His hand didn’t move beneath hers. “I’d have been pissed. Probably fired him on the spot.” Then he gave a self-deprecating sigh. “Deb’s right. I react before I think. Maybe it’s a good thing you didn’t. He’s doing well in the tournament, making us look good.”
He squeezed her hand before picking up the remote from the center of the table. When he pressed play, the television in the attached den came to life. She immediately recognized the MGM Grand Garden Arena lettering on the pads on the top of the cage, and the crowd screamed in the background.
“I have to admit, he was impressive last night,” her dad said. The camera zoomed in to show Nick and his opponent, Fernando Silva, circling each other at the start of last night’s semifinal bout. Nick had won in the first round with an arm bar submission. Everyone had thought Silva would be a tougher challenge for Nick due to his wrestling skills, but Nick had dispatched him even faster than he had Kovac. He’d been fighting in the tournament like he had something to prove, because he did. His entire career hinged on his performance here, and Jules hated that the contract clause and their argument were hanging over his head.
“What’s really going on here? You haven’t liked Nick from the time you signed him. What gives? You scared he’s going to outshine you?” When his shoulders stiffened, she knew she’d hit a nerve. She set her fork down and narrowed her eyes at him. “That’s it, isn’t it?”
Dropping his fork, he looked up at her, his eyes blazing with emotion, his hands clenched into fists. “The WFC is my company. I bought it, and I turned it around from some amateur-hour fight club into what it is today. I handpicked every fighter we brought on. I fought the commission to get our licensing reestablished. I groveled for investors and paid every one of the assholes off. I begged the networks for airtime.” He took a deep breath, visibly trying to calm himself. “The WFC is mine, and I won’t have some guy walking in here who doesn’t take it seriously.”
“Dad.” She reached out and put a hand over his fist. “You called him. Remember?”
He shook his head like it was a memory he’d rather forget. “Yeah, I called him, and now he thinks I owe him something.”
She thought back over her time with Nick and couldn’t remember ever once getting that impression, but as unlikely as it was, maybe he’d said something to her dad. “Did Nick say that to you?”
He shook his head. “Didn’t have to. I know people, Julian. No one does something for nothing.”
“He didn’t do it for nothing, though. The exposure has helped his career.” She knew that even before the first fight, his social media followers had almost doubled, and he was interviewing agents because he’d had a couple of inquiries about major endorsements. He was experiencing far more interest than he’d had with Imperial. “What’s this really about? Why are you feeling threatened?”
Exhaling, he looked away. He shook his head again, making her think he was going to deny it, but then his shoulders relaxed and he said, “I know I was a shitty father. Shitty husband too. But I was a good fighter until I got hurt. This is all I have left now, Julian. I figured if I could make this work, then maybe I haven’t failed completely in life. Maybe it’d all be worth something.”
“You haven’t failed. The tournament is a success. We’re set up to have our best year yet. Does it matter that you have Nick and maybe a few other people to thank? People need people, Dad. So you didn’t do it all by yourself; is that so bad?”
His gaze swung back to her, and one corner of his mouth curled upward. “How’d you get so smart? You sure as hell didn’t get it from me.”
She shrugged, realizing he was trying to lighten the mood, but now that they’d been talking about Nick, he was firmly in her thoughts. This all could’ve been avoided if her dad wasn’t so stubborn, or if she’d confronted him head-on. The Darcy genes had struck again. “Experience, I guess. I really hope you reconsider ending his contract. I think he’s proven that he belongs here.” Not that it would save her relationship with Nick.
Much to her surprise, her dad nodded. “Yeah, I’ve been thinking about that. You’re right.” He gestured toward the television, a different fight now on the screen. “He’s shown he deserves to be here. I’m not getting rid of that clause, but we can spin it somehow. You guys met before you started working here, or something. Maybe we’ll ask Ashlynn for advice. She’s good with PR.”
Jules sighed in relief. At least Nick’s hard work wouldn’t be for nothing.
