Chapter 14 – Clay
“You really think you’re going to be at your best tonight with those ribs still bruised?” Dallas asks, his tone is sharp as he holds the warmup pads for me in the dingy back room of the locker room area.
The space reeks of sweat and damp cement, a far cry from anywhere you’d expect to train seriously but I guess this is as good as you get when you're doing underground fighting.
My fists tap against the pads with a steady rhythm, the repetitive motion warming up my muscles as I feel the frustrating pull against my sore ribs. They're still tender, but healing.
I’m fine.
“They’re better,” I mutter, not fully convincing even myself.
I deliver another jab, and an upper cut to Dallas before I feel warm enough to stop but not too hot that I’m exhausted.
He scoffs and shakes his head, “Don’t say I didn’t warn ya if we end up back at Lonestar Junction’s hospital tonight.” He lowers the pad, running a quick check over my gear, making sure everything is in place for tonight’s fight.
“When does Dove get back from her tour so you can finally get off my ass?” I tease, though I liked having Dallas in my corner, especially for fights.
He’s the only one in my life who knows all the details about my after-work fighting and I intend on keeping it that way.
Losing Dallas’ support would be a blow to my training, but I know eventually, Dove will come home for good and retire from performing, and that means I’ll start seeing him less.
Though Dove and Dallas are older now, the success she’d tasted at a young age still lingers. There was always demand for Dove and her band, The Valor, to perform in the States, even though the crowd has aged.
“When she’s home, you ghost everyone,” I continue, “hole up at Golden Farm like you’ve forgotten the world exists.”
And honestly, I can’t blame him. Dove is the love of his life, and when they’re together, it’s like nothing else matters. The way they look at each other is the kind of thing that makes everyone else fade into the background. I wonder if I’d ever looked at Savannah, or any other woman that way.
“Three more weeks. Then she’s home until after the holidays.
Said she wants to do nothing but sit in our backyard, watch our crops grow and drink coffee with me.
Can’t say there’s nothing more that I want to do than be deep inside of her while some snow falls but I doubt we’ll see that here in Texas. ”
“Gross, old man,” I shoot back with a laugh.
He’s only eight years older than me, but I envy the love he has for Dove.
They’d stumbled into each other’s lives by accident, exchanging letters as teens, though they hadn’t met face-to-face until he was thirty and had moved to Lonestar Junction on a whim after retiring from the Marines, unknowingly seeking her.
“You ever gonna find someone to sit around and watch crops grow with while making love? Or are you still hung up on that girl who cheated on you?” Dallas shoots back with a smirk.
We don’t usually dive into feelings during our training, but Dallas is tight with my oldest brother, Wylie, and I know that Wylie’s big mouth had spilled the details of how things ended between Savannah and me six years ago.
The memory of my naivety still stings but the betrayal stopped hurting years ago.
I’m over it, but that doesn’t mean that there aren’t some lingering feelings of rejection that remain.
“Nah, I’m over that.”
Sure, there are still days when it stings—the fact that she’d lied, and I hadn’t seen it coming.
It hits especially hard when I see her life moving forward while mine feels…
stuck. Like when she posted her pregnancy announcement on social media or when I ran into her parents at the grocery store, and they casually asked if I was seeing anyone.
But overall, I don’t think about it anymore.
Looking back, I’d been so certain about my commitment to Savannah, but with time and distance, I realized we both overlooked the cracks in our relationship.
We were too focused on preserving what we’d invested in rather than facing the truth.
A strong relationship isn’t measured by how long it lasts.
Some of the worst marriages include people sticking it out for decades, more out of pride in the length of it than caring about the quality of their lives together.
Wearing the badge of a long marriage while behind closed doors, they’re utterly miserable.
He huffs. “You’d better be. I need you sharp if you’re aiming to win this tournament. And if you’re hoping to pull your head out of your ass and notice the pretty woman with chestnut brown hair who’s clearly interested in you, that’d be a good start.”
His last words may have been muttered, but they were unmistakably clear.
“What are you talking about?” I demand, stepping towards him, my head cocked to the side, eyes narrowed like I couldn’t have possibly heard him correctly.
