Unbroken (Fighter Erotic Romance #4) (10 page)

SHANE.
Brock rushed to the center of the ring. I took two steps into the ring and stopped. Brock stopped for what seemed like an eternity and stared. Standing close to my corner of the ring, I curled my hands toward my chest, motioning for him to come to me. In boxing, without a doubt, I was taunting him.

I didn’t come here tonight to fight.

I came here to take something from you.

He took one step in my direction, and reconsidered. Only for a split-second, but his stutter step was a dead giveaway.

That’s all I needed to see. You’re scared, and for good reason.

I lowered my hands and walked his direction. In this sport, I was calling him out. Telling the entire arena he was a pussy, and I
knew
it. With my hands low at my side, and open for any punch he was willing to throw my direction, I made my way to where he stood.

The look on his face changed to one of uncertainty.

“God damn it, kid,”
Kelsey screamed.

I know what I’m doing, old man. This one’s for you, Kelsey.

In my last step of my approach, it was obvious Brock was beyond what I could describe as angry. Angry and unsure of what I had planned. This was exactly what I wanted. I needed one wild assed punch from him. Just one, and hopefully it would be his right hand. As I got within arm’s reach, he reacted to my taunts. As soon as I heard the grunt begin, I leaned back, raised my right hand and lowered my left. As the punch flew by my face, I swung my signature left uppercut.

Boom!

My left hand contacted his chin harder than I have ever made contact with any other fighter.

That fucking hurt, didn’t it big boy?

A quick right cross connected with his jaw, sending him into a stumble of rearward steps. This was exactly what I needed; him in the center of the ring under my attack, with no ropes to hold him up.

I came here for something, and I’m not leaving without it. Remember this punch and remember my name, Shane motherfucking Dekkar, asshole.

I’m the big mean motherfucker who came here and took this from you.

I opened up with a combination in close, alternating from his body to his face. His hands began to lower when I attacked the body, opening his face up for a hard right hand.

You didn’t give it to me, I’m taking it. And there will be no decision in this fight.

Only a knockout.

I threw a straight right hand with every ounce of energy I had in me. The punch connected directly on the tip of his nose. As I pulled my hand away, revealing his flattened nose, blood covered his face.

The ref’s going to stop this fight if he sees the bloody mess you’re making.

I swung a left uppercut into his chin followed with a right cross. The right hit his left temple, solid. His legs instantly turned to rubber.

Now, I’m taking what’s mine.

To make certain he either couldn’t get up, or didn’t get up quickly, I swung a left hook for good measure. In the slowest of motion, I watched as the left connected with the bottom of his jaw, and he fell to the mat.

Don’t get up.

Ever.

I stood over him and stared down as the crowd went insane.

Shame.

On.

Shame.

On.

Shame.

On.

It was as if I could hear every individual scream from the crowd. Every single one, independent of the others. Time stood still. The referee stepped between us and pointed toward my corner.

“
Shane fucking Dekkar, ladies and gentlemen
,” I heard Ripp’s unmistakable voice holler.

“
That’s my boy
,” I heard Ripp’s father scream.

I stepped away and stared in Brock’s direction.

Don’t get up.

Don’t even fucking bother.

“
Baby!
” I heard Kace squeal.

Lord, if you know what’s best, you’ll keep him where he belongs. If he gets up, you won’t be proud of what I do to him.

The referee waived his arms ending the fight.

It was over.

Standing and staring at Brock, I was the new Heavyweight Champion of the World.

Yet. I heard not a single word from Kelsey.

Something was wrong.

I turned around slowly, not necessarily caring if Brock ever stood up. As soon as my eyes scanned my corner of the ring, I realized what was wrong. Kelsey wasn’t capable of speaking. Still absorbing what had happened, I quickly made my way to the corner of the ring.

Kelsey stood, leaning on the bench, with is head in his hands sobbing.

“Holy fuck kid, you did it,” he blubbered as he stood to remove my mouthpiece.

“No, boss.
We
did it. I didn’t win that fight for my son. I won it for
you
,” I sighed as he reached up and wiped the tears from his face.