He cleared his throat, as if unsure about what he was about to say. “So . . . Giannakis . . . you said he was special. Did you mean that?”
She wasn’t sure she wanted to get into what happened with her and Nick. A lump was already starting to swell in her throat. “He is special.”
“This is serious then?” He looked as if he was almost afraid to hear the answer.
She swallowed thickly. “Well, actually, we’re not together anymore.”
“He broke up with you?” It was more an accusation than a question, and his hands clenched into fists again.
“Sort of. We had a big argument, and I don’t really know where things stand. It hurts, but I . . . I get it. Expected it, even. I’m not good for him.” She pushed a strand of hair behind her ear, then straightened her fork before her hands fluttered uselessly to her lap.
“What the hell does that mean? You’re beautiful.”
She rolled her eyes at his tone and slightly raised voice. “Simmer down, Dad. I mean that he’s normal. He has a very nice family in Chicago. They’re not like us. I don’t blame him for walking away.”
“Julian Marlena Darcy.” Her whole body cringed at hearing her full name. Her mom had compensated for the boy’s name her father had insisted on giving her with the middle name “Marlena”—her mother’s favorite soap opera character. “You telling me that fucking guy told you that you weren’t good enough for him?” He looked as though he’d storm over to Nick’s apartment and beat the living daylights out of him.
“No, of course not. Nick would never say that.” She toyed with the piece of bacon she still hadn’t finished. “I didn’t tell him about you finding out about us right away. I think he was also upset about me insisting on keeping us a secret. Plus, in Chicago . . .” She realized she hadn’t already confessed to having visited his family. “When Nick’s dad had a heart attack I went with him to Chicago. I overheard some hurtful things his brother said.” She shook her head, not wanting to get into the whole mess. “I didn’t tell him what I overheard. I didn’t tell him about you finding out. Those things together . . . they were too much. I hurt him when I left him in Chicago last year, and he still doesn’t trust me.”
He gave a huff that sounded like a self-deprecating laugh. “Guess I fucked things up for you.” Then he unexpectedly grabbed her hand and squeezed it. “Look, Julian. I know your mom and I had our differences, and I wasn’t there for you like I should’ve been. But even with fighting and the WFC, you’re the best thing I ever did. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you that sooner. I’m sorry I’m a grumpy bastard who doesn’t always see the good around him. But I need you to know that I’m proud of you. Prouder than you can ever know. You deserve the best, and if Giannakis doesn’t realize that, then it’s his loss.”
Unexpectedly, the tears she’d been holding back all morning spilled over. It was like a dam had burst, and all the pain she’d been struggling to hide came pouring out of her. She let out a choked sob and dropped her head into her hands, unable to hold it all back any longer. “Aw hell.” Her dad moved from his chair and pulled her into his arms. His hand stroked down her back in a gentle caress as her shoulders shook. “I love you, and I’m going to try to let you know that more often.”
She couldn’t remember the last time he’d held her, but that long-forgotten feeling of unconditional acceptance came back to her. It was comforting, while at the same time drawing out all her fears and her pain. She
turned her face into his chest and wept for all that she’d lost.
“You know,” he began. “My dad walked out on us when I was little. I barely knew him. I didn’t want you to grow up in a household like that. I wanted you to have both me and your mom.” His fingers tightened in her hair and his voice lowered. “But I guess I fucked things up more by trying to force something that wasn’t meant to work out. I’m sorry.”
“It’s not all your fault, Dad. Mom had her own issues.”
He nodded and tightened his hold. “I’m sorry you got caught in the middle.” He pulled back and looked down into her eyes. “I want you to know that what happened with me and your mom happened because we didn’t really try to make it work. We just kept going, as if that was all it took. We didn’t work on it. We didn’t talk. It doesn’t have to be that way for you.”
As if she’d been waiting her whole life to hear those exact words, she realized that he was right. Maybe she did deserve normal with Nick. Maybe because of her fear, and the way she’d chained herself to her past, she’d let herself be convinced otherwise. Maybe Nick was afraid too. But it didn’t have to be that way. She could show him that she believed in them.
