Chapter 45 Legacy
Chapter 45
Legacy
Parker
The first time I was in a fight was when I was twelve years old. My dad had just received his diagnosis, and my world was in freefall.
I’d gone to the arcade, lost myself in blasting zombies. Some kid jostled me. I shoved him. He shoved me back. He called me something, and I tackled him, whaling on him until the owner dragged me off. It was only later, when his parents tried to file a police report, that I found out he was nineteen.
I sat on my bed. Wet eyes. Bloodied knuckles. My dad silently taped them up, whilst my mom despaired in the kitchen. “Feel better?” he asked quietly.
I realised that I did.
“Good”. He turned and walked to the door. “My buddy runs a gym in South Bank. We’ll enrol you tomorrow”. More pan-rattling from the kitchen. “It’ll be our secret”.
****
The crowd isn’t here for me. They’re not here for Tank either. He prowls the cage opposite me, smashing his fists together.
Behind him, Julius and Frankie sit expressionless. This fight is taking place in a makeshift community gym. The commentators are barely out of college. But it’s the first step.
Behind the cage, huddled amongst Zara’s team, Jack gives me a half-wave. I nod back, feeling ridiculously touched he showed up. Archie raises a beer in my direction. Will flanks him, alongside Sheryl. Simon sits directly behind Zara, looking hopelessly out of place in a tweed sportscoat. But he’s here.
Zara presses my mouthguard into place.
“Did your parents show?” The visage of my father is replaced by the crowd. Their ambivalence is obvious with every passive turn of their head. The indignity of some empty seats. I shake my head. “Use that”.
By the time I’m done, I’ll make sure every one of these fuckers remembers my name. Even if I have to write it on the floor of the cage in my own blood.
The referee calls Tank and I to the centre of the ring. He stares through me like I’m nothing. He wants to do to me exactly what I know I’m going to do to him. My fists clench. I nod my readiness, bouncing from foot to foot.
We touch gloves, the bell rings, and it’s on.
I feel the power behind his jab as his fist sails by my face. If he hits me, it’s going to be bad. I toss a leg kick his way which he defends, and we circle, feinting and feeling each other out. I know it’s stupid, every single fibre of my body is telling me not to glance towards the seats I reserved for my parents. The empty seats.
But I look.
And immediately, I pay for that mistake. His knuckles split my lip open. Frankie screams at him to follow up, and he does, with a quick combination that leaves me dizzy. I collapse against the steel cage wall and pull him into a clinch to buy some recovery time.
He muscles out of it, and I move quickly to block another jab and fire off a volley of my own. I catch him in the nose and jaw. He shakes me off angrily and keeps moving forward.He aims another jab that catches me right in the gut, winding me. He charges me and I slam my hips into his side, toppling him off balance.
He scrambles to his feet immediately, without missing a beat. We circle around the cage. I’m doing just enough to keep him at arm’s length until the bell sounds for the end of the first round.
Zara squirts water down my throat, tells me to take my time. Let him tire himself out. Exploit his recklessness. And duck better. I wobble to my feet. The lights flicker just long enough for me to catch sight of a familiar figure taking a seat behind Frankie. It’s Darwin.
Fuck.
The second round starts, and he comes right at me, but this time, I meet him with a strong jab of my own. He barely reacts. Tough motherfucker . I pull the same shit again and connect harder this time.He blocks a third attempt with a leg kick to my calf that sends a volt of pain shooting through my thigh.
Darwin’s eyes burn with satisfaction.
The crowd’s starting to pay some attention.I’m right in-front of my corner, and Zara's screaming at me but I can’t hear a fucking word she’s saying. He charges at me and I catch him, wrestling him to the mat. He defends, driving the air out of me with a series of knees to my side.
The buzzer rings, and I roll off, gasping for air. He knocks an elbow into my face, wobbling me. The ref jumps in for a penalty as the crowd boo. My second official round comes to an end.
I slump, dazed, onto my stool. I spit blood onto the canvas. There’s a blur, and suddenly, an icepack is pressed gently against my side. I’d recognise that touch anywhere.
“I won’t pretend to be an expert in any of this”, Brandon says, from underneath a Basement MMA baseball cap. “But for fucks sakes, at some point, are you planning on hitting him back?”
I must have got punched harder than I thought. I’m hallucinating.
“I’m lulling him into a false sense of security”. I mumble through my mouthguard, “It’s all part of the masterplan”.
“Got it”. Brandon shoots water down my throat. “Very cunning. Zara gave me some feedback to pass on, but it’s very technical. Follow the gameplan. Get him on the mat. Break his fucking arm. Blah blah blah. I thought my advice might be more helpful”.
He presses our foreheads together so I can’t see anywhere but into the deepest blue of his eyes. “I’m your boyfriend. I’m going to be just as in love with you when this is over as I was before it started. You’ve got nothing to prove to anybody. You understand?”
