Consumed: A MMA Sports Romance (63 page)

CHAPTER TEN

Fenton

Dana
Maria walked away from me, but I could not leave. I marched up to the
mountain-sized bouncer and asked to see the manager. When the white-suited
manager came out to see me, I paid him to send my sister home. The least I
could give her was the night off. There was a commotion back stage between
numbers, and I could hear her yelling. But when the manager emerged, he assured
me Dana Maria had left for the evening.

The only thing to do then
was to get blind drunk. I went to the bar and ordered tequila shots. When the
bartender put down the bottle and turned to get a shot glass, I grabbed the
bottle and swigged straight from it. I left enough money on the bar to cover
it.

My father had never even
bothered to ask about my mother. Did he even know she was dead? We had no
address to reach him when it came to send out the funeral arrangements. Not
that there were actually arrangements. It was just a quick goodbye in the
hospital chapel before she was wheeled downstairs to the morgue.

Dana Maria had
disappeared after that. She made sure I went to school, her network of friends
from the neighborhood telling on me every chance they got. It wasn't until I
was in college that I realized she skipped school to work two jobs.

"There's no reason
for you to drink alone," a sultry voice interrupted my thoughts. A
stripper in a gold outfit that consisted of three small triangles took the
barstool next to me. She ran a gold platform heel up my leg. "How about we
find a table? You've got a bottle and I've got friends that want to meet
you," she said.

"Why me?" I
asked. Did they know Dana Maria was my sister?

"Your billboards,
silly. Fenton Morris can't walk in here without getting some lovin'. More
handsome in person than two stories up in the air," the golden stripper
said.

She led me to a table and
as soon as I sat down, the girls surrounded me. Across the room, a drunken
patron complained that I was hogging all the women.

"You got a
problem?" I asked. "Come over here and tell me about it toe to
toe."

"Now, honey, there's
no need for that. He's just jealous of you, but there's nothing to worry about.
Enough ladies here to satisfy everyone," a red-haired stripper said. She
adjusted her heavy breasts in their black leather bra and blew the man a kiss.

I remembered my mother
soothing my father in the same easy way. A hand on his forearm, soft words, and
a smile that told everyone it was all okay – except it had not been then, and
it was not now. I wanted to smash the man's face in. I knew I could do it with
one punch. Was I becoming my father?

I continued to drink, but
the tequila did not block out my biggest fear. I worried I was just like my
father, deep down in my core. When things did not go my way, when all my
hard-earned money disappeared and I was too old to hold on to my talent, I
would become mean and spiteful like him. I would turn and walk away from the
people that depended on me, because I was too tired to care.

My father slumped in his
chair, the one good, steady chair in our tiny apartment. His drink of choice
was cheap vodka, almost rubbing alcohol it was so sharp and harsh. From there,
if he moved at all, it was to reach out and slip a hand up my mother's leg. She
slapped him away, too busy doing laundry or getting dinner or helping her
children. He would scowl and drink again.

"Oooh, your muscles
are just as cut as your billboard. They don't look real up there, but, wow,
they don't look real now and I'm touching them," a platinum blonde
stripper dressed all in hot pink squealed with delight.

"Everyone in town
says you're going to win," the golden stripper said.

I finally took a deep
breath. That was the only difference between my father and me. I had talent. My
God-given talent had earned me free lessons when I was an angry young boy.
Then, I was given a scholarship in high school. I was recruited for college and
all but failed while my MMA career skyrocketed. I had not needed my father for
any of those things. My talent and hard work got me what I wanted.

I pulled out the wad of
cash Kev had given me for gambling. Instead of throwing it away on Blackjack or
craps, I had stashed it. Now, I fanned it out and told the ladies I was ready
to have some fun. They all giggled, clapped, and bounced. I told myself this
was what I wanted. I had the money and I was going to flaunt it.

"The party is on me,
ladies. Literally on me, my lap is feeling lonely," I announced.

I was glad when the
redhead dropped across my thighs first. Any sight of blonde hair made me think
of Kya. So did the color purple, a beauty mark near one stripper's mouth, and
the way another put her hands on her hips.

"No touching the
girls," the mountainous bouncer barked.

"You mean like
this?" I asked. I hoped he would haul me outside for a fight. Anything to
stop thinking about Kya.

"It's alright,
Roger, I like it," the stripper said. "He's got a soft touch for
being such a hardcore fighter."

"That's right,"
I said. I tipped up the tequila bottle and realized it was empty, so I smashed
it on the floor.

A few of the strippers
jumped away, careful to avoid me and the broken glass under their impossibly
high heels.

"Another bottle over
here and a clean up in aisle one," I yelled. The bouncer approached again
and I hoped he would grab me by my collar. Instead, he brushed some glass off a
strawberry blonde in a blaze orange bikini.

