Prepared to Fight

by E. J. Shortall

  “Miss Buchanan, would you come with me please,” he said.

  I looked at Adam, who looked at Colossus and then back at me and shrugged.

  “Where are we going,” I shouted, grabbing my bag as I stood.

  “Mr Oakes would like to see you,” he replied and began striding off in front of me. I shot a what-the-hell? look at Adam and quickly followed behind. A minute later, we were navigating through corridors littered with people, some in sportswear, others in suits. They all looked at me curiously before continuing with their phone calls or conversations.

  Eventually we stopped outside a closed door and Colossus knocked. The door slowly opened, revealing Nate sitting on a massage bench. He was already prepared for the fight, with his hands and ankles bandaged with blue wraps. His torso was bare and already glistened with a sheen of sweat, and he wore nothing but his black silk shorts. The tattoos covering his body were more prominent than I’d ever seen them, rippling with each movement he made.

  Bernie stood behind him, reeling off directions and advice, but Nate just sat there, his head and shoulders slumped forward as he looked at the ground between his spread thighs. My throat closed up at the sad, lonely image sitting before me. I had expected him to be pumped up and raring to go.

  Cassie appeared from behind the door and gave me a hug. “He needs you, Liv,” she said with a weak smile and called over to Bernie. Bernie looked up and, seeing me in the doorway, whispered something to Nate then quietly left, closing the door behind them. Nate and I had been left alone.

  “Hi,” I said, stepping further into the room. His head shot up, his eyes probing mine as I inched closer.

  “You wanted to see me?” I asked, stepping in front of him.

  “Tell me you’re mine,” he growled, piercing me with dark eyes.

  “I’m yours,” I said without hesitation. “What’s this about, Nate?” I took a further tentative step forward, his look unnerving me.

  “You said you’d fought, Liv. You said I’d won. That no matter what you were mine.”

  Searching his eyes, I saw vulnerability in him I hadn’t seen before. “You have. I am.”

  Suddenly he winced, his eyes looked pained. “Nate, what’s wrong?” The feeling of unease I’d felt all morning began to resurface.

  He shook his head. “Nothing, I’m fine. Liv, if that’s true, tell me, what is he doing here?”

  My brows pulled in with confusion. “Who?”

  “Him,” he roared, waving an arm in the general direction of the arena.

  Suddenly it made sense. “If you’re talking about Adam, he was worried about me. He wanted to be here to support me. And you.”

  Nate looked down and rubbed at his temple, battling with his own thoughts.

  “Nate, I promise, you won. There is nothing between Adam and me. I love you,” I said desperately, needing him to understand.

  The table shook as Nate jumped off, sending it scooting back several inches. “I saw you, Liv,” he hissed getting into my face. “I came back to surprise you. I wanted a moment of fucking peace in this crazy day to enjoy some quiet time with you.”

  “There was nothing to see,” I said, pleading. “Why are you being like this?”

  “He was fucking kissing you, Liv. He was all over you.” His voice broke as he closed his eyes. “He was touching you.”

  “Nate, no!” I flung myself forward, determined to show him I was his. “It wasn’t like that, I promise. Please understand,” I begged.

  “He had his lips on you,” he whispered.

  “He was just comforting me. I was crying for you, Nate. I was overwhelmed by what I feel for you, about everything I’ve been through during this trip. He was being my friend. He knows I love you.”

  He paused, his hand lifting but stopping before it touched me.

  “You were crying?” he finally asked sadly and rubbed his thumb along my cheek. “Because of me?” I bit my lip and looked away. The pain and regret in his eyes was killing me. “Fuck! Liv, I’m so sorry.” His arms wrapped around me instantaneously. Hugging me tight to his chest, he buried his nose in my hair.

  “I have never been scared of anything in my life. Even when I left home not knowing where I was going or what I would do, I never felt fear. But seeing you in another man’s arms, Liv, I was absolutely fucking terrified.”

  Sagging against the warmth of his skin, I buried my face into his neck and circled my arms around his waist. “I never wanted this, Nate. I had no intentions of falling for anyone. I was career focused and love was not an option. But you… you drew me in. How could I not end up falling for you?”

