Fighting Chance

by Lynn Rider

  “No one’s asking you to sweetheart,” she says sympathetically. “I can’t even promise you’ll want to hear what he has to say, but the fact he’s here speaks volumes.” I nod, my heart still beating erratically, my mind racing with wonder if I’m strong enough to see him.

  Seeing him on television almost did me in. Chance’s real-life persona is headier than any billboard, television interview or magazine spread. I stand, knowing he has the answers that I need. The closure I need. “Where is he?” I ask weakly before clearing my throat.

  “In my office. Take as much time as you need. I’ll work with Julia when she arrives.”

  I turn to walk away before pausing and turning back around. “Thank you, Martha.” She smiles. “For everything,” I add.

  She tilts her head toward the door. “Go get your answers, sweetheart.”

  I walk down the long hall, reminding myself to breathe in, breathe out. When I turn the corner, his back is turned as he looks out the office window. Dressed in my favorite jeans and a simple white t-shirt, I take a few seconds to allow my eyes to roam up and down his body before I make my presence known with the clearing of my throat.

  He turns abruptly. “Mia,” he breathes, his eyes taking time to look me over. I step behind Martha’s desk, needing the wood barrier as protection. From what, I don’t know, I just need something to stop me from wrapping myself around him.

  “Hey.”

  “You look…beautiful.”

  I want to melt under his words, but I can’t. Stay strong Mia. “You look good, too.” I force my eyes to his, not wanting to roam over the pronounced cut of every muscle. He said this would happen, that he’d eat aggressively while training and then trim up just weeks before his fight.

  “You think so? Vic’s on me about my weight, he’s worried about my caloric intake and that I’ll be too light for weigh in.” He smiles and I look away, not wanting to be affected by it. I take a slow deep breath, forcing myself to exchange longing to anger. He’s here, talking and smiling as if nothing happened. I level my eyes back on his.

  “Why are you here, Chance?” His smile falters as uneasiness settles in the slump of his expression. There’s the look I’ve carried around for the past two weeks.

  “I wanted to tell you I’m sorry.” I nod, desperately swallowing at the lump growing in my throat. “I overreacted to everything your sister said and then seeing the way Paul was looking at you, it was too much. I didn’t handle it well and I should have talked to you. I know about Audrey.” My eyes fly up, meeting his. “Smith filled me in a little. Enough to know I’m an asshole. Will you tell me the rest?” he asks, stepping forward. “It’s too much for you to carry alone,” he adds, softly and the lump tightens, growing again.

  “All I ever wanted was to protect her. She was all I had,” I say sorrowfully.

  “I wish you would have told me. I would’ve understood, Mia. Matthew and Brandon mean everything to me.”

  I take another hard swallow at the mention of them. “You planned on marrying me to get custody of them and then you were going to divorce me and I wasn’t to contact you ever again. That’s what the agreement said.” I struggle through a whisper.

  “But I didn’t, Mia. I couldn’t use you. The minute I met you…” his words trail off. I swallow again, my mind flipping back to that first night. What an idiot I was to think he was somehow my knight in shining armor; helping me from the stage and getting me home safely was just part of his plan.

  “Why me?”

  “The first night I saw you on that stage, I knew you were different Mia. I was more drawn to you than I’ve ever been to a woman. I couldn’t take my eyes off you. You’re beautiful, but it was more than that. You’re good and pure and I saw it.”

  I wince. “So, you picked the weakest in the flock and hunted me…” My voice cracks and I hate myself for it. I hate him for doing this to me. Audrey and I would be in Texas right now. I’d have my sister and my heart if he’d never laid eyes on me.

  “No…fuck! I’m fucking this up,” he says, running his hand through his hair in exasperation. “You didn’t even see me that night, but you consumed me. The night I pulled you off that stage, I had come to Jimmy’s to see you. It was almost two weeks after the first time and I couldn’t get you out of my mind. You touched me. Right here,” he says tapping his chest and I soften. Hating myself for that too. “I knew you weren’t like the others. I didn’t like you up there showing off your body. I remember the thought of someone else touching you spearing me with jealousy. I wanted you for myself.”