I was saving the
strippers from the broken glass by piling them onto my lap when I looked up and
saw Kya. She stood, frozen, in the doorway. I was three deep underneath
strippers and almost dropped my fan of cash in my haste to get up. One of the
girls slipped on the spilled tequila and cried out as she landed on a piece of
broken bottle.

"Sorry, move,
move!" I said. I evaded the bouncer and ran for the street.

Kya disappeared into a
waiting cab and refused to turn around. The driver shut the door and blocked me
from knocking on the window.

"How could you do
this to a beautiful woman? I hate men like you, don't know what they've got
until it’s gone. Or is it that you think now that the challenge is gone, the
excitement, that there is nothing left?" the cabbie asked. "You don't
know a single thing about what it takes to make a commitment, what it takes to
make a woman happy. And, you're going to lose her. You deserve to."

#

I
woke up the next morning hungover and sore. Still, before I could assess the
damage to myself, I thought of Kya. The look on her face was raw, and it rubbed
my memory hard – disappointment, disgust, and a bone-deep sadness I recognized
too well. Kya found out she was wrong about someone she cared for and it hurt
more because she had cared.

Kya had cared for me.
Enough to come find me after our argument. Enough to stick around even after I
teased and pushed her. Enough to look for me after I made her uncomfortable.

I heaved myself out of
bed and got dressed. I needed to find her. I knew I was the last person she
probably wanted to see, but I had to face her. Kya had to know why I had gone
to the strip club. It would be a painfully intimate thing to tell her, but that
seemed a small sacrifice to see her green eyes again.

I pried open the door of
my suite bedroom and my manager slumped into the room.

"What? Oh great,
Aldous was right. At least, there was a reason I slept on the floor all
night," Kev said.

"There are things
called locks," I said.

"Yeah, but not on
the outside. I'm trying to keep you from running off and burning any more
energy. You remember you've got a match tonight, right?" Kev asked.

I felt sick and hoped it
was just the tequila. "I have to do something first."

"Nope, no way, not
happening," Aldous said. He appeared from my suite's kitchen with a
specially blended drink. "You're going to finish this and then do
everything else I say."

Hours later I was
detoxed, primed, and ready to fight. I shadowboxed against the green room wall
and waited for my music to come on. I had to pump myself up.

No
one tells you what to do, you do it alone, you're going to take this Peretti
guy, no one else in the ring can do it. Once you've finished him, it’s on to
the big title, then you're a champion, then you can get the big bucks
,
I told myself.

I stopped and stared at
my shadow. I should have signed endorsement deals all along. It hurt my career
and especially my bank account to resist them. Besides, it did not matter. I
had branded myself, sold myself into a hollow replica of my father – the lone
wolf, the man that goes it alone, the fighter that doesn't need any
endorsements paying his way.

I got in the ring, but I
already felt a step off. Mario Peretti was fast, wings of the hummingbird fast,
and I took a few hits right after the first bell. I shook it off, but could not
rid myself of the feeling I had gotten into the ring on the wrong foot.

His leg snaked out and I
just barely jumped back in time. Another inch and he could have gotten my knee.
There were some injuries I could not come back from. We danced around each
other again, but instead of thinking about his close and hard attacks, I
wondered if last night's injured look was ever something Kya would come back
from.

Mario Peretti lunged in,
his feet fast across the ring. I heard a chop whistle past my ear and lifted my
leg for a kick. The move did not land, but it swung my leg out of the way of
his roundhouse kick. My rival smiled at me, his eyes flat, as we circled around
again.

Kya had to know what she
was getting into when we started spending time together. Even as I thought it,
I knew it was not true. I remembered Kya in the nightclub, the first time we
met. She had drunk too much, left herself too open. Then, she came back for
more. I used her, she entertained me, and then I finally shocked her and she
dropped me. I would never see her again.

I got in a fast and hard
combination, but Peretti was still standing. When he circled around the
opposite way, my eyes traveled past him and into the crowd. Kya's green eyes
looked up at me.

I stumbled and heard the
arena crowd gasp. It was something I had never done before. I was the
unstoppable fighter, the angry fighter, the one that came back from a hit
harder and fiercer every time. I did not lose my footing; I did not lose my
way.

Fenton Morris did not get
distracted by a pretty face. A face that wanted me to be different, to be more
or better. I was what I was, and I was good.

Still, I looked at Kya
for one second too long and Peretti struck. The arena tipped sideways and
blackness swallowed me before I hit the mats. It was a total knock out.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

 
Kya

I
let the crowd push me along out of the arena and into the casino. I did not put
up a fight we moved towards the slot machines and bars, instead of the door
that lead to my hotel. Instead, I drifted along and eavesdropped on the fans as
they discussed the fight.

