by JJ Knight
I feel so lost.
Lani walks over to the equipment locker that holds the small stuff, gloves and rolls of tape and shin guards. For some reason, the movers didn’t take it. Colt probably has a fancier one at his real gym. I turn away and walk toward the cage. I have to shake this off. Find my life again. I can’t change what’s happened.
I lean against the mesh, holding on with both hands. I can picture Colt there. I remember what he did to me against one of the poles and flush hot. Nothing about our relationship has been ordinary.
Lani comes up beside me. Just like she did weeks ago, when I was feeling about as down as I do now, Lani takes one of my hands and straps on a boxing glove. “Let’s hit something,” she says. “We’ll both feel lots better.”
I’m not sure why she’s feeling down too, but we’re not the sort of friends who share our lives. I follow her back to the main room to the old punching bags. A couple of weight lifters have arrived, but they are in the far corner.
“I should probably work,” I say. “I don’t have Colt here anymore saying I should be with him.”
“Just give it a minute,” Lani says. “Everything is picked up and clean anyway.”
We turn toward the heavy bag in the corner. “I’ll hold it,” Lani says. “Do a jab-cross-kick combo.”
I do what she says, jabbing with the left, cross punching with the right, then stepping into a chest kick.
“Keep going,” Lani says. “You don’t need any stupid man to tell you whether or not you are good enough to fight.”
She’s right. I switch sides and do the combo from the left. As my body warms up and I start to feel the rhythm, my hits get harder. Lani has to brace herself to keep the bag still.
I switch to a triple jab, double kick. I can almost feel the hurricane, but it’s not real. It’s not out of control. It’s me. I’m bringing it. I’m making it happen. It’s mine.
When I finally stop, my lungs bursting, every muscle feeling on the verge of collapse, I see everyone in the gym is watching me. The weight lifters, the old trainer with his unlit cigar, and Buster. I can see it in their eyes, in their expressions, in their approval. I’ve got something. I don’t need Colt. I can do it without him.
I don’t want to. But I can.
Chapter Six
After two weeks without word from Colt, I know it’s over. I don’t buy what his father said, that he doesn’t want bruised cherries. If that were true, Colt wouldn’t have come back after the second fight.
But Colt is clearly not willing to stand up for me. And I don’t want him if he can’t do that. He’s listening to his team, and his trainer, and probably Brittany. They’ve convinced him that this is for the best.
So, it will have to be that way for me too.
Nate, the old cigar-chomping trainer, is helping me. Buster is on board. He thinks maybe I can be part of the revival of his gym. He takes out an ad to sign up more girls, and now the gym is full of them. Lani and I spar every day and bring the new ones into the cage for some basics.
I like this aspect of my job. It keeps me in shape, and I get to help other girls be stronger and better. I imagine that even if they never fight, never stick to this, they are still better off. Any guy who tries to pull something on them will get their face broken. This makes me very happy.
Sometimes I go home and lay my hands on the sofa where Colt would always sit. I wish things were different. That I had mattered more. But I can’t regret what happened. He changed me. I’m better now. And I’m no longer afraid of all the things that plagued me from the moment I ran away from my past.
I go to a clinic on one of my days off and submit to the most embarrassing exam of my life. The doctor pronounces me fit and in perfect health and gives me some free packets of birth-control pills. He says I only have to wait seven days to be protected, but I know it’s going to be a lot longer than that before it will matter. Maybe someday I’ll meet another guy I don’t want to punch in the face immediately. If I do, I’ll be ready.
I’m trying to move on.
During the third week after Colt left, Buster calls me into his office. Nate is in there standing against the back wall.
“We’ve been watching you, Jo,” Buster says. “Nate here thinks you’re ready for a match.”
I back up against the door. “Are you sure?”
Nate shrugs and pulls the cigar from his mouth. He’s a little hunched over, gray headed, his face lined from the years. He reminds me of an old actor my grandma used to love, a comedian named George Burns. I like to think the similarity means she would approve of what I’m doing, the direction my life has gone.
