Prepared to Fight

by E. J. Shortall

  “What the fuck happened out there?” Despite his hard words, Wes’s voice broke as he addressed his brother.

  Nate blinked and looked at Wes. His features were still cloudy, confused by his ordeal. “I… I’m not sure,” Nate stuttered, trying to sit up. The doctor by his side gently pushed on his shoulder to get him to lie still, while he yet again checked his vitals.

  “You scared the shit out of me. I didn’t know what the fuck was happening. I was stuck in the press room doing an interview with a know-it-all bitch when all hell broke loose outside the door. I would have been here sooner, Nate. If I’d have known, I would have been here for you.” The panic Wes had been consumed by left his tightly-strung body. He dropped back onto a nearby chair, burying his face in his hands, visibly shaking.

  “Hey Wes, it’s okay. I’m okay.” Nate glared at the doctor, daring him to say anything as he awkwardly pulled his weakened body to a sitting position, his legs dangling over the side of the bench. “Wes, look at me.” His voice was soft, yet commanding, despite his fragile state.

  I was still shaking as I stood against the wall, watching the two brothers interact. I knew what Nate had told me of their past, but the two of them had always seemed like chalk and cheese, like they simply tolerated each other because they were of the same blood. However, witnessing the two of them now, it was clear their occasional arguments and incessant bickering were nothing more than typical sibling interactions. They were as close as two brothers could possibly be. It hit me that Wes actually idolised his brother. Why else would he have ended up following Nate’s footsteps into the world of MMA? Wes respected Nate, that much was evident, and I now appreciated why. Not only was Nate his older brother, he was also like his dad, best friend and favourite uncle all rolled into one.

  Wes lifted his eyes to meet Nate’s. For a moment, neither of them spoke. They communicated with a language only the two brothers could understand. Finally, Wes sighed, his voice soft when he said, “They said you weren’t waking up, Nate. I thought… I thought I’d lost you.” I could see it on his face, his absolute terror that he could have lost his brother, the one person in his life he had always been able to rely on.

  Nate moved forward on the bench but thought better of trying to stand when he seemed to sway. He closed his eyes briefly and shook his head, as though trying to shake away the disorientation. “Well, as you can see, you had no such luck. I’m still here, albeit with a massive headache.” His face screwed up, seeming to consider why that was the case.

  “So what happened out there?” Wes asked again, sniffing and blinking rapidly as if trying to hold back tears.

  Nate frowned. “I don’t know. One minute I was in full control, I had him. The next… I don’t know. I felt disorientated and then… nothing. I can’t remember anything.”

  I watched on quietly as the doctors continued to check on Nate while he chatted quietly to Wes. I was contemplating leaving them to their privacy when Nate realised I was there. The moment his eyes met mine, his lips pulled up into a smile that stole my breath. It wasn’t full like the friendly grins I was used to; it was almost shy and vulnerable. I’d seen it on him twice before: once when we’d been kayaking, the second time just the night before, after I’d told him I loved him. On both of those occasions, he’d dropped his defences and opened up to me, letting me see the real man behind the macho mask.

  Returning Nate’s smile, and grateful that he seemed to be okay, I took a step forward. Without warning, the door swung open again and a dark presence filled the doorway. The head of every person in the room shot up, looking towards the visitor. The air suddenly felt oppressive, and goosebumps prickled along my skin as Damián Sanchez strolled in. Dressed in a black, well-tailored suit and a crisp, white shirt, it would have been easy to dismiss him as a well-mannered, cultured sophisticate… until you looked at his face. His evil grin and the menacing darkness of his eyes proved he was anything but a refined gentleman.

  “So you’re awake then… what a shame.”

  I gasped, horrified he could say such a thing.

  Wes was out of his seat and standing beside Nate in an instant, crossing his arms over his chest. To most people, he would have seemed intimidating, but next to Nate and Sanchez he looked small and unimposing.

  Sanchez chuckled and moved to stand in front of Nate, ignoring the eyes of every person in the room. “Call off your puppy, Oakes. Does he think he’s going to piss on me or something?”

