Chapter 16
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Josue
Sierra slept in her own room last night, and when I went to go wake her up for our morning run, I learned she had went without me.
Who knew having a professional opinion about her ability would have such a catastrophic effect?
I wasn't delusional. I knew we weren't exactly glued at the hip. And she could do better than me, for sure. But she was growing on me. So, this back and forth wasn’t working.
When I was focused, I didn’t pursue relationships.
Women often wanted different things, on different timelines, so I didn’t waste time, both mine or theirs.
But Sierra made me feel different. If it had just been her looks, I could have gotten her out my system the first time we fucked.
But I’d watch her go from freaking bunny rabbit to a god damn wolf.
You just didn’t see a ton of fighters with that type of transformation anymore.
Her drive, her will, her energy were all fucking motivators for me, it just didn’t help that she was beautiful—and on top of that, amazing in bed.
Being a fighter, your life was far from traditional, so we were far removed from the white picket fence, two-and-a-half kids, dog and fucking minivan future. I’m sure we’d both be bored out of our minds if things ever evolved to that.
We came from the same world, two hood kids fighting for space that hadn’t been paved for us. So, I wanted her to experience the things that I had, traveling the world, a feat I hadn’t taken for granted as some knucklehead kid from Jersey.
Touring the streets of Soweto in in Johannesburg.
Taking pictures in front of the Eiffel Tower in Paris.
Getting brown on beaches in Thailand. I wouldn't have been able to do any of that, had I planted roots and started a family.
I thought that was what Sierra wanted too, but the woman was so frustrating.
When she didn't get her way, she threw a tantrum.
And it was my dick that had to fucking pay for it.
Brewing a pot of coffee, I did my daily runs on UFC updates.
Who's fighting who? New names popping up on people's radars. Highlights from previous matches. Scrolling so fast, a post I nearly missed caught my eye, recognizing the fighter’s name.
Teresa DaCosta. That chick Sierra out of nowhere, wanted to fight.
She wasn’t bad looking. Great shape. Average height.
Interesting ensemble of features that made it hard to know if she identified as Black, but she for certain couldn’t pass for white.
Maybe harsher in the face, but she kinda gave butch, so it probably wasn’t her goal to look feminine.
I would’ve kept scrolling had it not had Sierra’s name in the caption with a video attached.
Curious, I clicked on the link and hit play.
“So, congrats on your ten-win streak. You seem to be on a roll that no one can seem to compete with. The world wants to know, who are you looking to take on next? Are there any fighters that you have your eye on?” She squinted and shrugged, gripping her hands firmly around her hips.
English wasn't her first language, but she spoke it well enough to be understood despite a thick Brazilian accent.
“Eh…so far? Not impressed by many. But there’s this one called Medina.
That one, I can see. But I hear things. Rumor has it she loses in life.
Loses first few fights. Loses her kid. I mean, what kind of fighter are you, if you not fight for your kid?
” Her take almost made me spit out my coffee. Did DaCosta just say Sierra had a kid?
A whole ass kid? If that was true, it meant she’d been fucking lying to me this entire time.
When I asked her did she have any skeletons in her closet, she made me believe with complete confidence that nothing would stand in the way of her good name.
A kid is a whole ass human being. It wasn’t just something you forgot to mention.
But then again, I can’t believe I didn’t fucking see it. At even the mention of kids, she’d shut down. And it’d definitely explain why she didn’t appreciate me infantilizing her. It was hard to feel like a kid when you basically had one.
It also explained why she’d put a pause on the fun we were having. I hadn’t exactly hid my stance on being childfree. I’d just had way too much trauma to feel confident enough that I wouldn’t screw a kid up. It probably sounded like I hated kids.
If I asked myself what I really hated, it was that being a kid had been when I’d been the most vulnerable. I’d hated my childhood. So, I’d made it hard for myself to empathize with people who chose the path of parenthood, willingly. But I didn’t hate kids.
I loved mentoring them. Being a role model to them, because every kid wasn’t meant to be a scholar, and they had to know there was an alternative to the streets or college. I just hadn’t given that impression, so maybe she hadn’t felt comfortable confiding in me.