He stands firm like a tree, his arms folded over his broad chest, “I’m not afraid of you, little Cameron.
Little brown-haired girl with curls and big brown eyes was in town asking about you today.
I told her where she could find you tonight.
So don’t be surprised if you see a sweet thing that looks way too good for your ugly ass amongst these gruff men and stale beer tonight.
” He chuckles and doesn’t give me a chance to respond before quickly exiting the locker room and slamming the door shut behind him.
What the hell?
I slam my fist against a metal locker, the impact causing it to rattle. Looking down, I notice a bead of blood already seeping from my split knuckles.
Fuck!
If Maggie is showing up tonight, she’s clearly figured things out, which isn’t the issue.
I’ve always had a feeling I could trust her with my secret, and it isn’t something I mind her knowing.
The problem is that if she’s here while I’m fighting, I’ll be distracted by the thought of her standing amidst the chaotic crowd.
There’ll be no way I can focus on the fight.
She’s not your problem.
She’s not your problem.
She’s not your problem
I chant that repeatedly in my head as I sprint out to the ring just as my name is being called.
But the problem with that is, she is mine to worry about.
Or at least, it’s started to feel that way.
Despite my attempts to push her out of my mind, there’s an undeniable attraction pulling me to protect her, and I resent that with every fiber of my being.
I step over the wires that separate the ring from the outside crowd and make my way into the center, determined to push those thoughts aside and take out my frustration on my opponent. There, I tap gloves with Frank, a brief but necessary ritual before the fight begins.
‘Frank the Furt,’ is a burly man at least five years my senior who works as a cowboy on a ranch nearby. I’ve known him for years and know that he isn’t a good guy. The sheriff had told me that he’d been picked up on more than one occasion for domestic violence against his live-in girlfriend.
I channel my anger towards his cruelty with every punch as the round begins. I focus inward, determined to block out the fact that Maggie Hollister might be somewhere in the crowd, watching me and likely being heckled by perverse men.
A quick jab, a kick to his calf, and a takedown that he easily shakes off. The first round concludes uneventfully as I step to my corner where Dallas is currently hanging over the edge of the rope waiting for me.
“Your head’s not in it,” he deadpans.
“You gotta be a marine to notice that?”
He lifts the bottle of Gatorade to my mouth before I'm ready and squirts the side of my cheek, splashing a little in my eye instead.
“What the fuck, man?!” I yell as I stand up and wipe the orange stream of liquid out of my vision.
“Good. You’re focused now. Channel that anger into the fight because you look like you want to hold this guy and take him out on a date versus pummel in his sick as fuck face the way he certainly deserves.”
“He’s a piece of shit,” I spit back as Dallas nods.
“I know that, and you know that. So go take care of him. Isn’t that why you fight?
To right the wrongs in a contained and somewhat-legal manner?
This dude’s woman is trapped in a house where he hits her.
You deserve to hit him and knock him out.
Also, the sooner you do, the sooner you can go make out with your new girlfriend. ”
I clench my jaw, shooting him one last glare before I spring to my feet just as the call of round two beginning rings out.
This time though, I come out swinging, with fresh anger at Frank that catches him off guard as I deliver blow after blow to his face and body finishing with a round house kick to his side that brings him to his knees.
Three seconds later I’m on the floor with him, cranking one of his meaty legs backward into a position that I know with an ounce more pressure, will cause it to break.
I want to do it. So badly. This guy deserves to be in a cast - or a casket. Unfortunately, he taps out before I can finish the job.
“Winner by submission, Clay, ‘the Crusher,’ Cameron!” the announcer bellows over the crowd drunk on fighting and 50 cent beers as he holds my arm up in the air in victory.
“Crusher! Crusher!” the crowd chants my fighting name over and over as I force a trained smile.
My eyes scan the crowd until they finally land on Maggie, her jaw dropped open, and her hands clasped in front of her.
Ignoring the cheers and the usual post-fight sportsmanship, I stalk straight towards her.
Reaching her side, I grab her arm and pull her with a bit more force than intended, guiding her towards the empty locker room.
“Come with me. Right now.”