  Wes growled and took a step towards Sanchez, clenching his fists. Nate shot out an arm, holding his brother back. “What do you want, Damián? You got your win.” I watched Nate closely. Knowing he’d lost the fight would be killing him. Not understanding what happened would be fucking with his mind. During all the mayhem that had happened prior to the fight, Nate had been resolute in his determination to win. For Nate it wasn’t a matter of bragging rights, or the money, it was about proving to himself and everybody else that he was strong: strong in body, strong in mind. To lose would show a level of weakness, and Nate never wanted to appear weak. I now knew that was because of his upbringing, because of wanting to prove to his absent parents that he was worthy of something.

  Sanchez clasped his hands in front of him. “You’re right, I did win… so why do I still feel cheated?”

  Everyone stood around watching, waiting, not knowing what to do or what to say. The animosity between the two was palpable, and I feared that even in Nate’s weakened condition, he would still allow Sanchez to rile him to the point of wanting to fight back. Mal was still in the corner, cowering away, not saying or doing anything. I wanted to scream and shout at him, to yell at him to protect his guy, but he just stood there with wide, uneasy eyes. The medics stood a few feet behind Nate, also looking uneasy and unsure. Wes was glowering at Sanchez, his hands in permanent fists by his side. I knew if an argument erupted between these fighters, the other people in the room wouldn’t be able to stop them from turning it physical. All mayhem would break loose.

  Swallowing the lump of fear in my throat, I took a tentative step towards the men, hoping I might be able to be the voice of reason if push came to shove. Don’t be so stupid Liv, they aren’t going to listen to you.

  Nate’s eyes were dark and narrowed as he continued to glare at his opponent. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. So why don’t you get the fuck out of my dressing room.” He spoke calmly and slowly, but the deathly undertone to his voice sent shivers down my spine.

  Ignoring Nate’s words, Sanchez continued, “I feel cheated because beating you, bringing you down, was supposed to make me feel good. It was supposed to be my payback. But you just laid there. Where’s the satisfaction in that?”

  “Payback for what?” Nate snarled.

  “My father’s death.”

  Nate blinked a few times, stunned and then began laughing. “Seriously? This shit again? What the fuck are you talking about?”

  Sanchez shifted his body, moving into a position that said I’m calm while also stating Don’t fucking mess with me.

  “Are you sitting comfortably? I want to tell you a story. Then we’ll see if you are still laughing.” The ice in Sanchez’s voice turned the air chilly. I feared whatever he was about to say would not be a friendly fairy tale. “What do you remember about your parents?”

  Wes brushed off Nate’s hand and stood toe to toe with Sanchez. “They have nothing to do with you,” he growled.

  “That is where you are wrong, little boy.” Sanchez laughed without humour, glaring at Wes.

  I continued to move slowly around the outside edge of the room until I was standing a few feet behind Nate. I wanted this all to stop. Nate had only just woken up and hadn’t yet been given the all clear from the doctor. Having this kind of altercation so soon would not be assisting his recovery. I felt a momentary relief when a security guard entered the room, but whilst things between the fighters were only verbal, he was happy enough to stand and watch how things played out, not getting involved
.

  “It has everything to do with me,” Sanchez seethed. “My father is no longer with me because of your parents.”

  Wes growled and stepped further forward, nudging Sanchez with his chest, but Nate’s deep voice prevented him from taking things any further.

  “Stop with the bullshit, Damián, and spit out what it is you have to say.” I kept my eyes trained on Nate, terrified that this was all too much for him. He looked tired and weary, and I could see more bruising colouring his face. It was obvious he’d been in a battle, and it appeared it was not over yet.

  Sanchez’s eyes were as black as coal as he looked between the brothers. “Your parents weren’t quite the wonderful, humanitarian diplomats you believed them to be.”

  “Don’t say another fucking word about them,” Nate snarled.

