Undeclared (The Woodlands)

by Jen Frederick

  It was all about the money for Noah.

  “So you’re like a girl stripping to pay for law school only you’re fighting for money?” I asked.

  This made him laugh. “I guess so. Never thought of it that way.” Noah set down his knife. “You don’t have to worry about me, Grace. I can take care of myself. Plus I’m trying to do only sanctioned events now.”

  I bit back more dire warnings and instead asked, “Do you have any fights coming up?”

  “No. I’m trying to get on the undercard for Vegas. There are some scouts from the UFC supposedly coming to a smoker in October.” Noah scooped up the rest of the berries and placed them in a cooler. After taking off his apron and hair protection, he came over to lean against the table next to me.

  “And that is?”

  “A smoker is an informal tournament. You’re mostly fighting members of your gym or maybe some other gym. Everyone uses protective gear. Most of those who attend will be other fighters, but it’d be okay if you come, if you want,” he offered.

  “Um, sure.” I wasn’t sure I was ready to see Noah get punched or kicked. I didn’t think it would look good if I was cringing and flinching at every blow. “So what do you do now?”

  “Train, study, loiter in the library in hopes that I run into this girl I’m crazy about,” he said with a sudden grin. He pulled off my hairnet and reached behind me to untie the knot in the apron, pulling my body lightly against his.

  The statement and the contact made me both blush and smile. I tried to change the subject while inwardly hugging the words close. He’s crazy about me. “Grappling sounds kind of kinky,” I teased, turning the subject back to fighting.

  Noah laughed. “Yeah, there was a big article in a magazine that said MMA was the gayest sport. A bunch of guys rolling around on the floor wrapping their arms and legs around each other in order to get the other person to submit. Also guys always try to grab your sack.”

  “I can’t tell if I’m getting turned on or off by the prospect of you and another ripped guy feeling each other up,” I said, pondering images of Noah rolling around on the ground with another guy, all sweaty and delicious.

  “Let me know when you come to a decision,” Noah nudged me in the shoulder as he directed me to the exit.

  “Oh, I will.”

  ***

  Noah dropped me off at my apartment. “I’d kiss you, but then I don’t think either of us would make it to class this morning,” he said ruefully, opening the door and helping me out. He gave me a quick, chaste kiss on the forehead, and I ran to make my first class.

  Later, I met Lana for lunch. When she walked into the QC Café, she looked terrible, which for Lana is usually only one step down from show-stopping gorgeousness. Today, she appeared more like a bedraggled kitten left out in the rain too long. Her long blonde hair hung haphazardly around her face, and I could see slight smudges beneath her eyes. I half rose to hug her, but she waved me off.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked before she was fully seated.

  She threw her messenger bag into an unoccupied seat and sighed, “Peter came over last night.”

  “What did he want?”

  “Apparently he wanted to explain how his fling was a meaningless mistake. He is so very sorry and didn’t tell me because he didn’t want to hurt my feelings over something he had decided was so trivial.”

  “Did you hit him, or can I do it later today?” I couldn’t believe the nerve of this guy.

  “I know, right? I told him that I didn’t believe him and maybe called him a few names. He said I was a shrew who was more interested in fucking herself than any guy and then it just went downhill.” Lana looked disappointed in herself. She didn’t like losing control like that. The fact that she did suggested she was more hurt about Peter’s infidelity than she had originally let on.

  “I’m sorry.” It was such an inadequate sentiment. I wanted to do something. “Maybe Noah and Bo could kidnap him, and we could take turns kicking him in the balls.”

  Lana looked like she was contemplating this, but then said, “No. But I’m making an appointment at the health clinic to see if Peter passed anything on to me. I feel like such a stooge for sleeping with him when I got back to school.”

  “You couldn’t have known,” I said and added, “I’ll come with you.”

  “Maybe you should think about getting checked out too,” Lana replied.

  “But I didn’t sleep with Noah,” I protested, my voice coming out high and squeaky.

  “No?” Lana looked me up and down skeptically, as if she could see I was devirginized just by staring.

