Chapter 47
Kas
The most annoying thing about Mari’s ex is that if I were to kick him in the chest, I’d be sent straight to jail. So, like the gentleman I am, I settled with fucking Mari while he was on the line and told him never to contact her again. It was very touch-and-go, and a punishment way too light for his emotional abuse.
Now with Isaac gone, it has me thinking about how lucky I am to be in a position where I can legally beat the fuck out of the one other man I want far away from Mari: Fletcher Ward.
I rub my hands together and bounce on my feet when the deafening introductory video begins showing on the big screen above the stage. The CEO and president of the SFL, Simon Tweedy, stands underneath.
From my position backstage, I can only just see Bill and Dash in the front row of the crowd, and behind them are a bunch of press with branded microphones. Mari breaks away from one of the staff members a few feet away and returns to me with her work phone clutched tight in her fist.
“You’re stressed,” I acknowledge, using my thumb to pry her bottom lip from her teeth. She’s applied some brown color to the border of her lips and maintained her natural pink hue within.
“No, I’m not. Listen, you’re second on stage. They’re prefacing you with Ward and then you’ll shake hands with Simon and sit in that seat right there.” She points to the chair closest to our wing of the stage.
She’s freaking out. It’s the third time she’s reiterated those instructions to me.
“What if I just ignore Simon and throw a chair at Ward?” I smile down at her only to be met with an unrelenting scowl.
“Don’t even—”
“I’m joking,” I say. “I wouldn’t bother with the chair when my hands do just fine.”
“In the Octagon, yes?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She dusts my chest, and I lower my head so that my lips grace her cheek. Mari blinks up at me, the bright orange color sitting on the rim of her eye brightening her brown irises.
“I like the orange,” I say pointing to her eye while staring at her carefully painted lips.
“Thanks, I like your cap.”
She smiles at me, and I self-consciously finger the brim. I donned a casual look for this press conference: jeans, an oversized white tee, and a baseball cap placed backward on my head because I couldn’t be bothered to deal with my hair. I take it off and comb my fingers through my strands before replacing the cap. Mari snaps a short video of the backstage antics from the other camps and sends it to Davina.
Like Bill and Dash, some team members have decided to take their seats in the crowd and the rest are loitering in the wing. Aside from maybe a few event staffers, some people on our side of the stage include main event fighter, Anthony Bell, and another main card fighter, Paulo Barosso.
I flinch when Mari starts whacking my side.
“Look who’s here,” she whispers.
Olive Ward walks around us with a wary stare. You’d think Mari was a fifty-foot beast based on the way Olive avoids her. She eventually gives us a polite nod before disappearing farther into the venue.
“What the fuck?” Mari mouths.
I shrug. She’s probably grateful Mari didn’t press charges.
“And his opponent, a debut fighter who you might know as The Unfriendly Ghost, and what the world will soon know as one of the best strikers in combat sports ... Kacper Paj?k!”
Mari and I look at each other, and then to the stage with parted lips. Simon is smiling at me from his position in the center of the press conference table.
“Oh my god! You’re up already?” Mari hisses.
She shoves me with an obscene amount of strength, and I stumble onto the stage. I can barely see the audience through flashes of cameras and phones, though I do spot multiple Polish flags and Dash’s customized flag with my shirtless torso covered by a large, bold font that reads “The Unfriendly Ghost.”
I receive an even mixture of boos and cheers—more cheers than I expected—as I shake Simon’s hand and sit down at the table. From my seat at the press conference table, I get a clear view of Mari when I turn my head to the right. She’s bobbing to the loud music playing as Simon introduces the rest of the fighters.
I press my lips together to try and match the smiling faces of those filling up the table. When the surface-level questions begin flowing, that urge to smile quickly disappears. With each question comes desperation as the press thirst for more of a reaction from Ward and me; it explains why their questions are absolute dogshit.
“How do you feel about fighting a legend? It’s a privilege to be chosen by Fletcher Ward,” some guy holding an SFL-branded mic asks.
I grip my mic from the table and pull it to my mouth. “What a stupid question.”
For some reason, my answer encourages laughter from the crowd. Mari’s unreadable expression from backstage is no help; she can’t message me like she did during the livestream to tell me what to say or do. At least this questioning is moderated, and the chances of it ending up like Benny’s shitshow is small.