  Sanchez’s eyes flicked to Nate’s then to Wes’ before the corner of his lips pulled up into an evil curve. “They were involved in some crooked deals back in Brazil, got themselves caught up with the wrong people. Those people wrongly ordered the execution of my father for the death of your parents and the young lady they were with.” With my eyes still firmly fixed on Nate, I noticed the very second his body went rigid, every one of his muscles tensing.

  “Was your father responsible for the deaths of my parents and my fiancée?” Nate asked slowly, menacingly. I gasped as my hand flew to my mouth. His fiancée?

  “It was a fucking accident. Your parents’ car was speeding, he didn’t stand a chance. He was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Because of your family, I lost everything, and now I plan to take everything from you. Winning the fight was just the start. Your precious facility is—”

  “You son of a…” Wes didn’t finish his sentence; he was on Sanchez before anyone had time to blink. As the room turned into chaos with the two brawling men on the floor and security trying to stop it, Nate sat there. He was completely still, staring at the spot Sanchez had just occupied.

  Approaching Nate, I placed a gentle hand on his arm. “Nate, are you okay?” I asked hesitantly. I didn’t know what to say, what to feel. He’d never told me anything about a fiancée before. During our conversations, Nate had always made out he wasn’t interested in relationships. I tried to recall any conversations we’d had about his past girlfriends and realised that he’d always dodged that topic, concentrating on where he was with present romantic relations, or the lack thereof. I wondered what she’d been like and how long they had been together. And Brazil? What was she doing in Brazil with his parents?

  Security managed to pull Wes and Sanchez apart and dragged them out of the room yelling and swearing at each other. Mal and Bernie followed, obviously wanting to help discharge the erupting tensions. A stunned looking doctor took nervous steps towards Nate, saying he needed to check on him. He quickly busied himself asking Nate questions, which he simply nodded or grunted his responses to. After a few minutes, the doctor seemed content that Nate had suffered no major injuries or damage from the fight, and after warning us to call for a doctor if anything should change, he exited the room as quickly as he could.

  Finally alone, I sat next to Nate and reached for his hand. Whatever his reasons for not telling me about his fiancée, now was not the right time to dwell on it. He was obviously hurting, and I needed to support him. His hands were still covered by blue wraps so I slowly began to unwind one, freeing him of the confining tapes. He watched me closely, almost mesmerised by the gentle unfurling of the material. With one removed, I immediately took the other hand and uncovered it too. He still hadn’t spoken when I took both hands in mine and gave them a gentle, reassuring squeeze. The silence felt almost oppressive, heavy with Nate’s sorrow and unspoken questions. Questions I doubted there were answers to.

  “Liv, get me out of here. I have to get out of here,” he said wearily, tilting his head to look me in the eye.

  With a feeble smile, I nodded and jumped off the bench. I wasn’t happy about taking him away, I still felt he needed medical attention, but right then, my priority was doing whatever Nate needed. I grabbed his clothes and helped him get changed. Without a backward glance, we ducked out of the room and made our way to a rear exit, careful to avoid any lurking reporters or fans.

  “What about Wes, Cassie and Bernie?” I asked, as we pushed our way out to where our car was parked. Surprised at our arrival, the driver jumped out and opened the rear door for us.

  “The car can come back for them. I just need to be alone, away from here.” In the car, Nate dropped his head back against the head rest and closed his eyes. As we weaved through the streets of Monaco I studied Nate’s profile, illuminated intermittently by the glow of streetlights. He looked like he was in pain, not a physical pain, but hurt from an emotional blow that I simply could not comprehend. My throat constricted around the lump of emotion that formed there when I thought about whatever sorrow Nate was feeling and about what I could have lost tonight in that ring.

  Shifting across the seat, I rested my head on his shoulder and wrapped an arm across his chest. Now wasn’t the time to discuss his past and what he hadn’t told me. I knew he’d need time. I could give him that. In the meantime, I would show him with my actions that I was there for him if he needed me.