  “No, I mean, we slept together but we didn’t sleep together.”

  “You can say it Grace. S E X,” she said, drawing the word out for emphasis.

  “Okay, fine. We didn’t have sex.” I looked around to see if anyone was listening to us, but it appeared that everyone was engaged in their own conversations. Our drama wasn’t very interesting.

  “Did you do anything else?”

  “Not really. I mean, we fooled around, and then we slept. I woke up at four in the morning to find out that Noah wants to run a mini empire of self-serve yogurt stores.”

  Lana’s eyebrows rose. “That’s, um, interesting.”

  “Gunner,” I said glumly.

  “So all is forgiven then? His friend-zoning you after years of correspondence is a thing of the past?”

  I really didn’t want to reveal all of Noah’s private confessions, but I also wanted Lana to like him. I wanted the two of them to like each other. “He came to visit me in Chicago, but was intimidated by Uncle Louis’s house and left.”

  By the look on Lana’s face, I don’t think she’d ever contemplated that this was the excuse that Noah would provide.

  “As explanations go, that’s not a bad one. Do you believe him?” Lana asked.

  “Yeah, I guess I do. Why would he lie about it? It can’t just be to get me to have sex with him. I don’t think someone like him has a hard time picking up girls.”

  “No, you’re right. He’s prime,” Lana said. That his primeness was so obvious concerned me, but I kept that worry to myself.

  “Could we all go out some time or do you need some post-Peter downtime?” I suggested. It was important that two people I cared deeply about enjoyed one another’s company.

  “Yes, let’s go out. Maybe we can target Jack,” Lana suggested. The idea seemed to perk her up.

  “Jack, of the tequila shots with Amy, Jack?”

  “Yeah, he’s sent some signals toward me, but at the time I was still thinking I’d give Peter the benefit of the doubt,” Lana admitted ruefully.

  “Where will Jack be this weekend?”

  “Not sure. I’ll go to the house before dinner and see if I can find out what the weekend party schedule is.”

  “Okay, I’ll ask around, too, although I don’t really know anyone who knows Jack,” I said. Satisfied with our plans, I left Lana to meet up with Noah to study and then have dinner.

  Chapter Twelve

  Dear Grace,

  It’s not that the Marines was my only option. It just seemed like the best choice at the time. My father is an asshole. He’s kind of like your Aunt Sarah. Nothing I did was good enough for him. He has a miserable life working a number of odd jobs and getting fired for not showing up or being too hung over and making mistakes.

  He wanted me to be beat-down like him. I couldn’t afford to go to college, and I didn’t want to work construction for the rest of my life. Hence, the Marines. But when I came back during my first leave, after deployment, everyone in town treated me different.

  Before, I was just a punk that might knock up their girls or break into their stores. Now I wore a uniform. Old vets saluted me. People who had never said hi thanked me for my service. It was like I had leveled up. But half the time, I think folks were sorry that there wasn’t another generation of Jacksons to point to as a cautionary tale. I haven’t told Bo yet, but I’m not going ba
ck home.

  I’m going to volunteer for another tour. I felt more at home at a forward base unit than back in Little Oak, Texas.

  ~Noah

  Grace

  Noah and I were eating at a dive off campus that served the best tacos, when his phone rang. He ignored it so I gestured for him to answer when it rang again.

  A barrage of words sputtered out of the phone, so loud that I could even hear it. Noah drew the phone away slightly from his ear and flicked the volume down.

  He listened for most of the conversation but interjected a few times with“ no” and“ not yet” and shakes of his head. Then he motioned for a pen and paper, which I dug out for him. He asked, “How much?” and jotted something down.

  He terminated the connection and set the phone face down on the table. He looked upset and rubbed his hands over his face a couple times.

  “What is it?”

  Noah leaned back in his chair, tipping it up slightly so it rested on its back two legs, laced his fingers behind his head, and looked upward. It wasn’t a relaxed pose. He slammed down the chair and cursed.

  “Nothing.”

  “You almost ruined that chair. That’s a lot of anger over ‘nothing.’”

  “Nothing you should be concerned about.” He turned his attention to his tacos and began sweeping up his uneaten portion.

