Consumed: A MMA Sports Romance (26 page)

The hands belong to Logan
and a couple other guys from my pit, though Ash joins in when she deciphers
what’s going on.

“Come on now,” Logan says
behind me. “Nothing but clear thoughts, hard punches and kicks that’ll make
what’s-his-name think he’s being beaten with an aluminum bat. Keep moving in
there. Don’t let him get you pinned down. You’re a striker. Keep him on his
feet.”

The next voice,
surprisingly, is Tom’s. “You know I don’t know as much about fighting as I do
about patching you guys up afterward, but stay out of your head,” the medic
says. “You’ve got this thing.”

“Chelsea gets beat down
in the fourth and you know that’s gotta hurt!” whoever they touched to be the
announcer says from the middle of the crowd. “Next up, we’ve got featherweights,
Furyk and Ellis. Let’s do this!”

The hands on my shoulders
patting me and shaking me, and I look over to Ash, asking, “Do you have any
advice before I get in there?”

She shrugs and shakes her
head. “Keep your guard up,” she says. It might have been a bit more helpful if
she didn’t tack the words, “Whatever that means,” onto the end.

I give her a quick kiss
and make my way through the crowd. By the time I get to the circle in the
middle, Furyk’s already there waiting for me. It looks like he brought some
friends, too, because there are six or seven guys around the front of the crowd
wearing “Mitch’s Bitches” t-shirts.

It bodes well for me that
he’s the cocky type. It bodes less well for me that he can back it up.

He’s not much to look at;
if anything, he looks a little doughy, but I’m not going to let that lead me
into underestimating him. Hearing about anyone in the underground scene who’s
not in your pit is rare. It only happens if someone’s either really humiliated
themselves, or built up such a reputation that even the usual codes of secrecy
can’t keep people from talking about it.

“All right, you guys know
the rules,” the unofficial official starts. “I tell you to stop, you stop; now
let’s do this!”

He claps his hands and we
touch gloves.

The match starts and
Furyk hits me with a quick jab to the chest. It’s a psychological move than a
blow meant to cause damage. He’s telling me I can’t stop him.

I counter with a shin
kick to his thigh and he backs off a bit. We circle each other.

He comes back in with a
left hook, but I deflect it with my forearm, countering again with the same
shin kick to his thigh.

Now he knows he can’t
stop me, either.

His first real punch
catches me just below the rib cage, and it’s a lot more than I was expecting. I
wince and push him just far enough away from me to throw a counter punch, but
he ducks it easily.

He comes at me with a
knee, glancing against my left side, but I counter before he’s returned the
leg, my shin going hard into his stationary calf.

His foot comes down and
he takes a small step back before regaining his balance. He looks totally
unfazed.

We’re still feeling each
other out when the first round comes to a close.

So far, I’m still feeling
pretty good, though I’m a bit more tired than I should be after that kind of
round. I’m expecting Logan to come over and tell me all the things he thinks
I’m doing wrong, but he just hands me a water bottle and says, “Keep it up.
Don’t let him fool you, he’s not as comfortable on his feet as you are.”

I nod and hand the water
back to him after taking a few quick sips from it.

Round two starts.

He hits me with a hard
kick to the head and I’m staggered a moment, not quite sure which way is up and
which is the other one. I forget its name.

Furyk moves in, trying to
get close enough for a grapple and possible takedown, but I throw a quick left
to back him up. I didn’t expect the blow to land, but it does and with a sick
cracking sound as his head snaps back and he falls stiff to the ground.

For a moment, I feel
about as stunned as Furyk is, but a second later, I’m on top of him with my
ground-and-pound game until the official stops the fight a moment later to a
loud, almost even mix of cheers and booing.

I can’t believe that just
happened.

The way he clocked me to
begin the round, I thought I was on my way out, but it looks like “Mitch’s
Bitches” are going to have to help the guy out of the building.

Still, I’m unsteady on my
feet as I walk to the edge of the crowd and wrap my sweaty, though surprisingly
unbloodied, self around her. It doesn’t take her long to realize it’s not just
an affectionate gesture. I’m having trouble staying up.

“Let’s get you out of
here,” she says. “Logan!” she calls out loudly, though he’s standing right
behind her.

“You need Tom?” Logan
asks.

“I’m fine,” I answer. “I
just need to walk it off.”

“I’ll be honest, man,”
Logan says. “When that kick landed, I thought you were done.”

“You and me both,” I tell
him and release my grip on Ash, immediately stumbling.

Ash and Logan both reach
out and grab me. Putting one of my arms around each of their shoulders, they
walk me to the door of the building.

“I’ve got to stay,” Logan
says. “Do you think you two can make it to your car all right?”

“We’ll figure it out,”
Ash says, though a couple of guys from the pit happen upon the scene and offer
their assistance.

The way back to the car
is more than a little embarrassing as these guys I barely know go on about how
awesome they think I am. I appreciate being appreciated, but this is just awkward.

Finally, we get to the
car and I convince the two guys that acted as my crutches on the walk that we
can take it from here. They’re still standing there as we pull onto the road.

“I’m taking you to the
hospital,” she says. “I never should have let you walk that whole way. I should
have had you wait at the building, and I could have picked you up out front.”

“I don’t think the guys
would have appreciated the unsolicited advertisement,” I tell her. “I’m fine,
really. I just got a little rocked, that’s all.”

“Still,” she says, “I
think we should get you checked out just to be on the safe side. Your pupils
are round and responsive, but you didn’t see the kick from where I was
standing. I’m surprised you still had a head when he dropped the leg.”

“I probably should have
changed first,” I tell her as my sweaty back sticks to her faux-leather seats.

