Uncaged Love #2: MMA New Adult Contemporary Romance

UNCAGED LOVE

If some people believe a camera can steal your soul, then I just got robbed one thousand times over.

The flashes pop so continuously that I have to shield my eyes. The photographers who had staked out the side of the building are exuberant. I can practically see their mental high fives. They just got shots of the girl conducting a scandalous affair with big-time MMA fighter Colt “Gunner” McClure.

That girl would be me.

And it’s only been an hour since the public announcement of his engagement.

To someone else.

Colt snatches me up and tosses me over his beefy shoulder.

He jogs to the back door of the gym and yanks it open. We pass through, my head very nearly banging against the frame. The moment he turns the lock to ensure the photographers can’t follow us in, I start kicking.

“Put me DOWN!” I insist. I am not fond of being hauled around like a cavewoman. My fists pummel his back. But after getting into a fistfight with Colt’s new fiancée, Brittany, I’m pretty worn out.

“You done?” he asks.

I relax against him, my butt in the air. We might have been making out like teenagers a minute ago, but now I’m ready to bust his jaw.

He lets me down. As soon as my feet hit the ground, I ask, “What the hell was that?”

“That was someone leaving the back door unlocked after a press conference.” He runs his hands through his blonde hair in agitation.

“And grabbing me like a potato sack?”

“So they don’t see any more of your face than they already got.”

Even though I’m pissed as hell, I can’t help but watch the muscles of his arm flex with every movement. He’s one of the world’s best fighters, at least he was before his little meltdown a few months ago, and it shows in every sinew. His blonde hair is bright even in the low light of the back extension of the gym. If he looks at me, I will forget everything that just happened and get lost again in those hazel eyes.

But I have to stay mad.

Less than an hour ago, before the press stole my soul, and before we made out like teenagers, and before my catfight, Colt and Brittany announced their engagement to the press out in front of Buster’s Gym. That’s where I work, and where the happy couple trains as fighters.

Apparently some of the photographers hung around hoping for an exclusive shot.

And boy, did they get it.

“So, what happens now?” I ask. “Will that picture of you and me … kissing” — it’s hard to say it out loud — “Ruin everything between you and Brittany?”

“No, Brittany and I go way back.” He sits on one of the benches by the practice cage. “But she’s going to be very mad I messed up her big announcement.”

“Don’t you mean YOUR big announcement?”

Colt leans forward and drops his head in his hands. I’m acting mad, but really I am confused and lost. He told me to trust him, that he couldn’t explain the relationship between him and Brittany. But I can’t just let it go. It doesn’t matter what I feel about him. I can’t be kissing somebody else’s future husband.

I sit next to him and let the silence flow around us. It’s easy just being there, even if we have set off a media frenzy.

I already knew Brittany was seeing some other guy. I spotted her with a stranger a few nights ago. Well, I sort of stalked her down a back hallway. But still. Something about their situation isn’t right.

I screw up my courage to ask Colt the big question. “Is the engagement fake?”

He doesn’t answer right away, like he has to think about it. “Yes and no,” he finally says.

A non-answer. I let him think about it some more. Then I decide to drop my own bombshell. “She’s seeing someone else. I saw them kissing at the charity show.”

He lifts his head. “She was that indiscreet with Greg?”

So, he knows about her other man. And he doesn’t care. I could not be more confused. “I sort of followed them. No one else saw.”

“Okay, good.” He sighs. “This was bound to blow up sooner or later.”

“So, I guess the wedding’s off?” It’s a fair thing to ask, given that we were so hot and heavy a few minutes ago.

“Jo, don’t ask questions.”

Back to being a jerk. Fine.

I don’t have anything else to say. We sit again for a while. I spot my ponytail holder on the floor. I shiver, thinking about when Colt took my hair down, before the photographer arrived. I reach for it and tie my hair back up. This gives me the feeling that I control something.

The accordion door between the practice ring and the weight room slams open. Brittany is back, and her face is red with anger.

“What the hell do you think you were doing?” She holds up her phone. “I’ve gotten twenty messages in the past two minutes!”

I glance at Colt. “That was fast.”

He shrugs. “Gossip travels at the speed of Twitter.”

I notice with some satisfaction that her cheek is bruising where I socked her. Though I probably look worse.

Brittany stands in front of me, blonde hair falling in perfect waves. She’s still in workout clothes, and her bare foot taps the floor anxiously. “I had no idea you would move so fast.” I’m not sure if she’s talking to Colt or to me.

“Brittany, it was my fault,” Colt says. “I should have known they would hang around.”