  “What is going on?” I demanded.

  “Nothing,” he repeated obviously trying to turn my attention away.

  “You aren’t eating. You’re abusing furniture. And you’re cursing on the phone,” I said, aggravated at his secret keeping.

  Noah looked frustrated and unhappy, and I was getting worried too. His poorly-hidden anxiety was contagious. He gestured for the waitress to come over and had her bring us the check. He threw down some cash and picked up our bags. It was clear he wanted to leave. I looked at my partially eaten taco with some sadness. I was still hungry.

  “I’m sorry. I’ll get you something to eat later,” he said. We walked out to the truck, or more appropriately, Noah walked quickly, and I jogged to keep up. Noah handed me in, and I kept quiet until he had started the truck.

  “What’s going on? I don’t understand,” I asked again.

  When he didn’t respond, I said, “Don’t shut me out, Noah.”

  Instead of looking at me, he stared out the window and said, “It was the guy who owns the yogurt store. He has an offer for it, but he wanted to give me first shot at it. He’ll give me five days to raise the cash.”

  “How much do you need?” This sounded like a great opportunity, not one that should evoke anger and unhappiness.

  “Ten Gs.”

  I coughed into my hand with shocked surprise. “God, can you get that in a fight?”

  “Not a regular one,” Noah admitted reluctantly.

  “I could ask Uncle Louis for an advance against my trust,” I said. “It’d be a good investment.”

  “No,” Noah said with careful enunciation. “Not your problem.”

  He pulled into the driveway of his house and jumped out. For once, Noah didn’t open my door. I fumbled with the latch and raced after him. He was nearly running through the house. “Where’s Mal?” he bellowed.

  Finn was sitting in the great room playing a video game and jerked up at Noah’s shout. “Office,” He gestured toward the front room in the house closed off by double French doors. Mal was already at the door.

  “What’s up?” Mal asked, opening the door wider for Noah to come in.

  “Can you call Rickers and see if he still wants that fight?”

  Mal’s expression changed from mild curiosity to concern. “What about the UFC, man?”

  “I need a ten grand fight tonight, Mal. Can you make it happen?”

  “If you need ten grand, I’ve got—”

  “Can you set up the fucking fight or not?” Noah interrupted, his teeth clenched.

  “Yeah, no problem. Just let me make a few calls,” Mal said.

  “Let me help you.” Bo, appeared behind us. The whole house was there, listening to Noah, which no doubt infuriated him. He was so private. Now all these rich kids, including me, were standing there telling him he had nothing to worry about.

  Noah turned on Bo. “I’ll do it this once and be done.”

  “It doesn’t work that way,” Bo said. I stood by helplessly, but silently agreed with Bo.

  Noah slashed his hand through the air. “It’s my decision.” He turned and pointed to Mal. “Make it happen.” At least I wasn’t the only one he ordered around.

  Bo moved to say something, maybe forestall Mal, but Mal retreated into the office. “It’s his decision, Bo. Let it be.”

  Noah stormed upstairs, and I was left behind, like an extra in Noah’s life. I hated that. I ran after him.

  “Who’s Rickers?” I demanded, standing inside the bedroom as Noah rooted through his drawers and threw a pair of sweatpants and shorts on the bed.

  “I’m going to do an illegal fight against a former UFC boxer kicked out because of steroids,” he replied flatly.

  “My God, no,” I cried.

  “You wanted to know, and I’m telling you,” he said, proceeding to strip. For once the sight of his naked chest didn’t rouse my passions. I was too concerned for his safety.

  “It’s not that dangerous.” Noah tried to placate me. “I’ve been working with professional trainers for over a year now. I’m a better fighter than he is.”

  “This is a no-rules fight, though. You could get hurt,” I pleaded. When he remained silent and continued to ready himself, I tried a different angle.

  “Yes, I know I’ve lived a fortunate life. But, Noah, if I needed the money, wouldn’t you give it to me?” I argued.

