Fight of Life (Perception Book 3)

by Shandi Boyes

  “Nice meeting you Lola, I might see you around sometime” says Noah before he walks past and heads back to the rest of his band mates.

  “So you know Noah?” Lola questions confused.

  “Yep, he is my brother” I reply.

  Lola eyes quickly flick up to mine and her eyebrows go even closer together, causing a deep V to form in to the middle of her forehead. Her eyes then dart between Noah and I.

  “Not literally” I reply chuckling “he is like a brother to me” I explain.

  Even if Noah and I aren’t related by blood, he is still my brother.

  “Oh… okay” she replies before taking a sip of her beer.

  “Does he have a girlfriend?” she questions, causing me to spit beer all over the bar top. Maybe Lola flirts with guys differently than I have become accustomed too. I have said all along that she is different than any other girl I have met.

  “Not for me” she replies when she notices me choking on my beer “I have no intentions of dating anyone” she states firmly while looking sternly into my eyes.

  “Noah doesn’t date, period” I reply. Noah doesn’t have any problems hooking up with several girls each weekend, but I have never seen anyone permanent in his life, ever.

  “He just hasn’t met my sister” Lola replies while waggling her eyebrows.

  I take another large swig of my beer as I look over at Noah. He seems happy and content with his life right now. I am pretty sure he wouldn’t like me fucking around with his love life, or lack thereof. Noah never lets anyone get close to him. Every time he does they vanish on him. Except me, I will always have his back.

  I turn towards the bar to order another beer for Lola and I and it takes Maggie awhile to notice my request as they are run off their feet tonight.

  “Sorry Jacob, Cindy quit this morning leaving us sort a barmaid” Maggie advises when she places another two bottles of beer on the counter top.

  “I am looking for a job” pipes up Lola from behind my shoulder.

  Maggie looks over at Lola, before her gaze turns back to mine. Her eyes silently requesting my recommendation on whether Lola would be a good fit for Mavericks. I instantly start nodding my head. Lola would fit into the Mavericks family well and it means I would be able to see her more regularly.

  “You can start next Friday” advises Maggie, before she goes rushing back towards the other clientele requesting her service.

  Lola lets out a little victorious squeal as she smiles brightly, gaining her the attention of a few males standing nearby.

  “Thank you” she whispers while looking into my eyes.

  “It will be my pleasure” I reply while waggling my eyebrows.

  We spend the next several hours watching Noah and the guys perform on stage. Lola’s seems to enjoy ‘Rise Up’s’ performance and would often get up and dance. I was happy watching her from the band’s table, until I noticed a few guys started moving in closer to her. I don’t dance, but I am more than happy to stand next to her in the middle of the dance floor if it will give the guys a clear indication to fuck off. I would occasionally catch a glance of Noah singing on stage. He kept smiling while shaking his head at me standing still in the middle of the dance floor. I don’t recall ever seeing any rules that state I am required to dance if I stand in the middle of a dance floor. When I gave Noah the finger, his smile turned into a big shit eating grin.

  ****

  “They are very talented” states Lola from the passenger seat on the drive home.

  “Yeah they are” I reply honestly. I don’t think it will be too much longer before Noah and the band starts to see some recognition from the years of hard work they have been putting in.

  “Thank you for getting me the job tonight Jacob, but I have only just realised that I am going to have to turn it down” says Lola disappointed, while looking over at me.

  “Why?” I question confused, she seemed so excited when Maggie said she could start next week.

  “I don’t have a licence, so I have no way of getting to Ravenshoe for my shifts” she informs slightly embarrassed.

  “You don’t have your licence? Why not?” I question curiously. I know Lola is over twenty-one as she was spotted for ID at the door at Mavericks before we walked in.

  “I have failed three times” she huffs while she screws her nose up in disgust “It was a female instructor” she advises angrily, while pouting her lips and crossing her arms in front of her ample chest.

  This makes me laugh loudly. Lola is obviously use to using her looks to get men to do what she wants. But with how head strong Lola is, I could see that some women might perceive that as meaning she is a bitch. I more see it as in Lola knows what she wants and she isn’t going to settle for anything less. I find that type of personality appealing.

  “I’ll drive you to your shifts” I offer, making Lola’s eyes begin to narrow “and I will teach you how to drive, so than you can drive yourself to work” I add quickly. Lola wants to be independent and I don’t have a problem with that.

  “And what do you get out of this deal?” she questions, as her light brown eyes turn to stare into mine.

  You, I whisper silently to myself. But I knew my statement would piss her off, so I kept quiet. She has been more than adamant that we are not on a date tonight. So instead of saying the first thought that pops into my head, I waggle my eyebrows at her, causing her to roll her eyes at me.