“You just have to stay in control, Jo,” Nate says. “You definitely have the power and the skill. Never seen a fighter get up to speed as fast as you.”
I know it’s because I’ve been a fighter as long as I can remember. But if they think I’m ready, then I’m willing to try it in the cage.
“We just need a name for you,” Buster says. “You got any ideas?”
My first impulse is to say Kettle Belle, but I shove it down. Colt is in the past, and plus, I can’t expose him, even now. He still has that public engagement to Brittany, as far as I know. The Kettle Belle he got caught kissing has to remain a mystery. “My dad had a nickname for me,” I say.
“What was it?” Buster asks.
“Hurricane.”
Nate pulls the cigar from his lips. “Is Jo short for something?”
I swallow. I think of my real name, Joanna, but I can’t say that. Only Colt knows who I really am. Even Zero goes by my fake ID.
“It’s Josefina, right?” Buster asks.
I nod. “But I hit people who call me that.”
Nate snorts out a laugh. “I love it. Josefina ‘The Hurricane’ Jones.” He slaps Buster’s desk. “Sounds like a winner to me.”
“I’ll get you a fight suit made,” Buster says. “What do you think for colors? Red and white? Yellow and green?”
None of that appeals. “Let’s go with black and blue.”
The men laugh as I head back out to train. Even though I don’t want to think it, the hope rises up in me.
Maybe if I win, Colt will notice.
Chapter Seven
I choose Lani to be my assistant. Zero wants to be a ring girl, but I have to break it to him that I don’t think an MMA girl fighter would have one. Although, I admit, the thought of spectators whistling at Zero in a long blonde wig and shiny shorts makes me giggle.
Buster sets up a curtained-off area in the back of the addition where my kettlebell section used to be. He figures if the space takes off as an amateur fight venue, he’ll build out some real dressing rooms.
I peek out between the break in the curtains as people show up to watch the fight. They’re mostly fans of my opponent, “Mad Mary Mercury,” since I don’t have any. But Zero is out there, and a few people from the gym. I see a guy with blonde hair, and my heart jumps until I realize it’s somebody random, not Colt.
I hate that I even hope he might come. It’s so hard to forget him.
Nate comes up behind me. “You ready, Hurricane?”
I turn around. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”
He scowls. “That’s no answer for a fighter.”
“Yes, SIR,” I say, although I’m hiding a laugh.
“Remember, amateur girl matches don’t tend to end on points, and Mad Mary is no exception. Nine of her last ten —”
“Ended with an armlock submission,” I finish. Nate’s been driving this point home for days. We’ve spent hours learning the various ways to get out of a pin down to avoid Mad Mary’s signature, and apparently only, move.
“Punch the crap out of her,” Nate says. “Keep her off the ground. Don’t let her get her hands on you. She’s strong. But you’re going to kill her on speed.”
I nod. I start bouncing on my toes to keep my legs warm.
“Let’s get you prepped,” Nate says. “It’s almost time.”
Lani ducks through the curtain as Nate unrolls the wrap for my wrists and hands. “Exciting!” she says.
“When are you going to get in there for a fight?” I ask her.
She plops down in a chair. “When hell freezes over.”
“Chicken,” I say. This has become a common conversation since Buster booked this match.
“I’ll keep my pretty face just like it is,” she says. “Show me those killer sweats.”
I turn my back to her. The fight suit is royal blue with “Hurricane” in black letters. Buster gave it to me that morning. I hugged him for the first time since I started working here. Nate finishes up the tape and hands me my gloves.
A cheer goes up outside the curtain. I peer out. Buster gave Mad Mary the main dressing room, and she’s just come through the accordion door. For the first time since we decided to book a fight for me, I feel nervous.
Buster enters our space. “Ready, Jo?” He seems anxious too. “It’s a good crowd. They paid good money.” He raps me on the back. “Don’t kill her off too fast.”
I try to laugh. I have no idea what will happen out there.