  “It’s not the same.” He pulled on shorts and then sweatpants over top. “Dammit. All my wraps are at the gym.” He loped to the door and yelled downstairs. “Bo, I need some wraps.”

  “It is the same thing. Do you care more about the money than me?” I asked.

  “Don’t make it about you. It’s not about you,” Noah snapped.

  “Don’t do this, Noah. You’ll get hurt. I have the money. ”

  “I don’t want your money. Did you know that one of the most celebrated fighters in MMA history is a guy who lost by technical knockout? Helio Grace wouldn’t give up even after his opponent had broken his arm in two places. He was lionized after the fight for his refusal to submit and tap out. Finally, after his arm was broken twice, someone from his corner threw the towel in and ended the match,” Noah went on.

  “What does that have to do with anything?” I cried.

  “It’s about being able to hold my head up. I’ve got some skill, Grace. I can make something for me, for us, but I’m going to have to use my hands to do it. Take a few knocks. Look at your fucking apartment, Grace, or this place here. This is where you’re comfortable, and I’m going to make this my world even if I have to break a few eye sockets to do it.”

  Nothing I was going to say would penetrate his thick head. Bo appeared at the doorway and handed over some wraps to Noah. We wordlessly exchanged frustrated and worried glances, but remained silent. Noah had set his course and no one was going to deter him. Neither his best friend nor his girlfriend, if that was what I was.

  Noah was dressed in sweats, a tank top, and tennis shoes. His wraps and a change of clothing were stuffed in a gym bag. Mal came up the stairs. “It’s all set up. We’ll meet in an hour at the old zipper factory building south of downtown on East Sixth.”

  “I’ll drive you home,” Noah said.

  “You will not.” I told him. I marched over and picked up his gym bag. “If you’re going to fight then any post-game celebrating will be with me.” My smart remark broke the tension that had built up, and everyone laughed.

  “She told you,” Bo said.

  “I guess she did.” Noah didn’t take his eyes off me. “Okay then, Grace, you’re with me.”

  ***

  “Worried?” Noah a
sked me when we were back in his truck. He had taken the time to help me up into the cab before going around and getting in the driver’s seat, his prior lapse of manners completely unnoticed. It was a sign of how upset he was before and how calm and in control he was now.

  “Yes.” I didn’t want to be, but I had never experienced this before. I didn’t want anything bad to happen to Noah.

  “Don’t be. I’ll win. He’s a T-Rex.”

  “What’s that?”

  “He’s got short arms, short reach.”

  “Nice,” I laughed as Noah had intended and then tried to return the favor. “Too bad we are on our way to have you roll around with some guy instead of back at my apartment to wrestle in bed.”

  “We can wrestle later,” he said, preoccupied. He didn’t even come back with some sexual comment as he ordinarily would. I gave up.

  “Tell me about the fight tonight. Maybe if you explain more, I won’t be so afraid,” I said, hoping to borrow his confidence.

  “As long as everyone keeps their mouth shut, there isn’t going to be a problem.” Underground fighting, Noah explained, was done by all kinds of men of all different body shapes. He figured most of them had rage issues, and this was a safe place to let them out. One guy he knew fought regularly and did so not to win, but for the adrenaline rush from the pain. But he often won because he wouldn’t quit. This guy loved to take a punch—the more brutal, the better. Noah contemplated that it was almost a sexual thing for the guy.

  “I’m not sure how he explains that at work the next day,” Noah admitted. Many of the fighters refused to get medical attention because the more injuries there were, the greater the likelihood that the underground fights would be discovered. Noah said, with a few colorful curses, that this was the dumbest fucking thing ever.

  The worst were the wannabes, he went on. There were dickhead fight clubs where people brought shit like pillowcases full of rocks and frying pans. “You’re just asking for a concussion.”

  “Really? That seems kind of unfair. Are there other fights?”

  “There’re all kinds. Stupid suburban kids, mostly jocks, thinking they’re the shit. Then there are the felony fights, where they pit two former felons against each other. It’s like the Christians versus the lions with the promoter acting like fucking Cesar. Thumbs up or thumbs down. Everyone in the audience thinking they are cooler than shit,” he sneered.