Totaled

by Stacey Grice

  “Jesus, Sue. Do you have to always be so brash?”

  “Yes. Yes, I do. This is why you love me.” It was true. I did love that she always said whatever the hell was on her mind.

  “The sex was great!” I enthused. I had no other words.

  “What do you mean, great? It didn’t hurt? Not even a little bit?” She seemed both shocked and skeptical.

  “Well, yeah. At first I was scared shitless because he’s freaking enormous! Not that I have any comparison, I guess, but I’m pretty sure his…you know…is uh, proportional.” I looked down. I couldn’t believe I just said that. “But he was gentle,” I continued. “It was just that initial moment, and then it was nice. Awesome, actually. He made up for it with a couple orgasms.” I closed my eyes, remembering the feeling of pure ecstasy.

  “A couple? Goddamn it, Bree. I hate you! Not only do you manage to land a nice guy who happens to be mouthwateringly hot with a giant cock, but you lose your virginity and it’s actually good sex? I damn sure didn’t have an orgasm with my first time. Or second. Or third, for that matter.” She paused and threw her flip flop at me. “You suck!”

  “Sorry. Don’t hate me. You’ve got a few years more experience than me. Years of good sex to hold over my head.” I tried to reassure her but she sat there pouting anyway.

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah. It’s six dozen of one, half of the other.”

  “Wait, what?” Here she went again with her nonsense.

  “What, what?” She didn’t even miss a beat.

  “What did you just say?” I asked, absolutely losing it with laugher.

  “It’s six dozen of one, half of the other. What?”

  “Okay, no. Just…no! It’s six of one, half a dozen of the other.”

  “That doesn’t sound right.”

  “Well, it is. That’s the idiom. You’re hilarious.”

  “Whatever,” Sue dismissed, not even bothered a little bit.

  We sat there next to the pool at Analise’s house and fell right back into place. That is one thing about Sue that I loved. I appreciated that she got pissed enough to call me out on my shit but not so pissed that our friendship would be irreparably damaged by my neglect. And I knew that she was genuinely happy for me.

  A few minutes passed of quiet relaxation and I felt the stress evaporating off of me as the sun warmed my skin.

  “Oh, I didn’t tell you yet. Drew got a fight. An actual UFC fight.”

  “What?! Are you kidding me? That’s…wow. That’s incredible! When?” she asked, sitting up in her lounge chair.

  “Saturday.” I heard the slight undercurrent of disappointment in my voice.

  “This coming Saturday? No way!” Her mouth was agape, astonished.

  “Yes. In Atlanta. And I can’t go, so you have to help me.” I gave her my very best pleading eyes.

  “Help you do what?”

  “I want to get Morey to buy the fight and show it at Flip Flops. I need you to ask him for me.”

  I knew what her reaction was going to be and sure enough, immediately she responded, “No way! That guy is so creepy.”

  “Oh, shut up. He’s a harmless old man with an affinity for your ass. Don’t act like you don’t love the attention. And you haven’t had a bar tab since before you even turned twenty-one!”

  “Yeah, I guess you’re right.” She sat, apparently quietly contemplating whether she was willing to forgive the old man for his handsy flirting. “Fine. I’ll work on Morey. But the first time he pinches my ass, I’m kicking him in the balls. I swear to God, Bree.”

  “Thank you.” I smiled. She truly was a great friend.

  “So, why aren’t you going to the fight?”

  I hated even having to answer the question, wanting more than anything to be there to support him. “I can’t,” I said with a sigh. “I have an exam that day. I can’t reschedule it and if I don’t show, I get a zero and will fail the class. It’s a final, so it’ll probably be four hours or so and there isn’t a flight out to get me there anywhere close to where I could be on time to the fight. He’s the ticket opening match.”

  “And you’re comfortable with Drew going up there by himself?” She looked like she was already preparing for my crying phone call when we break up.

  “He won’t be alone. My dad is going, and Liam. And two of the trainers from the gym too.”