"Peretti fights
dirty, that's the only explanation," a short man said.

"I've never seen
Fenton Morris slip. How could he not see that hit coming?" The short man's
bald friend threw his hands up in the air. "Something had to be
wrong."

"It's all over
already, they’re calling it the surprise upset of the year," an older
woman with bottle red hair announced as she studied her phone.

"Bet Morris is the
most surprised," her husband said, "he's never lost yet."

"Best he did it now
so he won't in the title fight," the man next to them in the crowd said.

Upset
,
I thought,
is the right word for it
.
My stomach heaved as the image of Fenton falling to the mats flashed through my
head again. I was just as surprised as everyone else, more so since I had been
close to Fenton and felt his strength. He had seemed invincible until tonight.

And, it was all my fault.

"I heard he was out
at the strip clubs last night, probably why he wasn't up to the fight
tonight," the short man continued.

"I believe it. He
looks like the kind of man that comes to Vegas for the strippers," the
young man closest to me said.

"I saw him
there," an older man in a garish cowboy shirt said. "Me and my
buddies were down near Fremont Street and saw him head into one of them
gentleman's clubs."

"A night out
drinking at the strip clubs could be enough to throw anyone off their game, eh,
Ed?" his friend said.

"Yeah, but it was
worth it," Ed agreed.

I swallowed hard and
slipped out of the crowd. I took refuge from the wave of people in a small gift
shop and tried to stop my spinning thoughts.

The look on Fenton's face
when I walked into that strip club was the same he gave me seconds before Mario
Peretti knocked him out. I was interfering and it was wrong. Fenton Morris did
not need anyone's help, much less mine. He did not want me. I was just getting
in his way.

My phone rang and in the
relative quiet of the gift shop, I had no reason not to answer it. "It's
not a good time, James," I said.

"Just tell me if you
found him last night or not," my boss said.

"I did, but we
didn't talk, it was a huge mess. He was at a strip club, all surrounded by
women. I kinda just turned around and ran," I said.

"So, you kicked him
out, slammed the door in his face, then found him with a bunch of strippers but
didn't say anything? No wonder he was shocked to see you at the fight,"
James said.

"You're kidding,
right? Do you really think that's why he got knocked out? Everyone thinks
something was wrong. He was distracted. He looked right at me and didn't even
see the hit coming." I picked up and twisted a Vegas keychain tight around
my finger.

"Jesus, honey, I was
joking, but really? He looked at you right before?" he asked. "I
mean, you turn heads, darling, don't get me wrong, but now you're taking down
fighters just by being in the audience?"

"It's not funny,
James. I've ruined everything. The vitamin supplement people are not going to
want him anymore, not that Fenton would ever sign with me." I let my
finger turn purple before untwisting the key chain and returning it to the
rack.

"Oh, now there is
where you are wrong," my boss said.

"Great, everything
is backwards," I said. "You're supposed to tell me there is no way I
caused Fenton to lose the fight, and of course, I've lost the account and can
just come home. I think I hate Vegas, or maybe it hates me."

"Sweet cheeks,
you're the one that's going to have to figure out if you distracted Fenton from
the fight. And, who knows, maybe you did and that means good things for you and
your bad boy," James said. "All I know is that a comeback campaign is
even better than a seamless rise to the top. You are still on the account and
can make a killing if you sign him now and then help him win the title fight."

"Sign him and help
him win the title fight? Sure, yeah, that totally sounds like something I can
handle, considering how well I've done here so far," I said.

"You're going to do
it, I know you are," my boss said. "Oh, and Kya?"

"What?"

"Always bet on black."
James hung up.

I bought the Vegas
keychain, considering that I had bent it out of shape, and wished the purchase
had taken a whole lot longer. The only thing for me to do was find Fenton and
face him right away. I cringed at the thought, but finally left the gift shop
and fought my way upstream against the crowd. Access to Fenton's floor was
restricted, but one security guard was letting up gaggles of short-skirted
women.

"You too,
honey?" the guard asked me. "Now, I know why he took that hit. I'd let
Peretti bash my head in too, if I knew it'd get me all this sexy
sympathy."

He let me in the elevator
where the women were all adding a layer of lipstick, adjusting their cleavage,
or fluffing up their hair in the mirrored walls. I glanced at myself briefly
and wondered if he would see the guilt on me right away. It felt like a weight
on my shoulders, but I straightened them and strutted my way into his suite
with the rest of the women.

Club music vibrated the
walls of Fenton's penthouse suite and the crowd was thick inside. Most of the
women made a beeline for the dance floor, where every stick of furniture had
been removed from the sunken living room. I turned and went straight for the
bar and a straight shot of bourbon.