  I breathed him in, savouring his unique scent, feeling immediately at ease. It was like he had become my strength. Without him, I was comfortable and had survived. In his arms, I felt indestructible. He gave me strength, peace and a sense of belonging. I belonged to him.

  Our moment of peace and contentment was broken by the sound of the door opening and footsteps crossing the tiled floor.

  “Sorry to break this up, you two lovebirds, but Nate needs to get ready.” Bernie laughed, strolling over to Nate to check his wrist and ankle wraps.

  “I guess I better get back to my seat,” I whispered backing away.

  Nate kept his eyes on me until I was at the door. “Remember, Liv, I’ve already fought and won.” I smiled and mothed I love you as I backed out.

  Back in the auditorium, I dropped into my seat and took another look around the room. Every seat was now occupied and the growing anticipation of the crowd had reached a whole new level. Suddenly, nothing felt real. Looking around the hundreds of people that believed in Nate and were there to support him was intimidating as much as it was pleasing. But fear began to slither through my veins once again. I couldn’t help but hope the optimism and faith of all these people was founded because I was suddenly terrified for Nate. I had a sinking feeling in my gut that I wasn’t sure was just down to nerves.

  By the time the compere had climbed into the cage, the room had roared to life. While everyone else was chanting and calling out Nate’s name, I wanted to run and beg him not to fight. The ominous feeling that had hounded me all day now totally consumed me. Totally oblivious to my inner fears, the room around me had become a hive of activity. Fans eagerly called for the main fight of the evening, while the security presence on all doors and along the main walkway through the crowd doubled. The lights went completely out and there was a moment of utter silence, the calm before the storm. Suddenly, a thumping dance track filled the room while strobe and laser lights danced. It should have been an exciting time. Instead, I feared every moment.

  After being introduced, Sanchez appeared at the top of the main walkway and slowly made his way down. I felt physically ill watching him bouncing around, lifting his hands in the air and fist bumping fans as though he’d already won.

  When Nate’s name rang out around the arena, the noise of the crowd became unbearable. I should have been revelling in the excitement for him, joining in the cheering for him, but I couldn’t. My heart was in my throat as my palms grew clammy with nerves and my pulse quickened. He walked along that pathway with the posture of a fully focused athlete, but I could see the emptiness and pain in his eyes and the nervous twitch in his arm. He didn’t want to be out there just as much as I didn’t want him to be.

  “Oh God, Nate, why are you doing this?” I whispered to myself. Something in his eyes sent a knife to my heart.

  He climbed into the octagon and stood near the side, moving his gum shield around in his mouth and rocking his head from side to side. Roy and Bernie stood behind him on the other side of the mesh, shouting out tactics and instructions. Nate didn’t appear to be listening. His stony, almost black stare was focused on Sanchez. He didn’t bounce around like his opponent nor did he react when Sanchez tried squaring up to him. Nate simply stared him in the eye, giving nothing away. In that moment, Sanchez’s whole demeanour changed. Gone was the arrogance of his entrance. Now, he was fully focu
sed, studying Nate and looking for any sign of weakness. The looks exchanged between the two sent shivers down my spine. I wrapped my arms around myself and shifted closer to Adam. I hoped the heat from his body would warm me up. I also hoped being close to my best friend could help ease the terror that was beginning to consume me.

  A nervous energy seemed to sweep through the crowd as the octagon cleared, leaving just Nate, Sanchez and the referee. My breath caught when they touched gloves and the fight began. They were tentative at first, both fighters moving around the octagon, pushing out the occasional testing arm or sweeping a cautious leg. One minute they were almost dancing, the next, Sanchez had moved in throwing a hard right hand that caught Nate’s chin and sent his head cracking back. Nate shook off the punch and countered by putting all of his weight into a punch that had Sanchez dropping to the canvas. The crowd roared, thrilled by the barbaric sport playing out in front of them. I shifted in closer to Adam, just resisting the urge to bury my face into his chest so I couldn’t watch. Nate followed Sanchez down on to the cage floor, pinning him with his legs. His fists rained punch after punch down on his opponent. The crowd thundered, chanting Nate’s name over and over as he claimed his place as the dominant fighter.

