Fatal Knockout (Knockout Series Book 1)

by Bailes, Julie

  Maddie squeezes Bentley’s hand and lowers her head to her arm. “What did I say?” Bentley asks, confused. Keisha hushes him and everyone sits silent, giving Maddie time to compose herself. I rub my hand up and down her back, attempting to soothe her. As I do, I think back to one of the best and worst days of our lives.

  She had come out of the bathroom, stood in front of me, held out her hand and revealed a stick with two pink lines. My heart hammered against my chest. We were having a baby. Knowing that our love made a life, it was the best feeling in the world. The weeks flew by, and twenty-one weeks later, when the sonographer pointed out our baby’s ‘boy parts’, I almost cried. We were having a healthy baby boy. We were on cloud nine, until two days before Maddie’s scheduled induction.

  We had just finished packing our bags for the hospital and gotten into bed. Maddie mentioned something about Eli being inactive most of the day, which was unusual for him. Eli had a consistent schedule where he was most active during the day and still throughout the night. I had told her, “You probably rocked him asleep with all the moving around and nesting thing you’ve been doing all day. Lie back and prop your feet up. I’ll go get you a snack and a cold bottled water, and we’ll see if we can’t wake him up.”

  She ate and lay on her side for two hours, but when there still wasn’t any movement, we called Dr. Marion and went in to the ER as instructed. We arrived at the hospital and Maddie was wheeled back immediately. The nurses didn’t waste any time. They didn’t even bother having her undress and put on a gown. Instead, they helped her on the bed, lifted up her shirt, and strapped two monitors on Maddie’s swollen stomach. Unlike the other times, where we had heard swishing from Eli’s movement or the sound of his galloping heart, we heard nothing. After an ultrasound confirmed our worst fear, Maddie was admitted to labor and delivery, where she was given Pitocin and endured ten hours of intense pain—pain she felt she deserved.

  On October 15, 2007 at 8:48pm, Madisyn delivered our 8lb 12oz baby boy. And a moment that should have brought us so much joy, caused us agonizing heartache. Nothing in this world is more devastating than holding your heart in your arms and realizing his life was over before it began. That day, we smothered our baby boy’s face with kisses and tears, and we did what no parent should ever have to do. We said our final goodbyes before we were able to say our first hellos…

  After several quiet moments, Maddie lifts her head and kisses my cheek. “I love it. Thank you,” she whispers. “Forever,” I breathe, turning to her and kissing away the few escaped tears rolling down her face. “I have something for you, too,” she tells me. I follow her eyes across the table to Keisha, who reaches under the table and retrieves a yellow, helium filled balloon and sets it on the table. Then, Maddie hands me an envelope. I tear it open and pull out a blank, folded piece of construction paper. I unfold the homemade card and read, “We have a visitor coming soon. Who will it be? I won’t say. So, let’s play a game called ‘Guess the Name’.”

  I take a look around the table and notice those we love most are here; Memaw, Papa, Declan, Dawson, Keisha, and Bentley. “Guess,” she whispers, nudging my shoulder. “I don’t have a clue, Madisyn. Everyone we care about is here.” She nods. “True.” I look over at Declan and he looks as lost as I feel. Then, I look to Dawson for a clue and he just shrugs. “Oh, look! Fondue is here,” Maddie grins at Bentley.

  Tableside, our waitress prepares our cheese fondue and serves us a side of artisan bread and mixed vegetables. Once the cheese and plates are set in the center of our table, Madisyn scoops some broccoli onto her plate and says to me, “You keep guessing.” And then, she stirs up a conversation with Declan. “Where’s Maria?” He shrugs and fills his plate with vegetables, only—no bread or cheese—and answers, “I wouldn’t know. We called split ways a few weeks back.” I mimic his actions and fill my plate, except I take some bread and smother everything in the fine fondue. Declan crinkles his nose and looks at me with disgust.

  “Really, man? You know you’re trying to make weight, right?” I pop a piece of cheese smothered bread into my mouth. “No worries, brother, it won’t take me long. Whatever I don’t work off tonight, I’ll finish by kicking your ass tomorrow,” I wink at Maddie. “Now Blaze,” Papa huffs, glaring at me from over the table. I don’t know if he’s scolding me for my mouth or public display of affection for his granddaughter, but I apologize for both. “Sorry, Papa.”