  As we stop at a T intersection I hesitate on which way to turn. Right would be taking Lola straight home, if I turned left we could go back to Bronte’s Peak. Did Lola want to go back to Bronte’s Peak or did she want to go home? Should I ask her or just assume on what she would like to do? She must notice me hesitating as she leans over and flicks my indicator signalling for my car to turn right. My shoulders slightly slump when I realise there will be no cookie sampling for Jacob tonight.

  “I told you before Jacob, I am not the girl for you” she whispers firmly, before her gaze turns back towards the blackened night.

  Lola stays quiet the rest of the drive home and this time I decide not to ask her on another date. It isn’t that I don’t want to see Lola again, but she is clearly giving me signals that she isn’t interested in dating me. The fact that she has reminded me four times tonight that we are not on a date was all the proof I needed. But I will still drive her to work as I had offered earlier. If I give someone my word, then I follow through with what I say. So just before she exits the car I tell her to text me her shift times and that I will come back next week to pick her up.

  She seems a little hesitant when she starts to walk back towards her house. This time she even turns around and gives me a small smile and a little wave before she goes inside.

  ****

  “So did she pass?” questions Noah the instant I walk into the lounge room.

  This causes me to freeze in place. I didn’t realise that he had caught on to me testing the girls I date out on him.

  “You have to start giving yourself some more fucking credit Jacob. If you can’t even see what you have to offer them, then how the fuck are they ever going to be able to see it?” Noah slurs.

  I should have realised he was drunk as Noah has never been the talkative type.

  “You deserve better then what you are aiming for” he states seriously, before he slightly stumbles towards his room.

  Chapter 6

  Jacob

  The next morning, I quietly walk out of my room wondering if I am going to get another lecture from Noah on my relationship status. He looks up from his bowl of cereal, but doesn’t say anything as I walk into the kitchen.

  “What’s your plans this weekend Jake?” he questions cheerfully, once he finishes his bowl of cereal.

  I sigh with relief when I realise that he isn’t going to rehash the conversation we had last night.

  “I’m going to head down to the gym for a few hours, do you want to come?” I respond as I grab the orange juice out of the fridge.

  I
decided last night to start listening to some of the advice Noah has been offering. Most of the time he mumbles nothing but bullshit, but sometimes he seems to have a little bit of logic to his slurring lectures. I needed to start concentrating on my career goals instead of my relationships all the time. It wasn’t going to be easy, as Lola is a girl that will be hard to get out of my system, but she has made it pretty fucking obvious that she is not interested in dating me.

  “A few hours?” Noah replies as he pulls his brows down low on his face. “No thanks” he continues as he shakes his head sternly.

  I had managed to get Noah into the gym with me a few times, but his limit is generally an hour, at a maximum. I have always been obsessed with working out since I was a teen. But my obsession has increased since I was approached a few months ago about fighting in the UFC….

  “Can you fight?” questions a voice above me. I peer up from my large taco bell meal and look into the eyes of a dark skinned, lanky man who is wearing mirrored glasses in the middle of a shopping centre food court.

  “Sorry?” I reply, wondering if he was talking to me or not. He pulls the vacant chair out from underneath the table, before spinning it around to straddle it backwards.

  “Can you fight?” he questions again.

  “I haven’t needed to” I reply. Because of my size no one has ever attempted to take a swing at me.

  “Obviously” the stranger replies, laughing quietly.

  “My name is Hank; I own a gym in this complex. I also train UFC fighters. Has that ever been something you may be interested in doing?” he questions as he pulls his sunglasses off his face and looks me in the eyes.

  I stare back into Hank’s nearly black eyes, while I consider his question. I haven’t worked out exactly what career I want to do yet. I have been studying a few business courses via correspondence but I have been finding it as boring as fuck, that my efforts have been lagging the past few months.

  “I could be interested” I reply casually, causing Hank to smile brightly. He starts digging in his back pocket to pull out his wallet. He then hands me a business card with all of his details on it.

  “Come by the gym and I will put you through a few drills and we will see if you have what it takes” he instructs before he stands up from the table and walks away.

  I look down at his tattered old business card. “Hank’s Gym” I murmur to myself, nothing original there.

  “Is this seat taken?” questions a pretty blonde girl, who is wearing a light blue sundress. I had noticed her when I had first sat down in the food court, but decided to finish my lunch before I went on the chase.

  “It is now” I reply while chuckling. She is cute and I like the fact that she came to me, instead of waiting for me to chase her.

  By the time I was heading back to my room later that night, I had completely forgotten about my run in with Hank. It was only when I was stripping out of my trousers and his business card fell out of my pocket that I remembered about the conversation. Professional fighting was never something I had considered as a career, but there is no harm giving it a shot, I would pretty much try anything once. It’s not like I am just going to beat the shit out of some random guy for fun, it’s a professional sport with referees and shit. I can only try it and if I hate it, I just won’t do it again.