  As I snuggled in closer and held him tightly, Nate wrapped an arm around me and buried his nose in my hair. I smiled, feeling the tenderness of his arm stroking along mine. I took my comfort from Nate taking his from me. Despite the evening’s revelations, we were a team now, and I had every intention of keeping it that way.

  ~CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO~

  Back in our hotel suite, I kicked the door closed behind us and helped Nate through into his bedroom. He was weak and kept an arm around me as though he needed my support to be able to stand. There also seemed to be a blankness in his eyes that I wasn’t sure came solely from the fight or the revelations after it. Easing him onto the bed, I pulled his shoes off and helped him out of his clothes before encouraging him to lay back. He needed time to rest. His body needed to heal and his mind to process his thoughts.

  “Don’t leave,” he whispered, grabbing my wrist when I turned to go.

  “You need to rest, Nate,” I said, trying to keep the emotional quiver out of my voice.

  “Liv, don’t leave me, please. I need you.” Looking into the hurt and aching depths of his beautiful eyes, I knew I would never leave him. I couldn’t.

  Nodding, I kicked off my own shoes and crawled onto the bed with him. His arms immediately wrapped around me and hugged me tight, like he never wanted to let me go.

  After a short silence, Nate shifted on the bed and turned to his side so we were face to face. His eyes burned with an intensity I’d never seen before as he stared into mine, searching, or pleading maybe. He grabbed my hand and entwined our fingers together. “Her name was Louise. I met—”

  I shook my head. “Nate, you don’t need to explain. I don’t need to know.”

  He brought our conjoined hands up to rest over my lips. “Shh, I want to tell you this. I should have told you before. I don’t know why I didn’t. Instead I acted like a fucking idiot and kept running away.” He frowned then kissed my fingers and returned our hands to the bed.

  “I was an angry nineteen-year-old when I met her. Bernie had helped me channel most of my anger into training but occasionally it would still escape. On my birthday, I felt the familiar feelings of betrayal and anger towards my parents and the gym hadn’t been enough. I’d had too many beers and wanted blood. I was about to get into it with some guy over something silly when this girl, this blonde-haired angel, walked up to me and flashed me her dazzling smile.” My stomach churned at the way his face lit up thinking about her.

  “She took the bottle I was holding, and I just let her. I was mesmerised. She had me under some sort of spell. The guy I’d been about to rip into was jeering, but I ignored him and followed her smile as she beckoned me out of the bar, out of danger. Outside, she’d laughed and said something about not wanting her cl
ean floors getting sticky with beer and blood. She was the owner’s daughter and had been watching me growing increasingly agitated all night. She asked if I wanted to walk it off with her. Before I knew it, we’d been walking for hours and I’d opened up to her about everything. She was so easy to talk to and didn’t judge me. A bit like you.”

  He looked into my eyes for a brief moment and then fell to his back, staring up at the ceiling. “We shared numbers that night, and within a week, I’d taken her out on our first date. Within six months, despite our young age, I knew I needed her. She grounded me, stopped me flying into rages when I thought of my parents. By this point, I’d already had a few pro fights and was starting to make a name for myself. I wanted to make things between us permanent. I couldn’t risk her running away from me too, so I asked her to marry me. I honestly didn’t think she would say yes, but to my astonishment, she did—on the proviso that we go to Brazil to see my parents. She thought I needed to talk to them to try to either rebuild a relationship with them or to be able to put everything behind me and move on with my life without the bitterness.” He grunted a disgusted laugh. “I would have done anything for her, so I agreed. Being diplomats, it wasn’t difficult to find out where they were, so I used the winnings from my fights and booked the tickets.”

  He swallowed deeply and turned to face me again. The pain in his eyes broke my heart, but I remained quiet, giving him the time to get his words out.

  “When we got there, I contacted them and we arranged to meet for a meal. The meal was awkward, just as I expected it would be. They hadn’t changed a bit. They chastised me for my career choice, saying I would never amount to anything. They said at least I had done something right by choosing Louise, but until I could prove myself with a worthy career they were disappointed in me, even more so because Wes had chosen to follow my lead.