Sucker Punch (The Submission Fighter Book 2)

by Sophia Hampton

  “Did I do anything with her? Did I bring her home? Who did I come home to that night? You, Alice. I came home to you.” Micah had turned from offense to defense in a second flat. He knew that he had wounded her. But he wasn’t about to let the bell ring on this round. “You are so weak sometimes.”

  She took a step back. The word weak ran through her head. Was she really so fragile to him? She was done being that girl if it was true. “I don’t need you to defend me!”

  “Really? Because you allow yourself to get walked on constantly—by your roommate, by your boss… hell, take a look around Alice? Isn’t this the alley where you were mugged?”

  He hit a nerve, taking the dagger and twisting it further than before. In an instant, she became deflated, tired. Her voice dropped to a whisper, “I’m not you Micah. I don’t need to fight for everything—or anything. That’s not who I am. I fight in my own way. But that doesn’t matter to you, does it? If you’d look past yourself for one goddamn second, you’d see that I’ve always been in your corner.”

  He studied her, her arms crossed over her body. Even in the dark, her eyes shimmered, as a small pool of tears piled in her eyes. She took her hand out and brushed the strawberry-blonde strands of hair from her face. She walked towards him, slowly and deliberately, stopping only a foot or so before him. He looked down at her as their eyes caught.

  “Micah, I…” she stopped herself, her words choking back as she contemplated what she really wanted to say next. Instead, she shook her head, placing her hand on his chest. “I have to go back to work.” She moved away from him, as she headed back to the diner.

  “Alice?” Micah called at her before she could get too far away from him once more. “What were you going to say?”

  She smirked, the corners of her lips drawing up. “I’m not sure. I don’t know what I was going to say.”

  The weight of her answer drew more space between the couple. He knew what she was about to say in those moments, but he couldn’t press her further. Enough damage was done for one night. Instead, he asked, “Can I see you after work?”

  Alice shook her head no. “I’ll see you after you win the match.”

  Chapter 9: Wounds

  “Alice, please.” In that moment, he wanted her to stay, to remain there in the alley with him. He wanted her to say the words that he knew were coming—words he himself had never been brave enough to say to another person. He wanted her. He knew he could chase after her and force her to stay with him. But, at the same time, he knew that she was right. He had pushed her far away. What he had done in her name was not out of love or respect. It was out of fear and anger. And now, he had to pay for it.

  He sulked quietly back to his car, shuffling his feet in the small puddles that had formed from the overnight rainstorm. As he passed the diner’s large bay windows, he watched as Alice chatted with Pete, her body leaned over the counter. She smiled at him, wide and bright, as if nothing had happened. A shot of jealousy ran up his body, as he choked back another round of anger and bitterness. Instead, he channeled his energy on finding his way home. It would be a long restless night, as were most nights before a big match. However, this one would be different. This one would be spent dreaming of Alice and praying that he could make it right.

  Alice would have a similar night. Her dreams of her mugging and the strange appearance of Micah had kept her from falling deeper and deeper into her pillows. Instead, she spent the early morning hours packing the boxes she had collected from Pete and the diner with her things.

  At around two, she could hear Caroline barging into the apartment. She cackled loudly as her heels slam onto the wooden floors. Jace’s heavy footsteps were not far behind as he shouted at her playfully. Their two bodies slammed into the dividing wall, shaking parts of Alice’s room. She could only imagine what was about to come next.

  Instead of having to endure listening the rough sounds of her roommate and her boyfriend wildly going at it, she slipped on her headphones and listened to Micah’s playlist. As she folded her summer clothing into a brown box, she found herself bouncing back and forth, her body swaying just like she had seen Micah do in the ring.

  She dropped a blouse onto the floor, as she instinctively made her hands into tight fists, her thumbs tucked under the folds. They rose to her eye level, as she began to jab at the air. She had struggled to remember Micah’s favorite combination of punches and jabs. But as she found her rhythm, she let it go, allowing herself to hit wildly at the air. Her knees lifted to kick and punch. Her heart beat in time with the rest of her body, as it became faster and harder. She made a quick turn on her heel, her leg back kicking behind her. She heard a crash as the stack of boxes came tumbling down upon her floor.

  Panicked that she had alerted Caroline to her presence in the apartment, Alice slipped off her headphones and quickly picked up the boxes, packing their fallen contents in a hustle. She pushed the collection to the side revealing the almost complete painting sitting behind the stack. Alice had left it there after her last painting session two days ago only to have it buried by her new project.

  From her place in the room, the colors of her painting caught her eye as she stared deeply into the strokes she had made. The black, smoky figure in the center of the picture was hunched and leaned over, as if in defeat. Red smears pooled at its feet and around its upper body. Gold and bronze surrounded it like a protective halo. While it looked nearly complete, Alice knew that her painting was missing something.

  She sat down on her smooth covers of her bed, still staring at it. Alice felt as if she should know it, but it looked so different and untamed from anything or anyone she had painted before.