  The next morning, I woke up early and headed straight to Hank’s gym. The instant I walked into the gym that old stinky locker room smell hits you full force. I don’t mind the smell of sweat, when its mixed with sex, but this place totally fucking reeks.

  “I knew you would eventually show up” huffs Hank from my right.

  He is currently working on a punching bag by himself. For an older guy his body is ripped. I would guess Hank would be in his fifties if not sixties. His black afro is clipped close to his scalp, he has tattoos covering most of his torso and both of his arms are covered in full sleeves.

  “You can’t work out in cargo pants, go and change into some gym clothes and meet me in the middle of the ring” he instructs.

  I nod my head while looking around for the change rooms. I locate them on the right hand wall and promptly go over to change into a pair of black gym shorts and a long sleeve shirt that I have in my gym bag. Once I am changed, I head back out into the gym and see that Hank is standing in the middle of the old frayed boxing ring. I dart my eyes around and notice that most of the equipment is badly outdated compared to the gym I normally do my weights at.

  I walk over to Hank and try to work out how exactly you are supposed to get into the ring. I end up pulling down the ropes to step over them, causing Hank to laugh loudly.

  “You are supposed to go under the ropes, but whatever works man” he chuckles as he walks over towards me with a pair of red boxing gloves in his hands.

  “Lose the shirt” he instructs.

  I hesitate. I know I am not that fat little kid that use to get teased in primary school anymore, but I am still self-conscious about wandering around half naked. Hank notices my hesitation and he narrows his eyes at me.

  “Fuck it” I mumble under my breath as I pull off my shirt and hang it over the ropes.

  “I knew you would be ripped. Why the hell do you hide under all those layers of clothes?” Hank asks while he pulls my hands out and starts placing the boxing gloves on them.

  I don’t bother answering him. I have always worn layers of clothes, it’s just the way I am.

  Hank holds his hand up in front of himself and instructs for me to hit the pads that are covering them. I hesitate with my first swing, Hank is pretty well built for his age, but he isn’t that tall or wide and I don’t want to knock him on his ass. He must notice the lack of strength in my swing as he lifts his eyebrows high into his hairline.

  “What’s your weak spot?” he questions as he instructs for me to punch the pads again.

  “I don’t have one”

  “Bullshit, everyone has a weak spot” he interrupts, before he takes a swing at my head, the pads connecting harshly against my right jaw.

  The way his face morphs into an arrogant smirk pisses me off. That the next swing I hit him with connects harder than my first few did.

  “Do you have a girlfriend?” he questions. I shake my head while I continue to move around the mat, jabbing punches left and right into the pads as instructed.

  “Daddy issues?” I once again shake my head.

  “Mommy issues?” he questions. This causes me to stop swinging my fists to look directly into his black eyes.

  “My mom is dead” I reply harshly. Hank swallows sharply before he murmurs an apology. I go back to swinging my fists as he was instructing earlier. He didn’t know about my mom so I can’t hold it against him.

  “Ok, so no weak spots. Then why are you being such a pansy? Just hit me!” he shouts aggressively.

  Hank just found my weak spot. There is nothing more in the world I hate than being called a pansy. My brother Patrick calls me a pansy all the time. How was I to know that when you are six years old and getting called a fat cow by school yard bullies, that you weren’t supposed to cry. Patrick ended up telling our dad that he had seen me cry, and my dad gave me a stern warning saying that boys don’t cry, ever! I haven’t cried since that day, but my brother never lets me forget that one time that I did.

  My anger starts to rise as I swing my fists hard at Hank over and over again. For the first few swings, Hank smiles and uses his pads as if they are boxing gloves. But as the match continues, I no longer aim for the pads on Hank’s hands and my fists start connecting with his body.

  “Alright, alright. ENOUGH!” Hank screams a short time later as he bolts through the ropes to stand on the outside of the ring.

  The feeling of regret instantly hits me when I notice that Hank has blood streaming out of his nose and his body is marked with several red welts from the punches I had inflicted on his torso.

  “We found your weak spot” he affirms, while wiping the blood from underneath his nose.

&
nbsp; “Shit Hank, I’m sorry” I apologize while quickly making my way over to the side of the ring. I hadn’t meant to physically hurt him, I just got carried away with the adrenaline that was racing through my body.

  “Don’t be sorry, your big ass is going to make me fucking rich!” he loudly chuckles while jumping into the air.

  Hank spent the next four weeks training me several hours a day, seven days a week to get me prepared for my first UFC heavy weight fight.

  Now four months later, I still haven’t competed in my first fight. The instant I walk into Hank’s gym; I peer my eyes around the empty space trying to locate him. I eventually spot him sitting behind his old wooden desk in his office. I briskly close the distance between us, before I can come up with anymore pathetic excuses.