Overcome with a lifetime of emotion, he continued to cry. As I stood beside him and waited for the official decision, I felt as if I may begin to cry as well.

The amount of pride I felt for my accomplishment was numbing to say the least. Although familiar faces surrounded me, it was as if I was in one place, and they another. I stood in my bubble of space, incapable of being touched or even spoken to by those around me. Their voices muffled, I remained incapable of understanding or responding to their questions or congratulatory remarks.

One thing rang clear, penetrating the silence.

“And by knockout at 1:57 of the third round, and still undefeated…”

“The new WBC Heavyweight Champion of the World…”

“Shane.”

“Shame…On.”

“Dekkar.”

I waited forever to hear it.

And the announcement echoed throughout the arena endlessly.

SHANE.
To describe my life as different in the months which followed the fight would be a grotesque understatement. The phone calls, offers for endorsements, magazines, book deals, movie offers, and potential challengers coming out of the woodwork were an almost daily occurrence.

In the past I didn’t necessarily need a manager, therefore I didn’t have one. Kelsey was my trainer, and Joe was the manager of the gym, but I never felt a need to have a manager who decided what it was I did or should intend to do. Now, life was different.

Much different.

After a reasonable amount of persuasion, and an unreasonable amount of money, Kelsey agreed to become my manager. I trusted Kelsey with my best interest and deciding to allow him to make decisions which would benefit us both was something I felt he could do without much thought or influence from me. I preferred to be out of the lime light, and make my best effort to live a life of solitude without the recognition.

Contrary to what I expected, at least for now I intended to defend the title. I would allow whoever Kelsey felt was a reasonably talented opponent challenge me for the Championship sometime in the future. Right now, I wanted to relax and take it easy for a while and enjoy living life.

My wife and son had become the two most important elements in my life, and I had no expectation of ever allowing this to change.

Although it has never been one of my favorite things to do, Kace and I have enjoyed several movies together. From time to time, we will see a rather suspenseful movie. In watching the movie, it’s never totally clear to me just how intense the movie really is – or how engrossed I am in the story – until it’s over, and I exhale. Slowly, I’ll release the seat cushion from my grip, and realize I was a ball of tension for the entire movie.

Winning the championship was a similar experience.

I never felt as if I were acting any differently during the months in preparing for the fight. After the fight was over, however, I exhaled. In doing so, I realized my life prior to the fight was one big tense moment, over and over. Now, looking back at my then life, and the differences I see…

I’m glad it’s over.

I feel as if I am a totally different person. Not someone I was before, and certainly not someone I ever expected to be. Today, I look at the world through different eyes. Eyes capable of seeing everything and not only what I choose to allow before me. Today, I look into the future and attempt to make decisions based on what I feel is best for Kace, Casey and I. I never felt as if I were selfish prior to now. Today, however, I have my reservations regarding my previous behaviors and wonder whether or not I was doing what was in everyone’s best interest.

Ripp’s church had a wing they intended to use for Sunday school for the children in the church. Poor attendance and a loss of parishioners left the wing all but abandoned over recent years. They had expressed interest in remodeling it into a refuge for homeless teen girls – a place for them to be able to stay if there was nowhere else for them to turn. After several unsuccessful attempts to raise money they abandoned the idea, and the wing remained empty and somewhat rundown.

In learning of the desire the church had for the unoccupied area, I donated the money to remodel it entirely. I didn’t want my name attached to it, or recognition for doing so. All I wanted was a place for the runaways and homeless teens to feel they could turn if there was no other direction for them to go. I felt if I could make a difference in one person not turning to drugs or prostitution, it would all be worth it.

In the past, I received satisfaction from beating another man half senseless for doing something I perceived as being immoral or wrong. Now, I know I am not God, and I have no place attempting to right the wrongs of this world. Making a difference one idiot at a time would never make a big difference. Now, having the ability to make a real difference allowed me to feel everything I did in the past was not only unnecessary, but possibly somewhat selfish on my part.