Buster sees my worry. He puts his hands on my shoulders and stares straight at me. “I never had a daughter, and you’re about the closest thing I’ve got to one. Fighting is about a lot of things. And you have them all. Skill. Training. Heart.”
He lets go of me and thumps his chest. It reminds me of the first day with Colt, when he made the same gesture. I decide I’m going to fight like Colt’s watching. He’s my heart. Even now. It’s still him.
“Let’s get out there,” Buster says.
Lani pops out of her chair. “You lead, Jo. When you get to the cage door, hand your suit to me.”
I take in a deep breath. “Got it.”
“I’ll be by your corner outside the cage,” Nate says. “Listen for my voice. I’ll coach you through it.”
I nod. They’ve said all these things before. Now it’s time to do them.
Buster yanks back the curtain. When the crowd notices me, they clap. Zero and a few of the guys from the gym start to cheer.
I try to tune all that out. This is my home, my cage. Mad Mary is on my turf. This is where Colt told me I had something. Where I took down Brittany. Where I learned to hit a speed bag and how to lift a kettlebell. I have friends here. I have a place where I belong.
Now it’s time to win.
I arrive at the base of the stairs to the cage. The pants tear away like they are supposed to, and I hand them and the jacket to Lani. My fighting outfit is very simple, just a fitted black athletic tank shirt and a pair of shiny spandex shorts that go to my knees.
Mad Mary wears a similar outfit in red. She’s got her first sponsor, I see, with a shiny patch sewn on her belly. She’s hoping to move up. I just care about today. This fight. And maybe, just maybe, somebody telling Colt.
I climb the steps and go through the cage door. The ref is waiting. I’m glad to see there’s enough people at the match to cover Buster’s costs. Hopefully if I can beat this girl, more people will come next time. And then I can help somebody who’s helped me.
Mad Mary knocks her fists together like it’s going to intimidate me.
The ref comes between us. “I want a good clean fight,” he says.
We both nod.
Then a bell sounds. It’s begun.
We circle at first. I haven’t gotten to watch many of her fights. Only a couple have been posted, with shaky cell-phone footage. She’s muscular, for sure. She probably thinks I’m frail and easy.
Time to change that opinion.
I charge low, shoulder to her belly, and flip her off her feet. She lands on the cage floor with a crash and pops back up instantly. Now her face is more determined.
She knows I’m not going to be easy pickings.
When her right cross comes at me, I take the hit so I can jab her unprotected ribs. She makes her first move to drop me, trapping my arm and pulling me into a bear hug.
Damn, she’s strong.
I jab with everything I’ve got while she holds me. I cannot let her get me to the ground. I’m not as muscled as her. She’ll pin me. The ref will call it.
I’m going, I can feel it. She sweeps my leg, and I start to go. I have no concept of time, how far we have until the end of round one. I’m pissed. This is not the way I want to fight. I have to find my power. I strain to get away from her, knowing one leg is already heading to the floor. I need my hurricane. I need that strength. But I don’t know how to make it happen.
My hip slams to the ground as Mad Mary brings me down. But the impact loosens her grip, and I manage to slither out.
I’m back up in an instant. Suddenly I can hear Nate yelling at me. I find this calm within the storm, and I can separate his voice from the noise of the crowd. Of course. I need a coach. He can see what I can’t while I’m in the thick of things. I realize how different a match is from sparring. The crowd, the roar, the adrenaline, the irregular passage of time.
“Punch her, Jo, go full Hurricane. Shock her, Jo. Pivot. Get power in that cross.”
Mad Mary and I circle again. The round clock on the judges’ table catches my eye. Two minutes to go. I’m getting it. Check points. Listen to coach. Watch the time. Remember your strategy. Learn your opponent’s weaknesses.
She steps forward, and I just go. I’m hitting, punching, jabbing. When she tries to punch, I step back and kick. Everything makes sense — the strategy, the pivots, the placement of my hands and arms. Time slows down, and I see Mad Mary stumble back. Maybe she’s going to throw a kick, but I don’t think so. I spin and put all my energy into a roundhouse blow, my ankle in her ribs.