This time, she’d be the one to fight for them.
23
The arena buzzed around Nick, a humming vibration of music and voices. His team of coaches and trainers, journalists, arena employees, and WFC officials all moved in and out of the dressing room, a cyclone of energy in which Nick was the eye. He sat on the hard wooden bench, watching it all with a kind of surreal detachment.
He’d made it. He’d defeated both Kovac and Silva, and in less than ten minutes he’d be fighting Brody Hansen for the WFC middleweight championship. His heart pumped in his chest as nervous adrenaline surged through his body. He’d fought title fights before, but this was different. Not only was it the biggest title fight of his career but he was fighting for his place in the WFC. For his career. For his future. If he lost, what reason would Craig Darcy have to keep him around? If he got cut, he wasn’t sure where that would leave him. Would he go crawling back to Imperial? Find another league? Keep fighting?
Those options were shit. The best thing to do was to keep that door firmly closed and beat Hansen. Show fucking Craig Darcy and everyone else that he belonged here.
He glanced around the room, trying to center himself and not get lost in his thoughts. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, mentally preparing for the fight. Going over his strategy. Visualizing the win.
But all he could see was Jules’ face. He’d gone a solid five minutes without thinking about her, so she was due for an appearance. And even though he knew he should, he didn’t push the image away. Couldn’t stop seeing the hurt etched into her delicate features as he’d walked out on her. All he could hear were Gabe’s words.
I wish I could go back. I’d give anything to change what happened. But I can’t.
He’d spent countless hours replaying everything over and over again in his mind. How she’d hurt him a year ago in Chicago. Reconnecting with her here. How good—how fucking right—it had felt with her, despite the secrecy. The pain and fear he’d felt at the realization she still wasn’t letting him in. It was like a game of mental tug-of-war, and he careened between thinking that he couldn’t fix what was broken between them and hating himself for giving up. But what else could he do? He couldn’t keep putting his heart in a blender and hitting puree.
Omar crouched down in front of him, snapping Nick out of his seesawing thoughts, and started wrapping his hands for the fight.
He glanced up, and there she was, maybe ten feet away. Jules, with a tablet clutched in her hands, talking to Ashlynn. For one foolish second, he let himself hope she was there to see him, but he knew she wasn’t. She was working, and even though it wasn’t official, they were over.
He thought about standing up, about going to her, asking how she was, but he was paralyzed by the weight of everything crashing down on him. Regret and fear and loss. It was all there, ripping him open, and he leaned into the pain, clinging to it. It was all he had left.
She flashed him a tiny smile from across the distance. It didn’t meet her eyes, and fuck, he wanted to throw up, seeing the hurt and the sadness there, because he knew what that hurt and sadness felt like. He’d been buried in it since he’d walked out of her apartment. She gave him a thumbs-up and mouthed good luck before disappearing around the corner.
From the roar of the crowd, Nick knew that the championship fight was being hyped on the arena’s big screens and that it was go time. Hansen was due out first, but Nick was ready. A fresh wave of resolve washed over him, sharpening his focus.
He would fight, and he would win. There was no alternative. This was his shot at everything he’d ever wanted. The chance to prove himself on a bigger scale than ever before, to win the championship belt. Even if everything else in his life was a mess, he could have this. One dream was still within reach, even if the other had disintegrated into ash.
Nick stood, rolling his neck from side to side and hopping from one foot to the other, keeping his muscles warm and loose. He made his way out to the hallway, staring at the floor as he visualized slamming his fists into Hansen’s face. The prefight jitters faded away and he took a deep breath, tuning everything out.
The arena’s lights dimmed, and the crowd screamed. The opening strains of AC/DC’s “If You Want Blood” pumped through the arena’s speakers and Nick pushed his hood off his head as he stepped onto the arena’s floor surrounded by his team. A familiar rush of adrenaline surged through him, and he channeled it into focus and determination. Fans cheered and held their hands out for fist bumps and high fives as he made his way toward the octagon. He reached the steps and quickly pulled off his hoodie, T-shirt, and sweatpants. He popped in his mouth guard as the referee checked him over before admitting him to the octagon. His heart hammered in his chest, and he felt each throb like the beat of a war drum.