There is still no place in my heart for a man who abuses a woman, and I will never stand aside while someone attempts to or actually does abuse a woman.  I will not, however, seek justice on my own for every man who steps outside a moral line I have scratched into the sand.

Today I have the ability to make a difference one major decision at a time. And the differences I make just may last longer than I ever will. The satisfaction I received from causing an abuser to walk the other direction from the abused was short-lived, and happened whenever the opportunity presented itself. Typically a few times a year I felt I made a difference in the life of someone who may need it. Now, every morning when I wake up I know it’s possible for me to make a difference without so much as getting dressed.

And I breathe easy knowing so.

What I am left with is the ability to live a life I have always yearned for – one without reservation, regret or a weight of some sort crushing down on me.

I sat on the edge of the bed staring at the display on the wall – in the center, a large photograph of me standing over the fallen champion, my hands held high in the air. Although professional photographer took the photo during the fight, I have no recollection of raising my hands while Brock was down on the mat. The photo, however, tells a different story. A great piece of artwork to represent a memory I will carry with me for a lifetime.

On the left side of the photo, a shadow box with my black hoodie, cleaned and pressed. On the right, a black silk robe I wore with the name DEKKAR on the back over the shoulders in grey block letters.

Memories.

I clenched the dog tags in my hand and stood from the foot of the bed. In turning toward the display on my way out of the room, I smiled. Life has the ability to change, and sometimes we’re the beneficiary of these changes. When the differences we experience clearly make our life or our person better, it becomes increasingly difficult to question a God I more than once doubted the mere existence of.

I walked out to the garage, draped the dog tags over my head, and looked down as they came to rest in the center of my chest. I pressed the remote door opener on the wall and walked to the corner of the garage and grabbed a shovel. As I dropped it into the bed of the truck, I sighed slightly.

Some changes in our lives are self-imposed, while others simply happen. We’re forced to accept the changes which occur in our life naturally. When we choose to make changes we’re always left to wonder if our decision to do so is in our best interest.

There’s only one way to know for sure.

Make changes.

And live life.

KACE.
Although the changes I have seen in Shane aren’t what
most
people would look at as significant, I know better. Shane needed very little in my eyes to be a perfect man, and he was sure headed in the right direction with the few changes he had made in his life. No one asked him to change, and I don’t even know if he realizes all of the little things he was doing differently. It really doesn’t matter to me, what’s important is that he is doing well, and his devotion is in the right place.

Nothing matters more than family and friends to Shane, and for the rest of his life that should never have to change. The amounts of money we have available now make either of us ever needing to work a thing of the past. Financially security has allowed Shane to let loose a little with his spending, and he’s not quite as frugal as he used to be. He bought a truck, a new tire for his motorcycle, and three plots of land in an affluent neighborhood on the north side of Austin.

He said he didn’t want any neighbors, so he purchased a lot for us to build a house on, and bought the lots on either side of ours. This way, according to Shane, we never have to worry about having
shitty neighbors.
Considering the neighborhood, I doubt this would ever be the case. The thought of a contractor building a house just for us is very exciting to me. Shane let me help draw my ideas onto paper and forced the architect to include my ideas into the building plans.

One problem with Shane is he now has a considerable amount of free time on his hands, and he’s at the construction site every day checking on the contractor. Today is Sunday, and although I am sure the contractor isn’t working, I know this is where I’ll find Shane.

As I pulled into the lot, the site looked the same as it did earlier in the week. A concrete slab and a wooded house frame you can look right through. Three more months is when they say they’re going to be done, and to be quite honest, I have no idea if I can wait that long. The entire thought of it has me beside myself.

“This is going to be our new house,” I said to Casey as I pulled him from his car seat.

As I carried him through what would one day be our yard, I saw Shane in the back yard with a shovel. Wondering what he might be doing, I wandered around the house and into the rear portion of the lot.

“What are you doing, doofus?” I hollered across the yard.

He turned and looked over his shoulder, “Digging a hole.”

“I figured so, seeing the shovel and all. What are you doing Shane?” I asked.

“Burying some stuff.”

“What are you burying, Shane?”

“Dog tags and some boots.”

“You’re burying your dog tags?”