  “Must be nice to play with people and their emotions because you want them!”

  “I wasn’t playing, Mia. I’ll admit I asked my attorney to draft that, but tossed it to the side when he sent it. I never even read it. When Vic got onto me about that picture, he said something that made me think that a marriage agreement could work to—”

  “What picture?” I ask, the memory of Vic mentioning it coming to mind.

  “It’s not a big deal. I took care of it.”

  “What picture, Chance?”

  He sighs while reaching in his pocket for his phone. He taps the glass a few times before handing it to me. “How did you get this? Who took this?” I ask, tears prickling at my eyes as the evidence of how far I had fallen stares back at me in the form of a darkened image.

  My gaze lands on my eyes. The shame of taking my clothes off to pay Audrey’s drug habit, the stress of overwhelming debt and the bone chilling fear of seeing Paul at the side of that stage, witnessing it, can all be found in their hollow depths.

  “I took care of it,” Chance says softly and my eyes dart to his. I swipe at an errant tear that falls and he steps forward, wanting to console me, but his advance ends when I look back at the phone in my hand. “My attorney made sure it was deleted everywhere and I assure you, that guy will never take another unsolicited picture of a woman.”

  My thumb presses at the glass above the garbage pail. I quickly navigate to the recently deleted file, partly afraid of what I may find, but Chance does nothing to stop me as he stands next me, watching quietly. I press delete, deleting it permanently and the next picture in the queue pops up.

  My eyes graze over it and if weren’t me, I’d say she looks like an angel sleeping soundly with her blonde hair feathered over the white pillow, her dark lashes delicately fanned toward cheeks tinged with a blush of rosy pink. Even in her sleep, she looks happy…satisfied…in love.

  “I couldn’t bring myself to permanently delete that picture. It’s been deleted and recovered more times than I care to admit in the past couple weeks,” he says quietly. I look up. His green eyes slowly lift from the picture to meet mine. “I took that my first day of training. I loved you then, I just didn’t know it.”

  I force my eyes away, handing him the phone. “I have a class to teach. It starts in just a few minutes.” I stand, and Chance doesn’t move from the edge of the desk. “Will you please move? I need to go,” I beg quietly, using every ounce of strength I have.

  “Please don’t. Please…” he says backing up, clearing a very narrow path to the door. He’s allowing me to make the decision, but I can’t be trusted to make the right one, this is all too much and I need to think.

  “I have to,” I say meekly as I step around him.

  “Mia?”

  I pause, unable to turn around, my focus remaining on the door. “Having Edward create that agreement was wrong. If I had it to do over again, I wouldn’t. I felt desperate at the time.”

  “Why?” Tears sting the sides of my eyes and my focus on the door blurs.

  “I was already yours. I just wanted you to be mine.”

  I close my eyes and warm tears blaze a hot trail down my cheeks. “I was yours,” I whisper, holding back my sob as I walk out the door.

  45

  Chance

  I slide into the chair in Vic’s office, knowing by the look of disapproval written all over his weathered face, I’m in for another
ass chewing. I fucking hate letting him down. At one time, I fought every fight with that in mind.

  Now my mind is consumed with Mia…only Mia.

  “This was Sunday’s Post.” Vic tosses a newspaper across the desk. “I don’t suppose you saw it,” he says, his tone and choice of words tells me he already knows the answer. I shake my head, picking up the paper. “Of course you didn’t. You’re too God damned busy living with your head buried in the sand!”

  My eyes drop, not because I’m interested in what his Sunday paper says, but because I have no response. It’s been three days since Mia left me standing in that office defeated. I lost a fight that day, one that left me not only bruised, but broken.

  My eyes graze over the grainy colored photograph of Vic and I at the podium during our recent press conference. My gaze lands on the fake smile posted across my lips. It wasn’t easy to fake it, but the smile on Vic’s face after we stepped away from the cameras told me, I did a damn good job of it. Maybe I could fake it long enough for a win.

