Takedown

by Gemma Brooks

  “I like it, yeah,” he said. “I’ve just always been a fighter. It’s like second nature to me. If I could fight long enough to make some money, I could take care of Frankie and my dad. That’s all I want. Just want to take care of my family.”

  His protective nature was charming. “That’s really nice of you.”

  “Think you’ll ever leave Wagner someday?” Rowdy asked.

  “I don’t plan to, no,” I said. “Wagner is home. This place sort of sucks you in, doesn’t it?”

  Rowdy nodded. “It can.”

  “Plus, I could never leave my dad,” I said. “He wouldn’t know what to do with himself. What about you? You want to leave Wagner?”

  “I do,” he said. “I’d love to have a life outside of this town. Maybe meet someone, move out to the west coast, try something different for a change. I’ve always wanted to live someplace with palm trees and water.”

  “Yeah, Utah’s definitely lacking palm trees,” I chuckled. His little dream sounded lovely, and all, but Wagner was just as lovely too. At least to me. I could never imagine leaving the familiar streets and neighborhoods and restaurants and landscapes that I called home.

  “You two need anything else?” our waitress asked as she slapped the check on the end of the table.

  “No thanks,” I said with a smile as Rowdy shook his head.

  I reached into my purse for my wallet, but before I had a chance, Rowdy had grabbed the ticket.

  “I’ve got this,” he insisted.

  “No,” I said. “This is supposed to be my way of thanking you for fixing my car. My treat, remember?”

  “What kind of man lets a woman pay for dinner?” he asked with an incredulous face. He slapped some cash on top of the check and slid it to the end of the table. “Ready to go?”

  My heart warmed at the notion that he fully accepted my dinner invitation knowing he wasn’t going to allow me to pay. In a weird way, it was almost like an actual date.

  Rowdy followed as I headed to my car. The sun had long since retreated past the horizon and the crickets and cicadas were now chirping in full force around us. Under the glow of the parking lot lights, I could feel him staring at me. He didn’t want this to end just as much as I didn’t want it to end.

  “Thanks for dinner,” I said as I lingered outside my car. “And thanks for fixing this beast.”

  He cracked a half smile. “No problem, Gia.”

  He took a few steps closer, into my space, and I realized then just how much he towered over me. I tracked backwards until I landed on the hood of my car, where I took a seat. He had to have been almost a whole foot taller than me and almost twice my weight. A petite little Italian girl, I had rarely been around guys his size. The men in my family weren’t nearly as big as Rowdy.

  I began to feel the heat from his body as he stepped closer and closer to me. His hand slowly reached up and cupped the side of my cheek, tilting my face upwards as his lips came down to meet mine. For a strong man like Rowdy, his kiss was tender and delicate and unexpectedly sweet.

  His other hand slipped down around my lower back as he pulled me into him. My body nearly went limp as an overabundance of anticipation flooded through me like water through a broken dam. All the tension and awkwardness was beginning to dissipate as he held me in his arms in the parking lot of the local diner.

  My hands slipped around his narrow, chiseled waist and rested on his hips. He was solid. Pure muscle. And the most tender of souls.

  As his hands caressed the side of my face, his kiss began to fade as he stepped back.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I should get going. It’s getting late. I’ll see you Friday?”

  “See you Friday,” I said, the taste of him still on my lips.

  CHAPTER 5

  “Did you hear the big news?” Eastwood cornered me the second I entered the warehouse that Friday night.

  “No, what’s that?” I replied. His excitement was almost contagious¸ but I was hesitant to join in until I knew what the hell he was talking about.

  “Rowdy has been offered sponsorship,” Eastwood said. His wrinkled, gray eyes sparkled as he beamed the smile of a proud coach. “Do you have any idea what this means?”

  I smiled and shook my head ‘no’. I only knew what it was going to mean for me. I only knew it meant Rowdy was going to be swept out of my life just as soon as he’d come into it.

  “He’s going to be fighting some big names,” Eastwood said, smile plastered permanently across his face. “He’s going to be making real money. People are going to pay lots of money to see him fight. This? This is nothing right here. Nothing. He’s going to be billed on pay-per-view fights and flown across the country for matches. This is incredible. Just incredible.”

  Eastwood continued to ramble on about how great this sponsorship was going to be for Rowdy, but I tuned it all out.

  “He’s had a lot of concussions,” I interrupted him. “Did you know that?”

  Eastwood stopped rambling and his smile faded. “So?”

  “It’s probably not a good idea for him to go pro,” I said. “For all we know, he’s one bad blow away from permanent brain damage. Medically I can’t advise it.”

  “Hey, that’s Rowdy’s call,” Eastwood said as he threw his hands up in the air.

  My gaze honed in on Rowdy across the room and made a beeline for him. He was speaking to some guy in a long trench coat and shaking his hand.

  “Excuse me,” I interrupted. I positioned myself between Rowdy and the guy I could only assume was the scout.

  “One minute,” Rowdy said to the guy as he led me aside.