  “That’s not what I mean. It’s just that, well, this is the UFC, not some amateur shit. There are going to be people at every turn trying to take advantage of him and capitalize on his newness to the environment. And there’s going to be girls. Beautiful, fast, aggressive girls. Everywhere. You’re not concerned with that? Come on, Bree. You can’t be that naïve.” She pulled off her sunglasses, really looking at me, a pitying expression of defeat in her eyes.

  “I know. I just can’t think about that. I have to trust him. I love him.” I hated that these thoughts had already crossed my mind and now Sue was bringing them back into the forefront of my thoughts. Was she trying to torture me?

  “You love him? Are you sure? Don’t confuse the sex with love,” she replied curtly, putting her sunglasses back on with force.

  “No. I’m not. I love him. And he loves me. I’ve never felt this happy before. He’s all I can think about. He’s all I dream about. It’s as if nothing else matters when we’re together. He makes me feel appreciated, cherished, worshipped. And good God, the way he touches me…I can’t get enough.”

  “Oh, you’ve got it bad!”

  “I do. I totally do. I know I don’t even know him that well yet, but I feel like one of those silly clichés that you read about in romance novels. When you know, you just know, right? I think I know. I think he’s it for me. I feel safe with him, like he would never dream of doing anything to hurt me.”

  “Okay girl, pump the brakes a little. Just don’t go all in just yet. You need to know things. What was his childhood like? Who’s his best friend? When’s his birthday? How many girls has he slept with? Dated?” she rambled and I paused, trying to consider what she was saying, but she just had no idea. I felt like I really did know him.

  “That’s all stuff we’ll learn as we go along. I may not know his favorite color, but I know the curves of his jaw line and how the left side of his lips curl up when he smiles. I can hear his laugh in my head. I can feel how protective he is just in the way that he holds my hand. I love this man, with all of my heart.”

  “I just don’t want you to get hurt,” she said, with all seriousness. “Just jump in feet first, okay? Give it some time.”

  “I didn’t even have a doubt until you planted one there,” I lied. “You’re making me second guess myself. Should I be worried about all of this UFC stuff? I mean, really worried? I can’t stress out about that yet. It’s all going to be okay. It has to be,” I said, hearing my voice shake as the lying words came out. I knew that I had to be worried. It had nothing to do with trusting him and everything to do with not trusting the industry and fame.

  “Okay, girl. I didn’t mean to upset you. I’m sure it’ll all be fine. And I’ll be here to pick up the pieces if it isn’t.”

  “Thank you, Sue. I’m lucky to have you in my corner.”

  “Yes, you are. Now enough of this sappy shit. Let’s go see what Analise’s dad has stashed in his wet bar.”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  DREW

  If you could build the perfect mixed martial artist from scratch, I wasn’t what you would end up with as the finished product. I wasn’t long and lean, but tall and stocky. My father, may he rot in hell, used to constantly tell me that I was built like a brick shit house, whatever that means. I was precise and powerful, but not as quick as I should be, not as agile as the world’s greatest. I had very little actual wrestling experience, but had worked overtime with some great jiu-jitsu coaches to try and make up for it. I was creative, unorthodox, and spontaneous. I felt my opponent rather than watch him. I observed the ebb and flow of his body and anticipated his next movement. Whe
ther it be a slight change in his stance, or a look in his eyes, I could often see what he was about to throw my way. I have studied Muay Thai and watched tape after tape of UFC footage. Rather than rely on my physicality and natural talent, I had put in the work and trained hard to perfect my technique.

  Awake but my eyes still closed, I settled myself. Inhaling the scent of my hotel room, I took in a few slow breaths. I thought about how important this day was for me. It was now. This was the morning of the most important day of my life. I was ready for this. I was ready to go to battle. Sitting up, I cracked my neck from side to side and opened my eyes. I stretched out my legs and rolled my ankles, continuing to breathe slowly, all the while reflecting on what got me to this point and where I wanted to go from here. Not here to defend a belt or title, but here to make a name for myself, I had nothing to lose and everything to prove. If only Bree were here with me.