  “You see that list of wins in that article?” he asks and my eyes skim the words. “Only a champion gets to where you are. In case you forgot what you’re made of, you need to read that write-up. Not only does it highlight where you’ve been, but where you’re going, Chance. It has you as the clear winner in this weekend’s fight.

  “The press is chomping at the bit to get in here and see you in action. But if they saw that your head is no longer in the game or if you can’t get your shit together before this weekend, their next write-up about you will be a completely different story. Don’t let all that hard work be for nothing.”

  He points the remote control toward the wall and the large television powers on. “You see this kid?” He points toward the screen. I turn, staring at a much younger version of myself. Vic proudly stands next to me with my arms raised in the air, victory deeply etched in my wide smile. I can tell by the banners hanging on the side of the ring, it was one of my earlier amateur fights. I must have been nineteen or twenty tops. “That’s a kid that wouldn’t let adversity get him down. Nothing stopped that kid. That’s a champion in the making, Chance. That kid was you up until a few weeks ago.”

  I nod, unable to take my eyes away from the television screen. The smile on my face was unadulterated joy. I’d worked hard to get to that point…and that was only the beginning. I know I’m running the risk of losing everything I’d fought for to get to that day and every day since, but I don’t know how to stop her from creeping into my thoughts. I have no experience with matters of the heart. The only battles I’ve had are in the ring.

  “Chance, I know where you are emotionally. I was once there, son.” His gravelly voice is as soft as I’ve ever heard it and I turn, meeting his eyes.

  “I don’t want her to give up on me.”

  He scratches at his stubbly face and shakes his head. “She hasn’t stopped loving you, Chance. Love doesn’t work that way. It isn’t a switch.”

  “How do I make her see that she still loves me?”

  “You don’t. Love doesn’t work that way either, son. You can’t convince a person into loving you. They either do or don’t and each person has to decide for themselves if it’s enough.”

  “I need to prove to her that I’m enough.”

  “You think she doesn’t already know that?”

  I shake my head. “What if I lose her?”

  “You keep breathing. You keep fighting, Chance. That’s what you have to do,” he says the last in a quiet mumble and I wonder if we’re still talking about me.

  46

  Mia

  I slide the small card from the envelope. ‘Go out with me? Be my girlfriend?’ it says. A glutton for punishment, I’ve reread those words over and over since receiving them with yesterday’s flowers. My heart flutters with each pass of my eyes as the memory of the first time I heard him say those words come to mind.

  So much has changed since that day.

  I sigh, sliding it back into its sleeve, adding it to the pile of others. Eight others to be exact. All with different messages varying from I’m sorry, Please forgive me? and I love you.

  “It’s beginning to smell like a funeral home in here,” Martha says, stepping into her office. I look up and smile apologetically.

  “I’m sorry. I’ll throw some of them out today.” My eyes dart around the room, saddened by the thought of tossing any of them.

  “No, don’t do that on my account. They’re all so beautiful. He has good taste, but I’m afraid he’s not going to stop.” She laughs softly, sliding into her desk’s chair and disappearing behind two large arrangements before pushing them to the side.

  “He didn’t send one today,” I reply, realizing my mistake the minute her eyes land on mine.

  “Awe honey,” she says, sympathetically.

  The florist arrives everyday by ten. It’s three and no one has shown up. I look down at the stack of florist cards. “His fight is tomorrow night. He’s probably gone already.”

  “You should call him.”

  I nod, knowing as much as my head wants to protect my heart, my heart wants what it wants. And it wants to call him. It wants him. “Mia honey, sometimes with love, we have to compromise. It’s not always hearts and flowers. People will make mistakes and there will be misunderstandings and hurt feelings. It’s sorting through all that noise and realizing what is important and then fighting like hell for it that determines its worth.”

  I consider her advice, knowing that wrapped in her words, she’s talking about the marriage contract. Her and Francis were quick to come to his defense, reminding me he never asked me to sign anything. “You think I should fight for it?” I clear my throat, looking up to meet her eyes. “For him?”