But not sharing it put me at a disadvantage. I didn’t know the first clue how to spin this. Gossiping leaving the lips of a potential rival was like a poison. Once your reputation was tainted, you became a fighter no one wanted to root for, and that was not good. It was not good at all.
***
Coming in from her run, I joined Sierra in the living room, gesturing for her to take her ear pods out, so we could actually talk.
“I know we usually run together, but—” she started, oblivious to where the conversation was about to lead.
“When were you going to tell me that you had a kid?” I cornered her, her expression going slack, the color draining from her face. She lowered her head in silence, and if she hadn't started talking, I would’ve thought she'd stay like that.
“Who told you that?” she spoke with hesitancy.
“So, it’s true? What the fuck, Sierra? That’s too major of a thing to hide. You don’t think I wouldn’t have found out? That’s not exactly something you can hide forever—”
“Josue, I didn't tell you, because I didn't feel like it was any of your business,” she interrupted.
“Okay, but it's not the public’s business, either. But you know what, Medina, they know! And you know where I had to hear it from? That fucking girl you want to fight. DaCosta. So, if she knows, who the fuck else you think is digging into your personal life?” I argued, the reality of the situation settling in.
“Sierra, if you had been honest with me, none of this would be a problem right now. We could have used that. We could have made this part of your story. Now I'm gonna have to deal with the whole world painting you out like you're some shit mom, and I don’t think I have to tell you what the world thinks about shitty mothers. It’s like they fucking pray for your demise.”
Tears welled up in her eyes, and I knew I had that look on my face that said, don't you fucking start, because she fought her hardest to keep her tears at bay.
“I'm not a shitty mom,” she countered, and I don't know what came over me, but my words came out harsher than intended.
“Well, how the fuck would I know that? Because you didn't even fucking tell me.” I took a deep breath, centering myself before I spoke again.
“Look, I don't mean to yell at you, but this shit is fucking frustrating. I asked you to do one thing. One small fucking thing. And that was just to be honest with me. The only thing I needed from you, and you couldn’t even do that right.” Her lips pressed into a line, as she clasped her hands in front, sadness clouding her big brown eyes.
“I'm sorry, Josue. I just…really needed to get to a level where I could start winning, so I'd make enough money to get my daughter back. I knew I couldn't do it without you, but you didn't even want to train a woman. Being a single mom, I thought that’d be an even bigger red flag for you. Most people can’t separate being a mother and being a fighter. Even though I wouldn’t even have the drive to fight had I not become one. It feels like so much of my career has been leading up to something like this. So, when Vega put all that money up in the air, yeah, I wanted to say yes. He probably wouldn’t have even been interested in me had you not been my trainer. In a shitty way, it fucking had to be you.”
Raking my fingers through my hair, I swear, I felt like breaking something.
It was the only thing I missed being in retirement.
When I was mad, I took that anger out in the cage.
Fought out my frustration. I envied Sierra in this moment, because I actually had to deal with my problems with my brain and not my fists.
“Medina, what did we talk about? In fucking detail when I agreed to train you? No…fucking…secrets. And this is why I don’t like training women, because they’re not always transparent and I don’t like the drama that goes with it.
Makes me wonder if any of this was even fucking worth it,” I admitted, to her furrowed brows, face hardening in disappointment.
“So, because of this, you just want to drop me?” Taking another deep breath, I brought my hands together, pointing in her direction.
“If you asked me right now, truthfully, the answer would be yes.
If you could lie about something as big and as serious as having a kid, it makes me wonder what else you would lie about.
Sierra it's shit like that, that makes me think I can't trust you. And I don’t need to just have faith in my fighters, I need to be able to trust you, too.
Right now, I'm not sure I believe a word that comes out of your mouth.” Maybe I was being harsh, but that was my default when I wasn't allowed to hit anything.
“Fine. If you feel that way, then maybe…” she hesitated, her expression hardening. “Maybe I should just find a new trainer. You don't think I'm good enough to fight her, anyways. I’d rather find someone that does.” Pinching the space between my eyes, I sighed.
“And there you go, Medina, being dramatic.”
“No, you said it yourself. I'm too much drama. It would have saved you the trouble if you had trusted your first instinct. If you'll excuse me, I've got things to pack. Come tomorrow, I won’t be your problem anymore.”