  “You wish it were that easy,” Declan chortles. “You don’t think it is?” He shakes his head and takes a drink of water. “Not at all. You seem to forget that we grew up together. Dude, we’ve been partners in crime since we wore diapers. How many times have I sparred with you?” I shrug. “Exactly. Bro, I know the moves you’re going to make before you do,” he states matter-of-factly. “Bullshi—” Maddie slaps her hand over my mouth. “Babe, your language,” she guides my eyes to Bentley with hers. “And, please, no more talking about work. Instead, let’s talk about diving into that chocolate flambéed heaven,” she points to the couple two tables down from us. “I second Mads,” Keisha chimes in. “Yes,” Bentley sibilates, grinning from ear-to-ear.

  “Y’all go ahead and put yourselves into a sugar coma. I’m eating a real meal,” Dawson speaks up, waving over our waitress. “Me, too,” Declan and Papa say in unison. The waitress arrives takes our orders. And, even though I’d like it if Maddie ate a something more than the flambéed “Flaming Turtle”, she doesn’t. She only asks for extra caramel and pecans. “So, Mads, it’s been a while since we’ve talked. How are things?” Dawson asks, nodding to her stomach. She shrugs one shoulder and exhales, “The same.” He furrows his brows, and asks, “Are you sure? Have you been to the—”

  “Dawson,” Memaw interjects. “Ma’am?” She lifts her hands, pats his cheek, and smiles, “Drop it, son.” He looks to Maddie and picks up the chilled bottle of wine. “Moscato?”Offering Maddie her favorite wine is his way of apologizing. Maddie takes a sip of her water and shakes her head. “Not tonight, Dawson.” He sets the bottle of wine back into the bucket and sits back, keeping his eyes narrowed and on Madisyn. “Are you sick?” Again, Maddie shakes her head no. “Dawson Maddin,” Memaw warns. “Madisyn, just tell me you’re doin’ fine and I’ll drop it,” Dawson pleads. She reaches for her brother’s hand, stares into his eyes, and says, “I’m fine. I promise.”

  Our food arrives just on time. And as we’re eating, Memaw asks me, “Have you nailed down your guess list?” I swallow my bite of sirloin and shake my head. “Memaw, I don’t have the slightest clue.” Maddie slips me another homemade card, and whispers, “Let’s see if this helps you any.” I open and read it aloud. “You don’t know me, but I know you. Are you intrigued? Pop the balloon and I’ll reveal myself to you.” Keisha squeals, “Oh, my, gosh! I’m so excited!” She’s excited? There’s no way Maddie would tell anyone anything before she’d tell me—none. “Go on, open it,” Memaw urges, handing me a fork. I take the fork from her hand and pop the balloon, and a black and white ultrasound picture feathers down to the table.

  Stunned, I pick up the photo and ask, “Is this—Holy crap! Is this what I think it is?” It’s hard to make out exactly what is what, but I’m almost certain this is a picture of a baby—our baby. Tears streaming down her face, Maddie smiles, “Happy anniversary.” I take her face between my hands and crash my lips to hers. I rest my forehead against hers and speak against her lips. “Say it, baby. Say those two words we’ve been dying to hear for so long.” She lifts both of her hands to the back of my neck, kisses me, and softly says, “We’re pregnant.” My appetite vanished, I take Madisyn’s hand and stand from the booth. She follows me and stands, and I take her into my arms. “One last question. How far?” Grinning, she holds up 9 fingers. “Nine weeks?” She nods and adds, “And 4 days.” We’ve suffered the loss of our first born and experienced three miscarriages. We stopped trying and boom—we’re pregnant. “This is—it’s amazing!” I swing her around and kiss her, again. “Let’s go home.”


  “You two go on home and celebrate, Memaw and I will pay the bill,” Papa insists. “Yes, please go home and do that in private,” Dawson groans. I set Maddie on her feet to tell Memaw goodbye and Papa thanks for dinner. When I turn around, Declan is embracing my wife. “Congratulations, Mads. No one deserves this more than you,” I hear him tell her. With my eyes on the two of them, I kiss my sister on the forehead and hug Bentley. Then, I push Declan back and tell him, “Dude, enough.” He half laughs. “Jealous?” I wrap my arm around Maddie and kiss her temple. “Of you? No. For her time? Absolutely.”

  “Okay, there’s no need for a pissing match. Blaze, I’ll see you in the morning, yeah?” Declan confirms our session. “I’ll be there.” I return my attention to my best friend. “And you?” Declan takes two steps toward me so we’re standing toe-to-toe. “You can bet your egotistical ass that I’m gonna be there,” he smiles smugly. “Whoa, hold up. Did you really just call me egotistical?” He nods. “You heard me, brother.” I move my face closer to his. “Nah, man. I’m not conceited, but I am confident… Confident that once I’m finished with you tomorrow, you won’t be able to lift so much as a spoon up from a table.” Declan tosses his head back and burst with laughter. I know what he’s doing. He’s trying to gas me up. It’s something he’s done since we were fifteen. He knows I won’t hit him. He returns his head to its natural position and then walks away. Halfway to the door, he turns and winks, “See you tomorrow, cupcake.”