Nick stepped inside and tipped his chin at Hansen, his focus narrowing on the man on the other side of the octagon. Hansen rocked back against the cage, spreading his arms wide, a cocky grin on his face.
Gary Watts stepped into the center, his microphone in hand. The crowd was so loud that his first few words were snatched away by the roar of thousands of people.
“. . . five rounds to determine the inaugural WFC middleweight champion!” The cheers swelled even more, but Nick didn’t take his eyes away from Hansen, sizing him up, raring to go. “Fighting out of the blue corner, holding a professional record of eighteen wins and three defeats, standing five feet eleven inches tall and weighing in at one hundred eighty-five pounds . . . Brrrrrrrrrroooody Haaaaaaansen!” Hansen threw his arms up in the air, inciting more cheers from the crowd, as well as a chorus of boos and jeers.
“And now!” continued Gary, pointing at Nick, who hopped from foot to foot on the spot. “Fighting out of the white corner, holding a professional record of twenty wins and two defeats, standing six feet one inch tall and weighing in at one hundred eighty-six pounds, presenting the former Imperial MMA middleweight champion . . . Niiiiick Giannnnaaaaaakis!” The final syllable of Nick’s last name was swallowed up by the roar of the crowd. A trickle of smug satisfaction worked its way through him—he was clearly the crowd favorite with a much louder, boo-less cheer.
Nick met Brody in the center as the referee went over the rules. He extended his gloves toward Brody, offering to touch before the fight in a show of good sportsmanship, but Brody refused and moved back to his corner. Boos followed him, and Nick smiled as he stepped back. He’d gotten under Brody’s skin, which was a good sign. But Nick wasn’t a fool. He knew he was in for a hell of a fight. Hansen hadn’t made it this far without talent, skill, and guts.
“You ready?” The referee asked from the middle of the octagon. Nick and Brody both nodded, and the referee clapped his hands together. “Fight!”
Fists raised, they sized each other up, moving in a circle around each other. Brody shot out a low, testing kick, grazing Nick’s shin. Nick retreated and then landed a jab with his left, just as Brody connected with his right. They each backed off, still circling. Still testing. Nick was gauging the distance, figuring out how much of a reach advantage he had over Brody, calculating his next move.
Brody sent out another testing jab, but Nick blocked it and countered it with a low, hard kick. The loud smack of his foot connecting with Brody’s shin echoed through the arena. Brody advanced, and they traded a series of hooks and jabs. Nick tried to duck and block, but a couple of hard, jolting shots got through. They backed off and then traded again, but Nick could tell from the way Brody swung his shoulders that he was going for the same combo, so he ducked low and landed two hard punches to Brody’s stomach. He gave Nick a shove and danced back a few paces. If those shots had hurt him, it wasn’t showing on Brody’s face. He launched a high kick at Nick, who blocked it with his forearms. The impact rattled his bones, but just like Brody, he didn’t let it show on his face.
Brody adjusted his stance and Nick saw his opening. He landed a hard right on Brody’s cheek, and his head snapped back. The skin under his eye split and blood trickled out. His eye began to swell almost immediately. But it didn’t faze him, and he came back at Nick swinging. They traded shots, and Nick landed as many as he took.
For the first two minutes of the fight, they circled and traded, circled and traded. Brody slammed his fist into Nick’s face hard enough that the impact snapped his head back and sent pain crunching across his nose, but Nick kept moving forward, landing an uppercut that sent Brody sprawling backward. Nick didn’t let up, following him, but Brody swung his hips and kicked, his foot landing against Nick’s side. The impact took his breath away for a second, pain radiating up his torso. Heat throbbed across his side, and he could taste the blood dripping down from his nose. But Nick had been in battles like this before. Instead of letting it unsettle him, he let the pain drive him.
Dirty Boxing Page 24