  Last night, at the weigh-in, I met my opponent for the first time in person. He was someone I knew much about. In fact, I idolized him and had often tried to imitate some of his techniques in training while experimenting with different take downs and striking combinations. He was spectacular and despite my poker face, I couldn’t help but be a little starstruck. At 6′5″, Stefan Purifoy had an inch on me in height and a near two inch reach advantage, but I had twelve more pounds of lean muscle to put into my attack. What was going to be the most trouble for me was how unpredictable he was in the octagon. Often described as spastic, he was near impossible to read. He had one of the most unique styles and his unusual technique was very difficult to emulate in training. I had prepared my body and mind for him, though he was certainly an enormous challenge for me, especially for my very first professional fight.

  Before we entered the weigh-in room, he’d shaken my hand and looked me in the eyes.

  “Drew Dougherty. It is nice to finally meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you, but you’re a difficult man to find any tape on. I wasn’t quite sure how to prepare for you. I guess we’ll just have to see tomorrow,” he said in earnest. “You are about to enter a circus. You sure you’re ready for this, man?” he asked me. I nodded and he said, “Welcome to the UFC.”

  I had walked in first and followed the lead of the handler with Pat, Liam, and our team following behind me. The officials directed me to where I was supposed to stand. It was uneventful. Cameras flashed, but no one really even said anything to me. So I just did as I was told, stepping up onto the scale when prompted to do so. The moment Purifoy stepped into that room, he became someone else. He morphed into a cocky character of shit talking, showboating craziness. He was quite different, personality wise from the man I had just met. As we stood on the stage after weighing in, staring each other down and posing for pictures, it was clear that he had a large fan base. The room was filled with media personnel, officials, and fans, all clamoring for a piece of him. My small group of trainers, coaches, and, ancillary staff was laughable when compared to his entourage. He was even followed by a trail of groupies. While I wasn’t interested in such attention, it was shockingly intimidating. He had been at this game for years already and here I was, an infant, showing up to the playground for the first time. I put on my t-shirt and ball cap when we were done with all of the official stuff and sat at my spot on the panel where they directed me. Apparently, it was unorthodox to have any kind of press questions the day of the actual weigh-in, but since I was a last minute addition to the card and neither of us were cutting weight, they changed things up a bit. I didn’t know any better and didn’t really care.

  The media started by asking me a few questions, which I answered as best I could, but they quickly shifted their interest to my opponent, almost dismissively, as if I was a nobody. I wasn’t talking smack or taunting him. I wasn’t giving any extra details or information. I wasn’t interested in the show boating. I was just ready to fight. I wanted to prove that I deserved to be here in the octagon, not by making an ass of myself. I sat quietly and calmly as he spoke of our upcoming match as a training exercise, a mere warm-up for his next scheduled fight with another prominent heavyweight in the sport. He said that he was almost insulted that the UFC officials had paired him up with such an “inexperienced novice,” but that I apparently knew somebody who knew somebody that had enough connections to score me the fight. He laughed at me and talked about how everybody has to start somewhere and that not long ago, he was given a shot too, and look how far it had gotten him. He had no idea who he was dismissing. My pulse raced and my hands twitched, but I remained calm and collected, knowing I had to focus all of that energy and determination into the octagon later.

  And later had arrived. I looked out of my hotel room window at the skyline of beautiful downtown Atlanta. I had never been before. Pat had called all of his contacts and cashed in on numerous favors to get me on the card for tonight. I was lucky to have him in my life and felt a wave of appreciation for everything that he’d done for me over the past two months. It was show time for me and I knew that it was now or never. I would likely never get a shot like this again.

  I walked over to the nightstand, noting the blinking light on the hotel room phone indicating that there was a message. I turned over my cell phone, which I had silenced last night before going to bed, and saw that I had voicemails and text messages waiting for me. Quite the popular guy all of a sudden. I got straight to checking them. Reading one after the other, I clicked delete with each one and proceeded to listen to voicemails. A few were from media outlets, which was annoying. I have no idea how they got my personal cell number, but I knew I would have to change it. A couple of messages were from Pat and my other trainers, reminding me of the times and locations to meet up, like I was a child that needed to be reminded of the field trip itinerary. There was even one from Mick saying that he was more nervous than a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs, but that he wished me luck. He was hilarious and it was nice of him to call, but they all just felt empty. Until I got to hers.