How exactly was I going
to say sorry for getting him knocked out? I stopped cold and ordered a double.
Even worse, what if I apologized and it turned out he had not even seen me?
Either way, I was sure to make an ass out of myself. I had no idea how to turn
that into a comeback campaign pitch.

"Well, hello, pretty
lady," a voice said.

I turned around and
sipped my bourbon to hide a grimace. "Hello, Mr. Casey."

"Please, call me
Kev. I plan on calling you Kya, at least, until we come up with a more intimate
nickname," he said.

"I'm afraid I'm not
here for intimacy, I'm here on business," I said.

"Could have fooled
me. I saw you in the crowd tonight. Pretty sure our boy did, too," Kev
said.

"That's impossible,
there were hundreds of people there," I said.

Kev slipped an arm around
my shoulders. "Don't feel bad, Kya. I mean, you are a delicious
distraction, but our boy's been off his game since before you got to
Vegas."

"Maybe Fenton
doesn't like it here, either." I slipped out from under Kev's arm.

"What's not to like?
You just need to come out with me. I can show you the real fun of Vegas,"
he said.

I dodged Kev's other arm
as it snaked around my waist. I was about to dive onto the dance floor to
escape him when I spotted the strange man from the MGM gym.

"Do you know that
man?" I asked Kev as he reeled me back in.

"Now that you
mention it, I have seen him talking with Fenton lately. Wonder if he knows
what's bothering our boy," Kev said.

"I did hear him
delivering some kind of news Fenton did not really want to hear the other
day," I said.

We started across the
party together and though I despised working with Kev Casey, I hoped the plain
looking man might be to blame for upsetting Fenton instead of me.

"How did we lose
him? He was right here," Kev said. He was so annoyed he unhooked his hand
from my waist and turned all around. The man with the average build and medium
brown hair had disappeared. "That was weird, right?"

"Yes," I
agreed.

Before we could think
anymore about the nondescript man and what messages he might be bringing
Fenton, there was a wave of cheers. The party erupted outside the master suite
as Fenton himself appeared. He had a muscular arm around two blonde women that
on first look appeared to be twins. A second glance, though, showed me one had
black roots under her blonde hair, while the other had bleached out her mousy
brown hair. They were dressed in identical, silver mini skirts with pink
halter-tops. Fenton had not bothered to put on a shirt and showed off an angry
bruise under his ribs proudly.

The girls alternately held
up tall drinks with straws and I could tell from the gold liquid that Fenton
was drinking tequila.

"Everyone grab a
drink – it’s time to get knocked out!" he roared.

The crowd cheered again
and the DJ turned up the club music. Fenton strode through the suite, his hands
roving all over his companions as he shouted obscenities over Peretti's
fighting style.

"A lucky
punch," Fenton said. "I let my mind drift for one moment, otherwise
Peretti would never have landed that hit."

"People are saying
you were out all night at a strip club before the big fight? Is that the reason
you were distracted?" an interviewer threw a microphone into Fenton's
face.

"I might have broke
curfew, pissed off my coach, and had a little too much fun, but this is Vegas,
baby. What else is a man supposed to do?" Fenton declared.

The crowd cheered again.
More barely clad women surrounded him and they all posed for the flashing
cameras.

"Well, what do you
say to Mario Peretti? He now thinks he'll be up against Maxwell Lewis in the title
fight instead of you. Do you think that's possible?" the interviewer
asked.

Fenton took a long drink
of tequila and nipped a lime wedge right out of a woman's mouth. "Let
Peretti think whatever he wants. One lucky punch is not going to get him the
title."

"So, you're not
worried?"

"Worried? I've got
nothing to worry about except hotel security shutting down this party before we
have enough fun!" Fenton yelled.

The crowd roared again
and surged around him. The entire suite was one giant dance floor. I slipped
away from Kev's insistent arms and fought my way towards Fenton. He was
surrounded by a briar patch of stiletto heels and sharp elbows, but I managed
to wiggle my way through.

Somehow, he saw me
coming, and his blue eyes locked on mine. A thrill of fear and attraction spear
through me as he pushed his arms wide, knocking back a swath of sparkling
women, and pulled me towards him. He yanked me hard against his bare chest and
his blue eyes blazed.

"Surprised to see
you," he said. "Again."

"I'm sorry," I
said. "I don't mean to keep popping up at the wrong time in the wrong
places."

"You don't get
it," Fenton said. "I don't need your endorsement deal, I don't need
your advice, and I certainly don't need your help getting myself in
trouble."

"How about getting
out of trouble?" I asked. I pushed off his hard chest and arched back even
as we kept swaying and dancing together. "You can't tell me this is what
you really want."

"It’s not about what
I want," Fenton said. "It's about what is best, and I'm better off
alone."