Chapter Six
Boston
Nate covered his face with his hands to protect himself from gloved fists that rained down on him. He had gotten himself into this position by being distracted, and there was no one to blame but himself for his current predicament.
The dissertation proposal had not gone well.
After being dismissed, he was eventually summoned back to the room to be told that, while his ideas were intriguing, there was not enough evidence in his research to warrant the fieldwork, and that getting approval to conduct further research in Saudi Arabia was doubtful.
The Ministry of Culture was unlikely to grant permission, particularly given that the war in Yemen was spilling over the border, and it was better to find a new proposal and return in a few weeks.
Nate thanked the panel for their time, stood, and left.
While Professor Rogers likely had wanted to talk, Nate wasn’t sure he could stomach the man at the moment, so he exited the building without waiting for him.
After the failure of the day, he had needed to blow off some steam, so Nate headed straight for the mixed martial arts gym that he had been attending.
Even though the Special Forces had taught him hand-to-hand combat, he still sought to improve his skills.
Back on the team he had trained regularly with Shane Price, who was a former UFC fighter.
After he had left the army and enrolled at Harvard, it had taken about six months before he started getting antsy.
He found the gym and had been attending several times a week ever since.
While Nate originally had intended to get out the frustrations from today and clear his mind sparring on the mats, he instead found himself distracted.
The rejection of his hard efforts, including years of independent research, was a crushing blow.
Of course, the easy answer was to pick a new topic and start over again, but Nate couldn’t see himself doing that.
He had a personal connection to the search for Ubar, and he wasn’t sure he was willing to just give that up.
Instead, he was seriously considering doubling down and doing it anyway.
It was high risk, but also high reward. If he could find compelling evidence to prove his theory, then the anthropology department would have no choice but to accept his findings.
If he couldn’t, though, he would have wasted considerable time, effort, and resources, and made a fool of himself in front of his professors and peers.
It was mentally wrestling with this decision that had distracted him from efficiently grappling with his opponent, leading to his current situation.
He pushed the thought from his mind and concentrated.
Adjusting his timing, he trapped one of the fists as it came down, tucking his chin and eating several blows from the other hand.
Trapping the hand against his body, he was able to entwine his foot behind his opponent’s ankle and then thrust upward and in the opposite direction, causing his opponent’s weight to shift as he regained balance.
With the weight off the side where the limbs were locked down tight, he thrusted in that direction with his hips, using momentum to his advantage, and his opponent went sailing over him.
Nate rolled with him and quickly reversed the situation so that he was now on top, but he was still in his opponent’s closed guard with the man’s legs wrapped around his waist. His opponent reached up and clutched him behind the neck with both hands, pulling Nate’s head down to his chest. Nate threw some side punches into the man’s ribs while setting up to break free of the guard and stand back up.
He felt the tension in the man’s arms slacken.
He was losing his grip. Nate managed to raise his head slightly and knew he would be free in seconds.
His opponent knew it too and so he made a desperate move.
He pulled back down with all his might while simultaneously smashing his head into Nate’s face.
Nate saw stars as his eyes teared up from the cheap shot, and he felt a trickle of blood from his nostrils.
He saw red. Getting his feet under him, he stood up slightly and slammed his opponent back down onto the mat.
It stunned the man long enough for Nate to take advantage and escape from his legs.
Once free, he started raining hate down on the man’s face.
Nate was pissed. He was pissed that the man had taken such a cheap shot in a training match.
He was pissed that he had put years into an effort that those who considered themselves his betters scoffed at.
He was pissed that he had spent a decade in service to his country and had nothing to show for it, save sleepless nights and broken relationships. He was flat-out pissed.
So much so that he failed to react when one of the punches caught his opponent on the chin, instantly rendering him unconscious.
It registered, but Nate didn’t consciously acknowledge it.
Instead, he brought several more fists down on the man’s face before the voices in the background manifested into a pair of strong arms yanking him off his victim.
He quickly hopped to his feet ready to lash out at a new opponent and was instantly pinned against the wall.
“Hey, chill out, man! What the fuck has gotten into you?” It was Brock, the owner of the gym. He looked angry, but also somewhat concerned.
The red began to fade, and Nate slowly came out of his fog.
He looked down at the mat. The man he had been sparring with was coming to, blood pouring from his nose and a large cut on his temple.
He immediately felt guilty. He had never been the type to victimize another person, and the second his opponent went unconscious that was exactly what he had become, a victim.
Nate had never lost control like that before.
Even during combat, he had always been in control; cool, calm, and collected.
He wasn’t sure why the cheap shot had set him off the way it had, but observing his work now, he felt only shame.
“You’ve never gone overboard like that before, man,” Brock said, as if reading his thoughts. “You need to get a grip.”
Nate just nodded.
“First offense. You know I have to ban you from the gym for a week, right?”
He nodded again. “Yeah, I know.” Nate wiped his nose with the back of his hand, blood streaking across the black glove.
“Alright.” Brock released him. “Get your shit together, man.” He turned and left.
Nate walked straight into the locker room and grabbed his bag.
He didn’t bother showering or changing. He didn’t want to wait around for his sparring partner to fully regain consciousness.
Though he knew he should apologize, he just didn’t have it in him right now.
He shook his head, disappointed in himself, and walked out of the gym.