  “Micah.” She whispered the answer out loud into the emptiness of her apartment bedroom. The figure, the man, she was painting was Micah in the ring. She had not seen it before, nor had she intentionally wanted to create a piece of art about him. But what she had made was so clearly him.

  Her moment of pause ended, as she frantically stood to her feet and rummaged through her packing boxes. She tore through them, looking for her art supplies. The black canvas bag caught her eye, as she set up her easel and began pouring acrylic paint onto the palette. She used a glass of water from her bedside table to mix the colors and dampen the hairs of her brushes.

  For hours she sat painting. As the sun rose, she pushed further, wanting nothing more than to finish the piece completely. Her heart raced and pulled as each part came together. What she was painting wasn’t the Micah from real life, but the Micah from her dreams. It was the Micah she was running from, the Micah who was there to save her from her nightmares, to lift her from the damp and dark alley where she was found so beaten and broken.

  The image glowed as she completed the last strokes. Inhaling slightly, she sat back and stretched her back ever so slightly. Her shoulders ached and her wrists were stiff from the time she had put in. She knew that she had been sitting in one space for so long, but she was unsure exactly how long it had been.

  Picking up her phone, she spotted the time. Twelve thirty in the afternoon. She had been sitting by her easel for well over eight hours. But now she had work to get to. Her shift began in an hour and a half, yet she had no motivation to get up and take the shower she so desperately needed. Instead, she continued to sit back and take in the painting she had finally completed.

  The more she stared into the fresh paint drying slightly on the canvas, it brought her back to the night before in the alleyway. Regret took over, as she replayed her inability to say what she really wanted to say, to confess what she had long known to be true. It would have been so easy, so quick. But the pain that she may have experienced to not have him reciprocate or feel what she did ate at her. She couldn’t risk it.

  In her heart, she knew that Micah could have easily guessed what she had meant in that moment. To him, it probably only made her weaker, more vulnerable, and smaller. It justified him not chasing after her or following her back into the diner. Instead, he left her
to go after his MMA dreams, letting her fade gently into the background of his life.

  After all, she wasn’t even welcome to his quarterfinals match at the Invitational. Just the thought of it made her resentment towards his fame build. He could control it, couldn’t he? She wasn’t sure. So much of his newly found celebrity was just a part of his team’s strategy. That bad boy image was a part of who he was, but it was not what made him the man that she knew.

  A thought came to Alice’s mind as she raced into the kitchen. It was empty and still. Caroline and Jace were still sleeping and snoring in their bedroom. The kitchen’s garbage had yet to be cleared from the last time she had tossed her bedroom trash into the main can. She found the same stack of newspapers she had used to keep her paint off of the floor. The red and gold paint dripped over the crumbled newspaper. Pulling out the sports section, she looked for images of Micah, but was unsuccessful.

  She returned to the dining room table. The envelope and the post-it note that she had discovered were still sitting out in plain sight. She ripped it open, uncaring who it actually belonged to. Pulling out the pictures, she began looking at each photo, searching for answers or clues, something she may have missed the first time she glanced at them.

  In the printouts, Micah was, of course, front and center. The groupies surrounding him were at the forefront, just in focus of the camera. Nothing seemed too unusual about it; it was the same heartbreaking scene she had played over and over in her mind like a broken record. She placed the photos of her being surrounded by the press next to the stack of printouts. This time, instead of Micah, she was the key target. No groupies, no adoring fans. Just Alice looking terrified and confused while press surrounded her relentlessly.

  But one person looked out of place. One person looked strangely amiss. He wasn’t holding a notepad, a microphone, or a camera. Instead, he was leaned in, whispering in the ear of a reporter. His chubby hand pointed towards her as if he was there giving tips.

  Alice brought the picture closer to her face. The man in the image was so clear to her, but she couldn’t quite place the name. As she set the photo down, she noticed, once again, the note card stuck in the envelope. It was signed by D.M. The post-it listed a D. Meyers as one of the contacts Jace had planned to contact. Could it be this person?

  She ran to her bedroom, grabbing her cell phone. She dialed the number listed, listening to the ring of the mystery person’s phone go off in her receiver. Her hands shook and her body trembled, forcing her to find a seat. The sound of a man’s voice appeared from the phone’s pauses. Voicemail.

  “This is Dean Meyers of All In Gym. Leave a message. I’ll return it as soon as I am able.”

  Alice dropped her phone without hanging up. She grabbed the two images again—the one of her and the one of the groupies. She looked at her photo first and instantly found the mystery man. Suddenly, the chubby fingers, the black polo, and the cropped hair stood out. The unmistakable features belonged to Dean, Micah’s head coach.

  She attempted to settle herself as she looked at the second image of Micah and the women. This time, she bypassed the fighter and the women in their heavy makeup and tight clothing. Instead, she looked at the edges of the photos. In the corner, where she could spot a female reporter with a microphone, was the same black polo, the same pointer finger revealing secrets. It was Dean, again.