  Her eyes dot around the office, briefly stopping at each vase as a soft smile edges along the corners of her mouth. “Honey, it looks like he’s the one fighting. I don’t think you’ll have to fight for anything.” She chuckles.

  I smile feeling relieved with her reassurance. “I’ll call him after his fight. I don’t want to get in the way.”

  “He may need your support before then, Mia. Francis saw some footage of him—”

  “Excuse me, Miss?” A questionable voice comes from the doorway, stopping Martha mid-sentence as we both turn. “Sorry to interrupt, the lady at the front said I could find Mia…” a short, balding man looks down at the large white envelope in his hand.

  “I’m Mia,” I say, not waiting.

  He smiles, scanning the bar code on the package and handing me the small electronic device. “Sign there, please.” He hands me the nondescript envelope in exchange of my signature and quickly says his goodbye.

  I rip open the tab and slide the contents out. It’s an airline ticket, a VIP pass to his fight and a document with a small note attached.

  ‘Sometimes family isn’t the tree you were born on, but who you choose. This is me begging you to choose ours. Matthew and Brandon came home this week. I don’t need you to get custody of them, I just need YOU, Mia.’

  Tears sting my eyes as I scan through the custody document showing Chance has been given full custody of Matthew Alan McKnight and Brandon David McKnight.

  The taxi stops in front of the arena and I waste no time in flinging money in the direction of the driver. I open my door and drag my carryon bag out behind me. “Thanks,” he mumbles just before I slam the door and race toward the front entrance. I eagerly show the lanyard and pass Chance left in the envelope to the first man I see in a yellow shirt.

  He looks down from his tall stature, smiling kindly as he looks over my pass. He pulls a radio from his waistband and twists a dial on the top. “Sir, can you please let me in. I know I’m late, but I need to get in. Chance—” He extends one finger, cutting me off mid-sentence as he announces my arrival into the little device. A jumbled reply comes back over the radio, but it’s so brief I can’t make it out before it goes silent.

  “If you’ll step this way, someone will be
up front momentarily to escort you to your seat,” he says calmly, but it does nothing to stop the anxiety from ricocheting through me. I need to get in there. I didn’t expect to miss yesterday’s flight or a delay on takeoff today that required us to return to the gate to be unloaded and then loaded again—three hours later.

  “Sir, if you could just point me in the right—”

  “Here he is,” he says, looking over my shoulder.

  “Ms. Hall?” a deep voice asks and I turn, taking in the towering height of the African American man moving swiftly in my direction. He’s solid, not thick like Chance, but his shoulders are wide and his arms chorded with lean muscle. Despite the smile he’s flashing at me, he’s intimidating. “Mia, right?” he asks, stepping up with his hand extended and I nod, feeling little as his hand wraps around mine in a firm handshake. “I’m Milton, Chance’s bodyguard. We need to get you in there,” he says, turning toward the discreet door he came from. I follow him into a long narrow hallway. “I didn’t tell Vic why I was stepping away so he doesn’t know you’re here and I’m going to be honest, I don’t know who is going to be happier to see you, Chance or Vic.”

  “Why’s that?” I ask, taking two steps to every one of his one, trying to keep up.

  “Our boy is not doing so good.” A heavy, sinking feeling fills my gut and I force my feet to keep moving. From the very first night, I never liked the thought of Chance getting hurt, but knowing that I’m going to walk into that arena and possibly see it with my own two eyes has me feeling sick to my stomach.

  “Is he fighting now?” I ask, not fully understanding the schedule of events. Months ago, Chance had said his fight was the main event and when I’d asked what that meant, he chuckled and said, “you’ll see.”

  “He’s in the ring. I’m going to seat you with the boys—”

  “The boys are here?” I interrupt, my excitement briefly allowing me to forget my worry for Chance.

  “They are.” He turns and smiles, pausing outside a set of double doors. “You ready for this?” He doesn’t wait for my reply before pushing the heavy steel door open and the onslaught of shouting and cheering fills my ears. I swallow hard, following Milton into the dark arena. My eyes immediately draw on the bright light of the center and while I can’t see the fight, I know that’s where he is.