“Put on a shirt when we
get to the hospital,” she says. “Other than that, don’t worry about it. How are
you feeling? Are you nauseated at all? Is there any lightheadedness or
confusion?”

“Ash,” I tell her, “I’m
fine.”

“What’s your birthday?”
she asks.

“April twelfth of
ninety-five,” I tell her.

“What’s my birthday?” she
asks.

Uh-oh.

“Mason?” she asks.

“Yeah,” I answer. “Uh,
it’s in the summer, I know that,” I start.

“Nope,” she says. “We’re
going to the hospital.”

I protest a little
further, but it’s no use. Her mind is made up and it’s not like I have anything
else planned for tonight.

When we get to the
hospital, I’m still trying to remember whether Ash ever actually told me her
birthday, or if she just brought it up because she knew it would get me to go
to the hospital.

I’m not going to ask. I
may have just gotten kicked in the head with enough force to scramble a
watermelon, but I’m not stupid.

We walk into the
emergency room to find it packed, though there is a single empty seat between a
clearly drunk man with a sandwich bag full of ice against his forehead and an
elderly woman who’s at least as involved in her cellphone as any teenager I’ve
ever seen.

We get checked in and
then we wait. Ash and I chat and joke, but mostly we wait.

Ash insists I keep the
seat between vodka-breath and the aging social-network-butterfly.

While she’s standing
there with crossed arms talking to me, a doctor walks up to her, saying,
“Ashley Butcher?”

Ash turns, and I’m
expecting some kind of row, but when she finds the source of the voice, she
smiles.

“Dr. Templeton,” Ash says
and then turns to me. “Mason, this is one of my professors, Dr. Templeton.”

“It’s nice to meet you,”
I say. “I would get up, but I’ve been informed that doing so would be bad for
my health.”

I extend a hand. The
doctor just looks down at it and gives a face like she just caught a whiff of
rotten eggs before she turns back to Ash.

“What brings you to the
ER?” the doctor asks.

“I’m here with my
boyfriend,” Ash answers. “He got a little knocked around and I just want to
make sure he’s all right before I take him home.”

“Did you call the
police?” the doctor asks.

Ash and I chuckle. “No,”
Ash says, explaining, “it was a competition thing.”

“Ah,” the doctor says,
glancing at my trunks. “A person must be pretty stupid to want to go out and
get beat up for a living,” Dr. Templeton says.

My eyes go wide, but I
don’t say anything. Ash, on the other hand…

“Excuse me?” she asks.
“He’s not stupid. The whole thing used to kind of freak me out, too, but a lot
of work and skill go into it.”

This seems like one of
those times when I should just not say anything. If the doc says something rude
about Ash, I’ll join the conversation, but I’d rather not jump on the grenade
if I don’t have to.

“Skill?” the very
annoying doctor I hope is nowhere near my treatment asks. “How much skill does
it take to beat the life out of someone? It’s barbarism and nothing more.”

“It was nice to see you,”
Ash says with a sneer. “I’ll be sure to take someone else’s class next
semester.”

“Oh, don’t be so
sensitive,” the doctor says. “I’m sure you didn’t decide to go out with him for
his brains.”

“Start walking,” Ash says
and my eyes are wide again. I know that stance. I know the look in Ash’s eyes.
I even recognize the breathing pattern as her chest rises and falls.

She’s ready to throw
down. If that doctor has any brains in her
own
head, she’ll take Ash’s advice and start walking.

The doctor opens her
mouth, but closes it just as fast. She turns on her heel and walks off.

Ash paces a little in
front of me, and I’m chuckling. “That was pretty hot,” I tell her, “just
sayin’.”

“Can you believe that?”
she asks. “I get that she thinks we can be a little casual because I took her
stupid class, but can you believe she’d act that way?”

“Don’t let it ruin your
day,” I tell her. “I get that sort of stuff pretty often when I go to
hospitals.”

“It just makes me
so
mad!” Ash announces, still pacing.

The drunk guy next to me
is trying to look in as different a direction as possible.

“Hey,” I tell her. “If
you ever want to start getting into MMA yourself, I know a lot of good people
that’ll help you get on the right track.”

“You’re funny,” Ash says
without smiling.

“Ellis!” a nurse calls
out from across the room. “Mason Ellis?”

“Right here,” Ash answers
for me and we follow the nurse into the little room to take my vitals.

The nurse doesn’t ask
anything, she just gives commands. “Tell me what brings you in,” she says. “Get
on the scale.”

I’m her dancing bear for
a few minutes and we get through the intake process. The nurse leads me back to
a room and I lie down on the bed, patting the mattress next to me as I look up
at Ash.

To my surprise, she
actually climbs onto the bed next to me and lies down.

“You know something?” she
asks.

“What’s that?” I return.

“Never mind,” she says.

I look at her. “What’s on
your mind?” I ask.

“Oh, now’s not the right
time,” she says.

I want to press her more,
but the curtain opens in front of me and a middle-aged doctor in blue scrubs
comes to the side of the bed.

“Mason, what’s seems to
be the trouble today?” the doctor asks looking at his clipboard.

“I do MMA,” I tell him.
“I took a shot to the head and we just want to make sure I’m all clear.”

The doctor writes
something on his clipboard. He has yet to look at me once.

“We’ve been getting a lot
of MMA injuries the last few months,” the doctor says. “Maybe it’s time to find
another hobby.”

I give Ash’s shoulder a
squeeze, trying to encourage her to just let that sort of thing slide, but it’s
no use.

“Excuse me, doctor?” Ash
asks.

“Yes?” the doctor
answers, still looking over his clipboard.