She falls into the cage. I’ve got her. I leap forward, and the buzzer sounds for the end of round one.
I stand there a second, angry, because I could have finished her. She heads to the corner of the hexagon where her trainer waits. I turn back to Nate.
“You’ve got her, Jo. You’ve figured her out.” He wipes my forehead. I am surprised to see a smear of red. He spreads gel over the cut, and it stings, but I barely notice it. I’m buzzing, unable to be still. “She’s going to charge at the bell, try to take you straight down. Don’t let her.” He pats me on the back. “You’re doing great.”
He and the other trainer head out of the cage.
The ref stands between us again. “Round two,” he says, and backs away.
Mad Mary surges forward, just like Nate said she would. I step to one side and land a blow to her belly and spin out of her reach.
As soon as she turns, I come after her just like before. I imagine I am Colt, the Gunner, raining down on the opponent. Nothing gets through now, and I’m in it, I’m inside the hurricane. If Mary gets a punch in, I don’t feel it. I turn and twist and kick and hit and pivot in a whirl.
Mary falls, but I don’t let up, not until the ref pulls me away and calls the match.
Only when Nate is beside me and Lani grasps my hand do I really realize it’s over.
I’ve won.
Chapter Eight
Buster takes us out for dinner after the fight. Lani is bouncy and excited. Nate says, “Fuck the bozos,” and lights up his cigar in the restaurant despite the smoking law.
Zero is buzzing like a neon sign, taking pictures with his phone and uploading his own cell-phone footage of the match.
I can barely listen to anyone talking. Nothing penetrates. I wish Colt were with us. I always thought I would share this moment with him.
The chatter starts to get to me. I head to the bathroom to get a minute of quiet. I pull my old cell phone out. I’ve put minutes back on it and programmed in Colt’s number. But I haven’t written him or called again.
Today is different. I tap out a simple message.
It’s Jo. Won my first fight today. Thank you for believing I could do it.
After I send it, I hold my breath, waiting for the same message Zero got, that the caller is not available. It doesn’t come.
But neither does a response. It’s Friday night. Colt wouldn’t be training.
He’s purposefully not answering.
I don’t cry. Do. Not. But it’s tempting. The crash after the rush of the fight is crazy hard. I start to see why Colt always came to me afterward. To keep the adrenaline going. You don’t really feel the pain, although I’m aware of some nagging aches in my hands and ankles. I can see how the sex would be fantastic. Until this comedown, I felt invincible.
I wonder if he’s had any fights since he left, and who he’s seeing after them now.
I want to throw up.
There’s a knock at the door, which is strange since it’s a big bathroom with stalls. Zero opens the door a few inches and peeks in. “I should have come dressed for the girls’ room,” he says.
“It’s empty,” I say.
He walks inside. “It’s not the same without him, I get it,” he says.
I turn my phone around to show him the message I sent.
“That’s good. You show Golden Boy what he’s missing.” He pulls me into a tight hug. “I hate this.”
Probably any other girl would have sobbed on his shoulder. But I won’t do it. It won’t change anything. I take a deep breath. “I’m okay. He’s just one guy.”
“That’s the attitude.” Zero pulls away. “Just one fish in the sea.”
We head out of the bathroom and back to the table. I come up behind Buster just as he says, “And Colt laid him to the ground before the first buzzer.”
“When was that?” I ask as I sit down. It’s nice to talk about Colt. It makes me feel like he’s here.
Buster’s face freezes, and I realize he’s not talking about an old fight.
“Is he back in the cage?” My heart thumps. Then he really might be with someone else right now.
Buster looks at Nate, as if trying to see what he should do. But Nate doesn’t really know the history. He never worked with Colt. “Sure,” Nate says. “Three private fights he won. Just really killed it. He’s got a public match in a couple weeks. A big deal. Huge venue. He’s back. All the way back.”