  “I’m not your damn cupcake,” I call behind him. “Whatever you say,” he yells back, exiting the restaurant. Several of the people around us look at me. “I’m not,” I shrug, following behind Declan. Thankfully, we make it outside before Maddie doubles over in laughter. “Oh, you think he’s funny?” She’s laughing too hard to answer. So, as the valet fetches our car, I bend down and whisper in her ear, “Just wait until I get you home.” Instantly, she tones down her guffawing and wraps my tie around her hand. Tugging me down to her, she sucks on my earlobe and moans into my ear. “Why wait until we’re home?” She pulls her face back and looks up at me with fervent, blue eyes. I lift my hands to the side of her face and tuck her loose hair behind her ear. “In the car or on it?” With an inviting and seductive smile, she says, “Both…”

  Four

  Blaze

  “One more round, Benson. Faster!” Declan orders. Screwing my eyes shut, I focus on my breathing and will myself not to reach out and crack my best friend’s jaw. “Three, two, and one,” he counts. Dropping the weights, I pull my shirt over my head and toss it across the gym. “I’m done,” I pant, walking to get some water. “Wrong, brother. You aren’t finished until I say you are. You still have another minute of punches,” Declan argues. I’m drenched in sweat, my arms are on fire, and so help me… I’m seconds away from showing him who the boss is around here. It ain’t him. “Seriously, Declan, chill it with the nagging? All you’ve done is criticize, complain, shout, repeat…”

  “Seriously, Blaze,” he mocks. “Stop being a slacker and start being a fighter.” I throw him a bottled water and lower myself to the mat. “If you’re so good, why aren’t you the one stepping into that octagon and defending your title?” He scowls. “You know exactly why.” Because of me. “I’m sorry, man. I didn’t mean to open old wounds,” I apologize, regretting my impulsive words. He downs his water, scrunches the plastic bottle and tosses it in the bin. “I know you didn’t.” He walks toward me and extends his hand. “Now, get your ass up. I told you yesterday that you’d regret eating all that cheese. You’re not gettin’ out of here until you give me that last round.”

  Though my muscles are blazing, I get up from the mat, pick up the dumbbells and get to striking. I strike harder, faster, and before I know it, my minute is up. “Anything else you want to go over before Saturday?” Looking up at the clock, I notice we’ve been here for seven hours, an hour longer than our usual sessions. “Nah, I’m good,” I assure him, unwrapping my wrists. “Yeah, I know you are.” He slaps me on the shoulder and then walks toward the door. “Be sure to let Mads work her magic on your muscles. You worked hard. Relax, refuel, keep your leg in your pants, and I’ll see y’all bright and early Friday.” I toss my wrap in the trash and follow behind him. “I can’t believe you referred to my man jewels as a leg.” He pushes open the door, and says, “I can’t believe you just referred to your junk as jewels…”

  Madisyn

  “Either get up or make him tap!” I scream at Blaze, who’s in closed guard with his back flat to the mat. He gives a curt nod to let me know he heard me. Finally, his opponent gives him the opportunity to finish this. Tank, gassed and ready for a break, makes an abominable mistake, flattening his right palm to the canvas and attempting an escape. It isn’t his technique that gets him into trouble, in fact, it was almost flawless. But, almost isn’t good enough. Tank slips-up and underestimates Blaze’s long-lasting, strong stamina. Tank presumes Blaze is bushed and he lets his guard down. Quickly noticing his opponent’s error, Blaze acts fast as lightning, grabbing Tank’s wrist and clutching it to his chest. Then, he lifts his hips, swings his leg over Tank’s head, and traps his forearm between his thighs.

  Blaze pinches his legs, bites his ankles tight, and hyperextends Tank’s arm to the point of submission. At once, the spectators become riotous. “Blaze, Craze, Blaze…” Their chants fuel the fire within my husband and he begins to pull Tank’s body in separate directions. Veins protrude from Tank’s neck and forehead and his teeth grind together. Lining to the fence, I cheer on my man. “That’s it, baby! That’s it!” Tank is a tough son-of-a-gun, I’ll give him that. But, there’s a fine line between being resilient and just plain ignorant.