“This is the first time we’ve seen such a confident newcomer against Ward. Is there a reason for this confidence?” I sip from the provided water to wash away the scratchiness from my throat. There are five other fighters here to question and the press seem to be targeting me.
“I’m a good fighter,” I say. Simon doesn’t press for the next question and along with Mari’s winding motion with her hand, I guess they expect more from me. “I get the impression that Ward is really fucking scared of me because he knows his winning streak is about to end.”
“I’m not scared of shit, you cunt!” Ward shouts.
The crowd livens up and the boos thrown at Ward are louder than ever. Around his neck is a blindingly thick chain and he’s topless under a sleeveless fur coat. He looks stupid.
“You look like roadkill, you’re petrified that I’m still here, and even more scared that I’m not going anywhere.”
I’ve barely finished talking when Dash’s familiar loud whoop is heard from in front.
Ward shoots up from his seat and bats away the plastic water bottle in front of him. Some SFL security personnel restrain him and lower him back into his seat when he makes a start toward me.
Like last night with Mari and getting rid of her ex, the manifestation of a plan begins to form in my head, one that will earn me the hatred of another man.
What better way to show how calm and collected I am than by making Ward completely enraged?
“See, terrified,” I say. “ B?ben dlatego tak g?o?ny, bo pró?ny .”
Aside from the press, there must be a few of my Polish fans in the crowd who understand me because staggered belts of laughter echo around the room. I smile around the nozzle of my water bottle.
“What did he fucking say?” Ward shouts, still fighting against the staff. “What the fuck did he say?”
“The drum is very loud because it’s empty,” I explain.
Mari pinches her fingers together and drags them downward— calm . She follows this with a thumbs-up. I think she’s telling me that my calm demeanor is a good look. I hope that’s what she’s telling me.
“Kacper, is there anything you want to say to the fans? The public? We want to hear it from your mouth,” someone from a news station asks.
“He’s a fucking pussy,” Ward spits. I can barely find an opening to respond to the member of the press through Ward’s angered ramblings. “He’s a boring motherfucker, and the only reason you all want to ask him questions is because I’ve made him interesting.”
“You haven’t made shit,” I argue. The spongy top of the mic brushes against my lips as I talk. “You haven’t made shit,” I repeat. “The only thing you’ve made is a mockery of yourself.”
“He’s delusional!” Ward shouts.
“Sorry, could you repeat the question please?” I ask.
“Who asked the question?” Simon Tweedy calls, attempting to relocate the member of the press.
The question is soon repeated, and I look to Mari for some sort of guidance. She gives me a lazy shrug. It’s on me. One final look at a huffing and puffing Ward has my words sparking on the tip of my tongue.
“I suggest you place your bets now. Me, or the motherfucker I’m going to leave black, blue, and bloodied.”
There’s a sharp electrical thump and Ward’s mic goes flying off the table along with an opened energy drink. Anthony’s opponent stands up to avoid the spillage and looks furiously at Ward.
I smile at Mari, and she returns it with a small wiggle of her shoulders.
Two days. Two days until the fight and after that, I’ll have Mari all to myself. No Isaac, no Ward, just me and her without the permanent presence of our team.
I can’t fucking wait.
“Me, or the mother f’er I’m going to leave black, blue, and bloodied. I mean, where did that come from?!” Mari is prancing alongside me with p?czki half-stuffed into her mouth. Some sugar granules grace the corner of her lips and a couple glisten on her full cheeks. “You’re amazing, Kas. I’m obsessed with you, like, you’re actually all mine.”
She finishes her sentence by teetering on her tiptoes and planting a sugary kiss on my lips.
I keep her there, holding her waist as I take advantage of her kiss. “All yours, S?oneczko,” I breathe, my heart gaining two sizes by the second.
Three shots and a glass of champagne courtesy of Dash has Mari skipping through Vegas without a care in the world at four p.m. Bill went back to the hotel for a nap after the press conference in preparation for tonight’s cut, and we left Dash at the bar on the agreement that he’s present for said cut.
“Are you sure you don’t want some p?czki?” Mari asks.
She’s wearing my cap from earlier and a tuft of dark brown curls peek through the hole in the back. Fucking adorable.
“I can’t, I’ve been cutting for most of the week.”