  Yet still, I couldn’t shift the ominous feeling.

  Four minutes into the first round, Nate had taken Sanchez down several times, but he hadn’t managed to pull off a knock out move or a hold that made Sanchez tap out. The audience grew restless. They wanted blood.

  As Nate’s speed and aggressiveness increased, so did his sloppiness. Just before the horn sounded to signal the end of the first round, Sanchez caught Nate with another iron fist. My breath caught when Nate’s face bounced backwards. His eyes were closed and his face was pinched in a mix of pain and blankness. Sanchez caught him again, this time with a kick to the side that sent Nate stumbling back a few paces. The crowd, now at fever pitch, were shouting, weaving and bobbing along with the fighters, yelling at Nate to pull it back together. Sanchez was getting back in to the match.

  I breathed a huge sigh of relief when the horn bellowed out across the room and the fighting stopped temporarily. I would say Nate had won that round but he’d been letting Sanchez in. The fighters moved to their separate corners where tactics were discussed, tired muscles were cooled and hydration replenished. I watched Nate’s corner intently, silently sending him all my love and my belief that he had this.

  Adam wrapped his arm around my shoulders, whispering his own encouragement for my man. He knew me well and could tell how nervous I was. While Nate gulped down a drink, Bernie gestured wildly with his hands, no doubt yelling at him for getting too sloppy. He didn’t respond to Bernie nor did he seem to acknowledge him in any way.

  My concern hit an all-time high when Nate’s stony expression focused on me for a brief moment from across the cage. His breathing was harsh from his exertions. Sweat coated his taught, tanned skin, but he was tense. Too tense.

  Soon the horn was blaring out across the arena again, and both fighters returned to the centre. It became apparent that my worry over Nate’s well-being was not unfounded. Something was definitely not right. His kicks and punches grew sloppy and slow. People all around began shouting for him to lift his guard when his arms hung limply by his sides. Sanchez soon had the better of him, ploughing him with sickening knee strikes and punches. A harsh right hook caught Nate on the chin and he went tumbling to the canvas. Sanchez was on him immediately. Locking his legs around Nate’s body, and his arms around his neck, he held tight, not offering any mercy.

  I screamed and jumped to my feet.

  “Tap out, Nate! Tap out!” I yelled over and over, but he wouldn’t move. He didn’t fight back. Sanchez tightened his hold and still Nate remained motionless.

  Something was very, very wrong.

  I continued screaming, begging Nate to tap out as the referee ran in and pushed Sanchez away, declaring the fight over. My begging wails continued as paramedics were urgently ushered in to the octagon and to an unmoving Nate. My terror-filled wails didn’t stop when Adam pulled me into his arms as Nate was rushed past us on a stretcher. They only eased up when I collapsed against Adam, sobbing like I had never sobbed before.

  ~CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE~

  Time, sometimes we wished it would hurry up because we had somewhere wonderful to be, or had something exciting to do. Other times we wanted it to stop so we could remain in a happy moment. We would savour it, relish in it, capturing the memory like we would a photograph, as something we never wanted to forget. Then there were the occasions we wanted to go back in time so we could prevent something terrible from happening. I stared at the big, black, carved hands on the huge clock hanging on the wall and wished we could turn them back a couple of hours.

  If I could go back in time, I would have tried to stop Nate from leaving his dressing room for the fight. I would have told him over and over how much I loved him. I would have never left his side. If I’d only been able to stop him from stepping into the octagon with Sanchez, then I wouldn’t have been sitting by his side now, terrified beyond belief. But the thing with time is that it doesn’t stop. You can’t turn it back. All you can do is go with the steady tick tock of that second hand as it paces out our lives, controlling and mocking us.