  “You can’t do this,” I blurted out. “You can’t fight anymore.”

  Rowdy’s lips curled into his signature subtle grin. He probably wondered how I had the guts to demand such a thing, and suddenly I was wondering too. Where was this coming from?

  “You’ve had too many concussions, Rowdy,” I said. “This isn’t safe anymore.”

  “You’re right,” he said as he squared his shoulders back. “This isn’t safe. This underground warehouse bullshit. They have rules in the pros, Gia. I’ll be safer there. And I’ll actually make more than a hundred bucks a fight. I’ll be making real money. I finally get to take care of my family.”

  “Fight’s about to start, Rowdy,” Eastwood said. He’d come out of nowhere.

  “I thought you’d be happy for me,” Rowdy said. His crystal blue eyes searched mine for an ounce of understanding.

  His expression changed as he got into his zone and took his place in the octagon across from his opponent. As I hurried past the men in suits to take my seat, I averted my eyes. I’d have rather stared at the cold, gray concrete floors for a half hour than watch the fight knowing it was going to be he last time I’d ever see him.

  The fight ended shortly with Rowdy throwing the final punch that knocked out his opponent. The poor guy didn’t even stand a chance. Eastwood motioned for me to come over and clean Rowdy up. Blood trickled down from his eyebrow and his left eye was starting to swell.

  “Great fight, kid,” Eastwood said as he rubbed Rowdy’s shoulders. “You did good.”

  The gentleman in the trench coat sauntered over to us, and I wanted to smack the smirk right off his face. He was clearly proud of his newest recruit.

  “Zanical XT is going to be stoked to have you on board, Mr. Matthews,” the man said. “We’ll get your new gear and schedule to you soon. We’d like to get going on this as soon as possible. I’ve got some paperwork in here you’ll need to sign, and then we should be ready to move forward.”

  The man sat his briefcase down on an unoccupied folding chair next to Rowdy and began rifling through stacks of paperwork. This was real. This was really happening.

  “Gia,” Rowdy said. His eyes studied my face. “Why are you so quiet?”

  I shot him the most incredulous look I could muster and locked my lips tight. I had nothing to say to him.

  “Hey, hey,” a man said from
behind me. I spun around to see a guy in his mid-forties who was almost the spitting image of Rowdy, same crystal blue eyes and all. Behind him stood a smiling Frankie who had clearly abandoned his signature sulk for once.

  I finished cleaning up Rowdy’s cuts and packed up my kit before slipping out of the chaos and excitement that surrounded him. I’d never felt so disappointed in my life. How could Rowdy sacrifice his health for money? How could he be so quick to abandon whatever it was that was slowly starting to build between us. I felt it. He had to have felt it too or else he wouldn’t have kissed me that night in the parking lot.

  “I’m leaving,” I said to Eastwood in passing as I walked out. He turned and shot me a confused look, but I jetted out of there before he had a chance to talk me out of it. I’d heard someone talk about going out for celebratory drinks earlier, but I was having no part in any of it.

  Soggy tears streamed down my cheeks as I drove home in my better-than-new Corolla. I chided myself for getting wrapped up in some stupid fantasy. I’d misread the cues, I told myself. He was just a nice guy who wanted to fix my car for free for no reason. He kissed me for no reason. He wanted to get to know me better for no reason. It all made perfect sense. My inner sarcasm ran rampant as hot tears nearly obscured my vision.

  “Stupid, stupid,” I whispered. “Stupid girl.”

  The idea that I had something with Rowdy Matthews was a fantasy that was all. A flash in the pan. A lonely girl’s daydream. Rowdy Matthews no longer existed and maybe, in a way, it was better if he never did.

  CHAPTER 6

  “Gin and tonic please.” I’d been waiting patiently for the bartender to come and take my order. The bar was unusually packed, especially for a Friday night. A week from hell at the clinic had prompted some of us nurses to go out for a few much deserved drinks after work.

  The bartender came back with my drink and I handed him a rumpled $10 bill I’d found at the bottom of my purse beneath a pack of Mentos and some uncapped pens. All day long I’d been looking forward to this very moment. I intended to drink myself into oblivion that night. I needed to escape into some alternate reality where Rowdy Matthews didn’t exist.

  It had been three, maybe four months since I’d last seen him. Who was I kidding? I knew exactly how long it had been: three months, five days, and two hours. Not an hour went by where he didn’t cross my mind. He was like an earworm. He was stuck in my head and I couldn’t get him out no matter what I did.

  “Hey look who it is,” a gentleman sitting next to me yelled out. “Turn up the T.V.!”

  The bartender grabbed a remote as my eyes traveled up to the flat screen T.V. that was mounted on the far wall. Across the bottom of the screen was the caption: Rowdy Matthews.

  My hands gripped the bar as I tried not to fall out of my seat.

  “Hey, don’t you know him?” my co-worker, Ashley, said as she nudged me. I’d told her briefly once before that we sort of dated. It was nearly impossible not to talk about someone who was constantly on my mind.