My arm sways when Mari wiggles my hand that’s sat perfectly in hers. It’s killing me to deny her offer; I’ve been doing it for most of the week just so tonight’s cut won’t brutalize me. If failing my weigh-in didn’t cost me a fine, or risk the fight not happening, I’d be eating absolutely everything she offers.
She waves the deep-fried dough in front of me like a pendulum. “C’mon. Just a nibble.”
“Mari, I’m cutting.”
She pushes the rest of the p?czki into her mouth and her lower lip protrudes into a pout as she chews. The plastic bag rustles when she glances inside of it. She pauses and looks up at me, the orange makeup lining her eye now rubbed away, and some mascara has crumbled beneath it.
“There’s two more in there. You seriously aren’t gonna have one?”
“Seriously,” I say.
She presses the bag against my chest, and I grasp it instinctively. “Well, I don’t want them either, not without you.”
“You better plan on eating these, Amari,” I warn, using her full name.
“Or what?”
She doesn’t wait to find out my answer because she’s already sprinting away. Her laugh carries through the air as she weaves between clusters of tourists. Mari’s really fucking fast. I’m a little faster, but being bigger and slotting myself between hundreds of people is a difficult feat.
A homeless gentleman catches my eye, and I graciously pass him the bag before resuming my pursuit. The man’s shout of thanks echoes behind me as I gain on Mari. I’m almost caught up to her and slow when she pummels past a street performer blowing bubbles.
I could reach out and catch her, but I don’t. My strides slow as I take in the image before me, and I stop completely when Mari turns around to smile at me through a shower of iridescent bubbles.
At first, I’m full of awe, and then I feel frustration. Frustration because Mari will never see herself from my eyes. I can compliment her, shower her with the finest riches the world can offer, give her a place she can call home, and she’ll still never understand the breadth of my admiration for her.
My heart lurches against my rib cage.
Is this what it’s like to be infatuated with someone? Permanent frustration because they’ll never have the luxury of experiencing themselves the same way you experience them?
Mari grins at me and takes off again. I follow her through the bubbles all the way to our hotel.
“I did track!” she says, slipping into the hotel’s revolving doors.
I rock back and forth, trying to time stepping into them. When I make it through, Mari is in the elevator apologizing profusely to the humored hotel guest inside as she mutters something about us racing. She does one of those baby waves, opening and closing her fingers against her palm as the elevator doors close.
I smack my hand against the call button and ascend to our floor soon after. When the elevator door slides open, Mari is frantically rummaging through her purse. A lip balm and pack of gum tumble to the floor, and she makes a frenzied job of picking them up as she continues her search for a key card she doesn’t have.
“No, no, no,” she mutters. “Where is my goddamn key card?”
I take slow, measured steps toward her. She slumps when she spots the key card sandwiched between my middle and index finger. Mari left through my hotel room. I pass Bill’s door with a laugh as Mari leans against the wall between ours with her head tilted back in resignation.
“Are you having a laugh?” I stop in my tracks at a thick Mancunian accent and swivel.
Bill’s standing at his door in a hotel-provided robe and a newspaper clutched tight in his fist.
“Huh?” Bill whacks me with the newspaper. “What the fu—Bill!”
He continues to bat at me until I duck out of the way.
“You are taking the piss knocking at my door during my afternoon nap.”
His overgrown, gray-white brows furrow angrily and he slams the door in my face. Mari is in stitches down the hall, and I sidle up behind her to rest my chin on her shoulder.
“Ding-dong ditch?” I ask her.
Her hair smells like the leave-in conditioner she applies, and my nose stays adhered to her curls as we waddle into my hotel room with her wrapped up in my embrace. She hums when I trail my nose down the length of her neck and pepper kisses behind her ear.
“Kas,” she whispers. Mari rotates in my arms and rests her palms on my chest. “Do you like surprises?”
The last time I was surprised I forgot it was my birthday and arrived home to a house with the door wide open and a face full of confetti. Bill, Davina, Devon, and Dash were screaming happy birthday while I was ready to knock out someone I thought had broken in. It scared me so much, we all had to sit in the lounge in silence for fifteen minutes while I calmed down.
“Depends. Is the surprise from you?”
Her eyes glimmer with unbridled excitement and a squeal pierces its way through her smiling mouth. “I hope you like date nights.”