced,” he grins, “well, there’s not an empty seat in the house tonight.”

  Laughter ensues.

  “Lowell from Boston MMA. Davidson, this is for you. We know the last time you met with Gentry, he took you to the final minute of the fight. And he beat you. Granted, you are both in much different places right now, but what’s your prediction of this fight?”

  Davidson’s laughter fills the room. It’s like nails down a chalkboard.

  “Yeah, I’d say we are in a different place right now. I’m a professional fighter, the champ no less, and he’s making $18 an hour on the docks.” I don’t know what he does, but the crowd laughs again. “Seriously, none of my opponents have taken me outta round two. I think it’s safe to say this fight will be ended fast and hard.”

  “Oni from One Division. Gentry, your last fight that we know of took place against Davidson and concurrently ended your career. Now you’re back. What makes you think you can walk back into the fighting world and be competitive?”

  Oni gives the mic back and stands with his little notepad and watches me. He has on his requisite MMA shirt and smarmy smile. I laugh because no matter what I say, a guy like this won’t get it.

  I lean towards the mic attached to the table in front of me. “Once a fighter, always a fighter.”

  The journalists all begin chattering, cameras clicking again, and I lean back and watch.

  “Jerry from Meosho Tribune. Gentry, word going around is that you’re fighting so your niece can get a medical procedure. Is that true? If so, are you prepared to actually fight or are you just doing it for a paycheck.”

  “Let me cut in here real quick,” Kyle says, glancing at me. “Crew’s contract is an all or nothing deal, which means if he doesn’t win, he gets nothing. He only gets paid if he wins. So I’m pretty sure it’s safe to say the kid is ready to fight. It’d be pointless otherwise.”

  “It’s pointless anyway,” Davidson chuckles through his mic.

  I start to scoot my chair back when Sal shakes his head and points again to his temple.

  Breathe.

  “The rumors are partially true,” I say, feeling a hundred set of eyes on me. “My niece is sick and I will pay for her treatment with my winnings. But I can’t say I’m not chomping at the bit to knock this guy out.”

  “So, you’re predicting a knockout?” Jerry asks, pulling the mic back in front of him. “Can we quote you on that?”

  I shrug. “Quote what you want. I’m telling you I’ll win this fight.”

  “Lisa with Sports One. Gentry, what can you tell us about your niece? How serious is it?”

  “I want to keep the focus on the fight, on me and Davidson. Whatever happens after the fight, what I do with my earnings, is none of anyone’s concern.”

  “You seem very sure of yourself,” she replies.

  “I’m just sure of what I know.”

  “Don with Qurom. Davidson, does what your opponent is fighting for make any difference to you?”

  “You know,” Davidson says, “the charitable side of me almost just paid the tab. But I got to thinking about it and the fighter side of me couldn’t pass up the opportunity to kick this guy’s ass.”

  “Frank with The Tribe. Davidson, what are you looking forward to most about this fight? You’ve already been quoted as saying you think it’s going to be ‘fun.’ Is that what you’re excited about? Or is it clearing your record? Maybe giving the fans something they’ve been demanding for the past few months?”

  “Frank, I’m ready for all of it. Getting in the ring is like home to me. The people in this organization, the fans, they’ve all been great to me and just slipping inside the cage is the only place I want to be. Getting to humiliate this guy in the process is the cherry on top.”

  “Do you worry that maybe getting in the ring with the one guy that’s beat you is a bad idea?” Jerry asks him. “Have you consi
dered what’ll happen to your career if he beats you again?”

  Davidson laughs loudly. “Uh, no. I haven’t. Let’s be real.”

  “I like that question, Jerry,” I say, causing the room to erupt.

  “Do you think you have the key to stopping him?” Someone shouts from across the room.

  “I think the past speaks for itself,” I say into the mic. “I have nothing to prove. I’m just going to go out there and do what I know how to do: beat him.”

  “I’ve waited for this day for years,” Davidson says, turning in his chair. Kyle steps back so we are looking directly at each other. It doesn’t get by me that three large men step onto the stage discreetly, there to keep us from ripping into each other right here. “You might have gotten one over on me in our younger years, but I’ll guarantee you I will destroy you. It’s gonna hurt, brother, hurt like a bitch.” He leans towards me and away from the mic. With a lowered voice and a glimmer in his eye, he says, “You’ll be in the ground before your niece.”

  I’m off the chair in a flash, sending it barreling backwards into the table. I lunge at Hunter, blood soaring past my eardrums so loudly that I’m oblivious to the commotion my actions have caused below. He stands and I’m twisting to throw my first punch when I’m grabbed from behind and pulled backwards.

  I fight against the security, ripping my arms out of their grasps. I struggle forward, needing to feel his blood on me, when I’m hit with another set of arms around my waist.

  “Cool it, Gentry,” one of them whispers in my ear.

  “Fuck you,” I bite out, trying to get away.

  Davidson is being led off the stage across from me peacefully. He glances over his shoulder and smiles.

  “I’m gonna fucking kill him,” I say, shrugging the guys off me. They let go as Davidson disappears and guide me off the stage.

  I hear Kyle tap the mic, settling down the chaos in the chairs below. “Well, if that doesn’t get your blood pumping for this fight, I don’t know what will!”