  The bartender fiddled with the remote in an attempt to get the sound from the T.V. to play over the speakers instead of the country music that blared from every corner. As soon as the music faded the sound of commentators took its place.

  “Now this is Rowdy Matthews’ first ever UFC fight,” the commentator said. “Hailing from Wagner, Utah and fighting at 205, this guy comes complete with his own reputation and one hell of a backstory. Rumor has it he’s never lost a fight before.”

  “Now I cannot wait to see him in the ring,” the other commentator added. “This, folks, is going to be one of the best tickets of the season. Mark my words. You folks watching this tonight, you’re about to see history in the making.”

  The camera panned over to Rowdy who was shadowboxing in the corner as a man, presumably his new coach, talked to him and prepped him for the fight. His wavy, shoulder-length sandy blond hair had been chopped completely off. It hardly looked like him anymore. And his body was jacked. He was jacked before but never like this. His muscles ripped and tore through his freshly leaned out physique.

  Shiny cobalt blue shorts with the Zanical XT logo emblazoned on the rear were cinched in tight around his narrow waist.

  “Where is this?” I asked the guy sitting next to me. He’d long since abandoned his beer and his eyes were glued to the screen.

  “Vegas,” he replied, never looking away.

  Suddenly I didn’t care about finishing my gin and tonic. Seeing Rowdy in action lit a fire within me; the same fire that had died the day I walked out of that warehouse. For the first time in months, I was happy for him. It wasn’t about me. It wasn’t about rejection. It was about Rowdy’s dreams finally coming true. None of it dulled the pain of missing him, but I couldn’t help but be thrilled that he’d gone on to do better things. He was too good for Wagner anyway.

  The rest of the evening was one giant blur of cheering bar patrons, excited sports commentators, punches, jabs, and ground and pounds and ended with a TKO. Rowdy won his match against his seasoned opponent, and the crowd went wild.

  “That fight was incredible,” the man next to me said. “And to think, that kid’s from little old Wagner. Goes to show you anyone can get lucky these days.”

  “It wasn’t luck,” I corrected him. “He worked his ass off.”

  The man shot me a look as if to say he wasn’t talking to me in the first place. I slid off my bar stool and leaned over to Ashley and the girls.

  “I’m taking off,” I said. I slung my purse over my shoulder and gave a quick wave.

  Ashley pouted. “So soon? You’ve only had one drink! We were supposed to get stupid drunk tonight. You promised.”

  “Not tonight,” I said. The truth was, I wasn’t even that big of a drinker. I just wanted to feel nothing for once. “Maybe another time.”

  The girls looked disappointed, but I knew my departure wasn’t going to stop them from painting the town red that night. Come Monday morning, I knew I’d hear all about it too.

  The second I got to my car, I pulled out my phone. My finger thumbed across the screen until I got to Rowdy’s contact. I’d managed to go radio silent on him, foolishly trying to prove a point that I probably didn’t have in the first place. Maybe if I hadn’t have been so presumptive or stubborn, we’d have been in a different place.

  “Just saw the fight. Congrats.” My fingers typed the message feverishly. My thumb hovered over the send button for thirty seconds too long before finally launching my message to Rowdy.

  CHAPTER 7

  I grabbed the next patient’s file from the rack Monday morning and couldn’t believe it when I saw the name across the tab.

  “Roger?” I called out into the patient waiting area. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to hug him or crawl into a corner and hide. I hadn’t exactly left things with him on the best of terms.

  “Gia,” he said, his wrinkly eyes kind and forgiving. “It’s good to see you.”

  I led him into an exam room. “So we’re just doing a follow up today?”

  My palms began to sweat. He was the one and only link I had to Rowdy, and I was dying to hear how he was doing. My text Friday night had gone unanswered.

  “How have you been?” Eastwood asked. “Miss having you at the fights.”

  “You find another freight train, did you?” I replied as I listened to his heart with my stethoscope. He reeked of old man cologne and cigarette smoke. Same old Eastwood. “Deep breaths.”

  I pulled out the blood pressure cuff, unfastened the Velcro, and wrapped it around his arm. Focusing on my job was becoming more and more difficult around him as I thought of nothing but Rowdy.

  “Sure did,” he replied. “Not nearly as tough as Rowdy, but he’ll do for now.”

  “You ever hear from him anymore?” I asked. I couldn’t resist. It was practically on the tip of my tongue and it was bound to come out sooner or later.

  “Oh, not too often,” Eastwood said. “His sponsors made him get a real coach.” He
placed a slow, drawn out emphasis on ‘real’.

  “What?” I replied. “That’s dumb.”

  “They’ve got him on a tight schedule,” he continued. “I hear from him once in a while.”

  “That’s nice that he still talks to you,” I said with an eye roll. “I texted him Friday night and he didn’t respond.”

  “You have his new number, right?” Eastwood asked. “He got a new number.”

  He reached down and pulled his phone from his pocket.

  “Here, let me give it to you.” He began rattling off numbers.