“Yep.”

I stood and thought for a moment before I responded.

“Do you think that’s a good idea,” I asked.

“Actually, yes,” he responded as he stepped on the shovel.

“Okay. Want to talk about it?” I asked.

He turned to face me and smiled, “Sure.”

He tossed the shovel full of dirt to the side, and stepped on the shovel again. As he did, I noticed he was wearing his new boots again. His old boots sat on the ground beside where he stood.

Okay this could be either really good or really bad.

“Shane,” I hesitated and pointed to his boots.

“You burying those too?” I asked.

“Yep,” he responded.

“Let’s hear it,” I said as I adjusted Casey’s weight on my arm.

Shane released the shovel handle and reached for Casey. As he took him into his arms, he smiled and kissed him on the cheek.

“Well, I’ve carried those things for some time now, always thinking they’re in some way significant. Truth of the matter is this, they’re really not. Well, they are – but they’re not. What I thought they were and what they actually are is two totally different things. I’ve come to terms with the fact that my father was not a perfect man,” he held Casey over his head and began to toss him in the air a few inches from his grasp, catching him under his armpits as he fell.

As I watched Shane toss Casey in the air repeatedly, I waited for more of an explanation, knowing Shane would provide it.

“Kace, I’m not perfect either. My father made mistakes. I’ve made mistakes. Even though the mistakes we made aren’t the same, they really are. He beat my mother physically, I beat you mentally,” he paused and held Casey to his chest.

“Shane we agreed we aren’t going to…”

“Let me finish, it’s okay,” he smiled.

I smiled.

“For me to think for one minute that my father is or was a bad person and I am any better is to say I have never made a mistake. Well, I have. I’ve made a lot of them. Fact of the matter is this, Kace. I’ve carried those dog tags to remind me what a no good son-of-a-bitch he was. That’s not necessarily true. So, I’m going to bury them right here. In what I hope will be our back yard for the remainder of our lives. And I’m putting the boots he got me here too,” he said as he nodded toward the boots.

“He got you those raggedy boots?” I asked.

He nodded, “They weren’t always raggedy. They’re old.”

And it began to make sense. Shane wore the dog tags and the boots, feeling as if it provided him something in his fighting – an edge so to speak. Maybe it did. But if I was going to guess now, I’d guess it provided him enough anger toward who he believed his father was to fuel him in his fights.

“So?”

“Well, I’ll never know for sure just what I got out of these, but I know this. Today, I can accept the fact that my father was who he was. He was a damned good Marine and he died defending this country. He may not have been the father I wanted him to be, but he wasn’t necessarily bad. So, I’ve accepted him for who he is, and I want to bury who I believed him to be. Get a fresh start, so to speak,” he smiled and began to toss Casey in the air again.

“You sure?” I asked.

“Yep,” he responded as he handed Casey to me.

“Shane?”

“Yeah, babe?”

“I love you.”

“I love you babe.”

“You want us to go? Leave you alone to do this?”

“Nope. Just hold on, it’ll only take a minute.”

I stood and watched as Shane took a few more scoops of dirt and tossed them aside. After sticking the shovel in the ground beside the hole, he bent down beside the boots. Carefully he dropped the dog tags into one of the boots. He hesitated, and then began to use his hands to fill the boots with the dirt from the hole. When the boots were full, he laid them in the hole carefully and stood up. After shoveling most of the remaining dirt into the hole, He stepped on the surface of the ground and made it flat again.

A small pile of dirt remained on the side.

“You know, you never can get all of the dirt back into the hole after you bury something,” he smiled as he grabbed the handle of the shovel.

I shook my head, “Nope. Because of what’s in there. It takes up space.”

“That it does, Kace. That it does.” He said as he flipped the shovel over his shoulder.

Whatever we eventually bury was at some point in time an important part of our life. We bury it out of respect.

If it were garbage, we’d simply toss it aside.

Maybe the left over soil is a reminder of the space it once took up in our heart or in our life.

As we walked to our vehicles, I turned toward our stick home and admired the progress the workers had made.

Progress.

Progress is good.