I nod, my throat thick.
“But you trained for this. You’re Parker fucking Di Rossi. There’s not one thing you can’t do. So stop playing it safe. Improvise. Use what you know. He’s not better than you. He’s just bigger and older. It means nothing. Let’s see it”, Brandon leans back. “Something fucking glorious”.
He’s right, kiddo, my dad winks.
I glance over my shoulder to where Zara’s watching us intently. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear I saw a glimmer of approval across her face.
There’s no time for that now, because the bell rings for the final round.
Tank is bouncing around. His coach has clearly given him one hell of a pep talk. His fists are tight, so he’s been told to focus on his boxing. His swagger is rich with confidence. He thought he’d taken the best I had to offer and he survived.
I get it. It makes sense. But he’s got no idea what else I’ve got up my sleeve.
I’m ready for the next shin kick. I have to wait another forty-five seconds for it, whilst I try and keep the crowd entertained with my boxing skills. I purposefully drop a step and wait, and he doesn’t disappoint.
I catch his leg and his eyes widen in surprise.I don’t give him a fraction of a second before I yank him to the ground, and start dropping knees on his body, holding him in place like I’m a goddamn vice.
I let him up and he tries to pull me into a clinch but I’m too quick, and toss him over my shoulder, feeling a wave of satisfaction at the cracking sound his back makes when it slams into the canvas. I spin quickly, and he whales legs at me to force some distance.
I take a step back, letting him wear himself out, but he smartly gets to his feet. He remembers my ground game is better than my stand up .
I shoot in for a dive, but he ducks and takes my back and clamps his wrists around my neck, cutting off my airway.
Don’t panic. You know what you’re doing.
If I drop to the floor, it’s only going to improve his position.I crank, pushing us both backwards against the steel wall of the cage, trying to drag his feet off me as they lock in around my abdomen.The crowd are coming alive now. Cheering. Booing, Making a shit ton of noise.
I’m not fucking tapping.I will let him kill me before I give up.
I work feverishly, untying his legs from around me, landing elbow after elbow into his side as the corners of my world threaten to fade to black.
Something pushes its way to the front. Telling me I can do it. That I’m strong enough.
I jostle, forcing my weight in the same direction as his motion, so that he begins to topple. He releases his grip just long enough for me to gasp for air and then turn and use the last of my strength to slam us both to the ground. Right in-front of Julius and Frankie. And Darwin.
Someone unmutes the sound.
We both scramble to our feet, and as he charges in with wild swings, I grunt and slam my hips into his side, setting him up for a perfect throw.
The crowd cheers as he lands hard, but I keep hold of his arm and spin into a perfectly executed armbar. His eyes widen in shock. Frankie is screaming. Julius slaps his palm against the cage.
I lock eyes with Darwin, and pull Tank’s arm as hard as I can.
About a second before it dislocates, he taps out, and the place erupts.
Zara comes racing into the cage, Simon hot on her heels. Archie and Will hoist me onto their shoulders. Simon hugs me. Sheryl’s crying. Jack takes selfies. Everything that’s meant to happen is happening.
From across the cage, I spot Brandon. He’s sat behind Darwin, with a vice-like grip on his shoulder. He’s whispering intently in his ear. Darwin’s staring straight ahead, but his face has paled.
The referee raises my arm. “The winner, fighting out of Basement MMA…Parker Di Rossi!” I take it in, basking in the moment. This is it. I did it.
Damn kid, my dad says, I wish I could have seen this .
But when I reach for him, he's not there.
****
A blur of lights. Voices. Everyone sounds very far away. Where the hell am I?
“Parker”, Zara unclips my gloves. “Parker. Can you hear me?”
“What’s wrong with him?” Something twangs. A flash of red. We’re in the locker room. How did I get here? Will steers me towards a bench.
“Get Brandon”, Simon shouts. “Now”. Archie breaks off at a run. Simon pulls Zara into a corner, talking in hurried whispers.
Zara appears in-front of me. “We’re going to get you some help, okay? Just breathe”.
“I’m good”, I say, but it comes out as a cough, then something else. Something guttural. Has someone been crying?
Someone from the venue tries to open the door but Jack blocks it. I try to protest. This is ridiculous. I don’t know what everyone’s making such a big deal about. We should be celebrating.
Oh, it’s me. I’m the one crying.
The door opens again. Brandon looks between me, and everyone else. “Everyone out”, he says sharply. “Now”. Nobody argues.
The door closes behind them. Brandon crouches down next to me. I can’t breathe. I need to tell him. To make him understand. “Brandon…”.
“It’s okay”, Brandon pulls me closer. “I’m here”.
“I’m fine, it’s just…”.
“I know, Parker. I know . You don’t need to hide it anymore”.
“I got…” I try, but it comes out as a sob. “I got everything I ever wanted”.