  Blaze extends his opponent’s arm farther up his chest. I grimace when Tank’s excruciating moans pierce my ears. Frustrated, and genuinely worried about his future, I shout, “Tank! Stop being stubborn and tap already!” I mean, come on! His fans call him Blaze ‘The Craze’ Benson for a reason. He’s known for splintering bones in the matter of seconds. And with his high rankings of 37 wins and 3 losses, he’s considered the most dangerous fighter in his division. Tank is attempting career suicide by trying to wrestle himself loose.

  Finally, Tank realizes there’s no escaping Blaze’s magnificent armbar and he taps Blaze’s thigh, five seconds before the round ends. Thank you, Lord. Immediately, Blaze unlatches his ankles and gently pushes Tank’s body away from him. Standing, he jogs across the octagon and opens the gate. “Come on, gorgeous,” he smiles, extending his hand to me. Returning his contagious smile, I gather my supplies and slip my hand in his. Once we’re to his corner, he sits on his stool and points to his lips. “Yeah, you got yourself a nasty cut.” Confused, he scrunches his brows. “I’m bleeding?” I nod. “You are.” He uses his finger to find the blood. “So I am…”

  I maneuver around his busted lip and kiss his cheek. “You did great, baby.” I rummage through my case and gather all I need to work on his beckoning lips. I take a cold towel and apply a small amount of pressure to his cut. The bleeding stops on its own and there’s no need for adrenaline or Avitene to coagulate the blood. “You had me believing you were going to rip his arm right off,” I say, coating his wound with salve. He stands, lifts his hand to the side of my face, and trails his calloused thumb across the crest of my cheek. “Because I was,” he says softly. I shake my head at him. “What am I going to do with you?” He grabs my hips and pulls me close. “Believe me, baby, I can give you a never-ending list of things you can do with me.”

  “You’re bad,” I laugh. “Let me show you just how bad I can be,” he kisses me. And even though the salve coating his bottom lip makes my stomach queasy, I kiss him back. Seriously, what woman wouldn’t? Tearing my lips from his, I push his hands down from my waist and walk around him. Then, I give his butt a slap and tell him, “Get out there and claim your victory, Benson.” He takes several steps toward the center of the octagon, but before he joins the referee and Tank, he looks back at me and
smirks, “This title isn’t all I’m claiming tonight.” Dramatically sighing, I lift up my left hand and eye the blue sapphire diamond he slipped on my finger many years ago. “Hum… Seems that someone has already claimed it,” I tease. He narrows his eyes at me, but before he can say a word, the referee takes hold of his wrist and the announcer booms, “Ladies and gentlemen, tonight’s victor, by armbar submission, your light heavyweight champion… Blaze ‘The Craze’ Benson!”

  The sold out arena rumbles as the spectators gather to their feet to clap, whistle, and celebrate Blaze’s win. Proud of my man, I run to him and wrap my arms around his thick, sweaty neck. “That’s how you do, baby!” Returning my embrace, he picks me up and walks us over to his corner. “That’s how I do, beautiful,” he grins, lowering his lips to mine. “Let Declan finish things out here. You,” he kisses me, “meet me in the shower in fifteen minutes.” I nod and press my lips to his. When he lowers my feet down to the mat, I reach down for his ice water. “You got it, baby. But, before I go, finish this off.” I lift the bottle to his lips. Keeping his eyes on mine, he takes the bottle from my hand and guzzles the water. He reaches around me and sets the empty bottle atop of his stool. Before I turn to leave the octagon, I hand him an ice pack and towel. “Fifteen minutes, Benson.” Before I exit the gate, I look back and glance at him. Half smiling, he applies the ice to his shoulder and winks. “Not a second later…”

  Several fighters stand outside of their locker room, catcalling and making sexual remarks as I walk past them to Blaze’s locker room. Unlike them, Blaze is a main event fighter and has his own, private room. Those guys, along with many, have to share locker rooms; red corner fighters in one and blue corner fighters in another. I keep my body wedged between our guards and ignore their disgusting attempts to attract my attention. “Mrs. Benson,” Brendon says, opening the door and motioning for me to enter Blaze’s room. “Thank you, Brendon,” I smile. Hastily, he nods, “Yes, ma’am.” He begins to pull the door to, but I reach out and stop it. “Brendon?” Without looking at me, he answers, “Yes, ma’am?” Instantly, I cringe. Seriously? How many times do I have to tell him to stop calling me that? “Madisyn,” I correct him. His cheeks push up and wrinkles surround the outside of his eyelids. “Yes, ma—” I clear my throat in warning. “Yes, Madisyn, ma’am,” He chuckles, quickly closing the door.