  “Drew…I just wanted to…well, good luck tonight. I just wanted to wish you luck. I know you’ll be great. I put something in your gear bag. It’s in a small brown box, next to your mouthguard. It’s just a little something for luck. Be safe.”

  Bree sounded nervous and hesitant. She sounded scared for me. I just wanted to hold her and reassure her that I would be fine and that things were about to be different. I didn’t want her to worry about me. I wanted to comfort her, console her, and protect her. The love that I felt for Bree so quickly was almost too much for me to process. I felt like I was on the precipice of something bigger and greater, not just with Bree, but with my entire life. I just had to hold it together.

  I found the little brown box and untied the green ribbon around it. The paper tag on the ribbon had her handwriting on it.

  Adh mor ort

  ~Bree

  I knew this phrase to mean “good luck” or “luck be with you” in Gaelic. I opened the box to see a tiny green four leaf clover pressed flat between two circular pieces of glass and sealed around the edge. I closed my eyes tight and smiled. This girl. This girl that I confessed my love for both with my words and with my body just over a week ago was unbelievable. Damn it. This sucked. I understood why she couldn’t be here with me, but I wished it weren’t the case. I wanted her here. I needed her here, more than I even wanted to admit to myself.

  After piddling around my hotel room for hours and watching some more tape footage of my opponent in previous fights, I was going absolutely stir crazy. I ate my favorite pre-fight meal for lunch—steel cut oatmeal, yams, grilled chicken, and a liter of room temperature water. I was happy to hear my alarm go off when it was finally time to get my gear together and make my way to the arena. I opened my hotel room door, bag in hand, and was greeted by Pat. I didn’t know how long he’d been standing outside my door, but we made our way down the hall to the elevator together. He didn’t say much, but he was fidgety and anxious.

  We arrived at the arena and were shown
to our dressing room, where I quickly unpacked my gear and started mentally preparing myself. There were people in and out of the room, the increased activity around me loud and distracting. I remained focused. Centered. I got dressed and sat on the warm-up mat in the center of the room to stretch. I pictured my old coach in Arizona, bowing to him with honor before a sparring match. I pictured the peaceful desert landscape that I used to gaze out into while jogging. I pictured my mother sitting down onto the edge of my bed next to my sleeping body, rubbing my head to wake me up. I could see her smiling down at me every morning as a child, saying “Rise up my sweet child, my sleepy head.” I pictured the ocean at my new summer home. I could smell the briny air and almost feel the sea breeze on my face. And I pictured Bree. I saw her crystal blue eyes in front of me, framed by long, brown lashes, inviting me to stare into her soul. I envisioned her perfect full lips and how she bit the bottom one when she was nervous. I opened my eyes and saw everything. I saw where I was going after tonight. And I liked what I saw.

  My hands were taped and my gloves put on. I was all set to head out into the chaos, shadowboxing around while I waited for the officials to tell us when. It wasn’t long before we were summoned and lead down a long hallway. The crowd noise and the music were getting louder and louder the closer we got to the arena’s center. But it wasn’t nearly as loud as the sound of my own rapidly beating heart in my ears. The music blasted and the lights illuminated the octagon ahead of me. The crowd went crazy. Flanked by multiple security guards, I walked calmly down the tunnel of fan hands reaching out. I felt focused. Confident. Excited. The octagon beckoned me, tugging at me like the center of it had its own gravitational pull. I got petroleum jelly rubbed onto my face over my eyebrows and frisked by the officials.

  The commentator, standing in the center of the ring, began. “Ladies and Gentleman, this is the first event of the evening!” he announced. “This fight is three rounds in the UFC heavyweight division.” There was something surreal about even being in the announcer’s presence, but to hear his famous voice announce a fight that I was actually a part of was just crazy. “Introducing first, fighting out of the blue corner, in his debut UFC professional fight, he stands six feet, four inches tall and weighs in at two hundred and fifty-five pounds. With an impressive amateur record of twenty-six wins and two losses, fighting out of Fernandina Beach, Florida, by way of Murphy’s Gym, Drew Dougherty!”