  Alice knew that this could not be just some coincidence. This was more than just a fluke. She was going to prove it. She walked back to her bedroom, grabbing the laptop from its hiding place. She quickly typed Micah’s name into the search bar and watched as hundreds of stories and images popped up.

  She clicked on one featuring a busty blonde reporter in a partially buttoned down red blouse and a tight pencil skirt. Micah leaned into her, staring into her face as if he had known her for years. Alice shook her head, remembering the purpose of her mission. She enlarged the photo, looking for signs of Dean’s presence. And there he was, dressed in black, gesturing to his fighter as he flirted shamelessly with the woman in the photograph.

  Alice closed the lid of her laptop and went to her bed. Tears pooled in her eyes, as memories of Dean telling her that she would ruin his career flooded her brain. Was this his retaliation? Were he and Jace behind the relentless press, the increase of female fans, the tension behind her and Micah? He had to be. Their relationship had changed too quickly, too drastically to be just a part of the game.

  She knew that Micah wasn’t blameless, nor was she. Alice could have played by the rules while Micah could have gotten past the temptation. Still, now she knew that there were other, more malicious forces at play. It was like a light had opened up in her heart, pushing out against the places that were formerly crushed in by the weight.

  For a long while, she sat with her thoughts in silence. Outside her room, she could hear Caroline and Jace stir. Soon, they would figure it out that she knew that Jace had exposed their relationship, and who knew what kind of new drama that would bring? Determined to get away from the mess that was about to come to her, she quickly got into the shower and prepared for work.

  As she snuck out of the apartment, she kept her head down, avoiding the glares of Jace who sat on their couch watching television. She raced down the stairs and walked quickly out on the pavement towards her job. As she rounded the corner of her apartment complex, her phone buzzed. It was an alert from her calendar application. She read the words flashing across her screen: 6pm: Micah Quarterfinals!

  She paused, her feet slamming into the ground and her hands grasping to the phone. At that moment, it all became clear to her. For the first time in a very long time, Alice knew with certainty what she needed to do.

  Chapter 10: Mirror Image

  The stadium was deserted, cold, and silent. It faintly smelled like cleaning supplies and dust. The only action was that of a group of men racing through the plastic seating, looking for areas to clean. Ushers had begun to gather outside, and Micah could just barely make out the sound of their manager giving them instructions for the evening.

  He felt a hand on his shoulder as he sat in the first row of chairs. Startled, he turned to face the person.

  “Are you ready to go, Mikey?” It was Dean, a smile peeled across his face.

  His coach had not called him “Mikey” in years. It brought back memories of his first fight when he handily took down a much older and taller fighter with only a couple of months of training. After the match, his coach had run up to him, arms outstretched for a hug. It was an embrace he was not used to. As a child abandoned by both of his parents, he was lucky if his grandmother had time to even notice him, let alone to give him any brand of affection.

  Times had changed since he was the scrappy kid with the natural talent. Now he was “Micah the Monster” or “Micah the Playboy.” Dean had his hand in making him that fighter. He skillfully pulled the strings to Micah’s puppet. But in this moment, with Dean’s hand resting on his shoulder, he felt that same connection he once had when he was much younger, much more naïve.

  Micah was ready. The night before, after he had stormed out of the gym, he had returned when the doors were locked and the lights were turned off. Using his key, he snuck back into the ring, practicing his drills as he should have earlier in the day. He channeled his energy and the anger he was holding against himself to push himself harder and farther than he had allowed himself to go in the past. By the time he finished his own version of training at two in the morning, he was exhausted but confident.

  Now, all that was left was to defeat Roy Callahan in the ring. Making it to the semi-finals round would mean traveling to New York. His fight would be broadcast live on Athletics TV Live for MMA fans to watch around the world. His whole career practically lived and died tonight based on the outcome of his fight.

  Dean led the fighter back through the staging area to his locker room. Instead of being one of the smaller spaces, his team occupied a larger room full of leather couches. Micah had a sectioned off room for
his own personal privacy. He set his bag down on the vanity table as Dean went through the night’s schedule. He wouldn’t be fighting until six, but there was press, a check by the medics and fighting officials, the weigh-in, the photographed “face off,” and interviews with some of the top MMA sources before he even stepped in the ring.

  The day passed quickly. Having to go through the process of the pre-fight rituals helped his mind stay clear and focused. Yet, he still took a moment to check for Alice in every darkened corner and every face in the crowd. In the spare moments he had to check his phone, he checked his messages and missed calls with some hope that she may have contacted him.

  But he knew that it wasn’t meant to be. She was nowhere around this time, just like he had asked from her. She wouldn’t show up to sneak in his dressing room or to disobey his orders like the last match. Today, he was fighting completely on his own—the thought of which secretly terrified him.

  After his “face off” photos and joint press conference with Roy Callahan, Dean shuffled him back to the dressing room. The same perky blonde journalist waited in the room for him, armed with a notebook computer and a tape recorder.