  My heart hammered in my chest as I stepped up to Nate’s still body lying on the bench. He looked pale, his face pinched into a hint of a grimace. A lump had formed above his left eyebrow, the flesh in the centre of it torn and brutal looking. A young guy, who had been tending to Nate’s wounds and monitoring him, stepped away, giving me the room to move in close. Taking his hand between mine, I squeezed gently, hoping for a reaction. “Nate, come on, sexy, open your eyes for me.” The desperate tone of my voice echoed through the room as my shaking hands held his tightly, waiting for any movement. When he didn’t respond, my heart sank a little further. Why won’t he wake up?

  Having pulled myself together, I’d dodged through the mayhem of stunned fans, inquisitive journalists and security personnel to find Nate. He had been stretchered out to his dressing room where a team of medics were watching and monitoring him closely. I begged them over and over to take Nate to the hospital, to do something. The reply was simple; there was no need because he was breathing and responding on his own. It was only a matter of time before he came round. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. One of the doctors was talking animatedly to Mal in a quiet, darkened corner, and I couldn’t help but wonder if Mal was part of the reason why Nate was still there and not being whisked away in a speeding ambulance. I hated him. After everything he had put Nate through before the fight, I felt like he was now endangering Nate’s life by insisting the medics treat him there. In reality, I didn’t know if it was anything to do with him, but I felt he was to blame for this somehow.

  I felt torn. I couldn’t move Nate myself, and everybody else trusted that the doctors knew what they were doing. All I could do was sit tight and pray those ticking second hands were not a countdown to something I wouldn’t dare contemplate. I’d only just got him, there was no way I could handle losing him.

  I startled when a body appeared in my peripheral vision and looked up into the warm, smiling eyes of the other medic treating Nate.

  “Excuse me, mademoiselle, let me try this.” The guy, whose name badge introduced him as Esra, moved up beside Nate, and I took a step back. He pulled a small bottle out of his pocket and hesitated a moment, cocking his head to the side as he searched for any signs of awareness from Nate. I looked at him in confusion until he twisted the lid off the bottle. “Smelling salts,” he clarified, lifting the lid and wafting the small bottle beneath Nate’s nostrils.

  Watching with bated breath, I gasped when Nate’s chest suddenly expanded with a deep inhalation of breath. His chest rose and fell sharply a few times before, finally, his eyes began to flicker open.

  “Oh my God, Nate!” I cried, gripping his hand tightly as confused, unfocused eyes blinked up at the ceiling. In r
eality, he’d only been unconscious for a matter of minutes, but it felt like hours, days even. Every emotion ran through me while I stared at Nate: fear for what had happened, joy that he was coming round, anger that he’d been left this way and nobody seemed to care… it went on and on.

  I found myself being shoved out of the way by Esra and the other medic who finally seemed to be concerned about Nate’s wellbeing. Reluctantly, I moved off to the side, plastering myself against the wall to give them space. As the adrenalin in my system slowly began to recede with each second that passed, I began to feel as though I too might pass out any minute. My palms were sweating more than they ever had before. I had to clasp my hands together in a vain attempt at controlling the shakes, and my legs felt as though every muscle had been removed. Any moment now, they would give out, and I’d be a crumpled, emotional heap on the floor.

  As Nate’s alertness slowly improved, he was monitored closely until finally he was able to clearly formulate responses to their questions. With tears in my eyes, I stayed back, watching the man I loved come back to me.

  The quiet order of the room was soon disrupted by the sound of Wes’s voice bellowing down the corridor. “Get out of the fucking way,” he yelled. Along with, “He’s my goddamned brother.” It was the first time I’d ever heard emotion in Wes’s voice. He was usually so jovial and fun spirited. Nothing ever seemed to faze him. Until now.

  The door swung open and Wes came barrelling in, looking angry yet terrified. Dressed in black track pants adorned with sponsorship logos and a plain black T-shirt, he looked just like most of the other people milling around behind the scenes of the big arena. But the graze above his right eyebrow, now pulled taut by the widening of his eyes, showed Wes had been through a battle of his own. Ignoring everybody else in the room, Wes hurried to Nate’s side, stopping just inches from him. He was breathing heavily, his shoulders rising and falling with each attempt to control his emotions.