“She’s out of here,” Brittany says. “I’ve already called Geoffrey. He’s speaking to Buster now.”

“Who’s Geoffrey?” I ask.

Colt stares at Brittany with a look so cold that I shiver. “That was underhanded.”

“I had to,” Brittany says.

“Bringing in my father was not part of the deal.” Colt is angry now. His jaw tightens.

So, Geoffrey is his father, the former heavyweight champion known to most people as The Cure McClure. He’s the reason Colt is training at this rathole in the middle of one of the poorest sections of LA. Getting back to their roots. He hopes mixing with street fighters will end Colt’s losing streak.

Brittany starts pacing. “The reporters are STILL out there. The whole nasty pack of them. I’ve called the cops, your security team, and rounded up some of the regulars here to go sweep them out.”

Colt glances at me. “We can’t have them following her. She doesn’t have security.”

“It’s being taken care of,” Brittany says. “Without your damn help.”

Buster, my boss, pokes his head through the doorway. “Jo? Can I talk to you?”

I feel like I’m reeling. I look at Colt, but he’s still glaring at Brittany.

I stand up to face whatever’s ahead. Colt reaches out to stop me.

Brittany crosses her arms in front of her belly, vindicated. “Don’t get in the way of this,” she says to Colt.

This sounds pretty bad. I shake Colt off and walk to the door. I don’t look back.

“Come with me a minute,” Buster says.

I’ve only worked at Buster’s Gym for a few weeks, but it’s already familiar. The smell of lemon cleaner and vinyl. The cold of the concrete floor. It’s like home.

The weight room is chaos. Probably everyone left their stations to watch the press conference, then again to scare off the photographers. The floor is littered with barbells and plates.

I have a feeling it’s no longer my job to straighten them up.

We take our time cutting through to the front room and back to Buster’s office. I go in ahead of him, and he closes the door.

There’s no chair for me, only the sagging seat behind his desk. He sits in it, his elbows on the pile of loose paper in front of him.

“I have to let you go,” he says.

I don’t say anything as he pulls a cracking leather binder from a drawer. Inside are pages of checks. He glances over at the clipboard where I note my hours. He scribbles on a check and rips it out.

I’m not too proud or too foolish to refuse it. I was barely paying rent before I landed this job.

“That’s all your hours, plus a little extra.” He sighs. “I had a feeling hiring a girl was a bad idea.” He rubs his eyes like he’s tired. “I won’t make that mistake again.”

Too much has happened in the past hour for me to even try to talk to Buster. As much as I don’t want to go, I can see that everybody is in a corner. Colt. Brittany. My boss.

I fold up the check and stuff it in the pocket of my hoodie. “Thanks,” I manage to say.

Buster nods. “I can give you a reference if you need one.”

The kinds of jobs I get don’t generally need them, but I tell him thanks again.

He stands up. “I need to make sure the street is clear before I let you out.”

I watch him head out and close the door behind him.

Sitting in his office, alone, I finally spot a bundle of T-shirts for the gym under a pile of magazines. I’ve been wearing the too-tight ones since my first day.

There’s a stack of flyers with Colt’s picture on it, advertising the gym. I listen for a second to make sure Buster isn’t coming, then slide the top one off the stack and fold it tightly enough to fit in my pocket. A souvenir.

A little while later, the door opens. “We’re good,” Buster says. “I’ll walk you out.”

Leaving is more painful than I expect. I knew I might get fired. But now that it’s happened, I feel hollow. Like everything good has been scooped out.

The accordion door leading to Colt and Brittany is closed up tight. I don’t know what they are doing. Talking about me, maybe. Plotting damage control. They’re taking a risk, really. I can go to the press. I can talk trash. I might be able to sell my story for money.

I think about going in there and threatening all that. Show them I’m not any old pawn in their game. But I can’t do that to Colt. He is so earnest. Thinking about that kiss, that soul-baring connection. I know I can’t say anything that might hurt his career.

I push out the door. Colt’s Harley is in its usual spot.

I want to do something. Leave something behind. But I don’t know what. I don’t have much on me. My hoodie, my check, the flyer.

Then I remember how he pulled my hair down. I tug the ponytail holder off and hold it for a moment. It’s not much. Nothing, really. But it’s one of the few things in my meager life I can spare. I roll it onto the handlebar. He’ll notice it when he fires up his bike later. Maybe he’ll think about me for a second or two.

I glance at the cafe across the street. Zero is over there. I could use a best friend right about now. I could even sit in the window and watch how Colt reacts.

But I’m not up for being in public. Instead, I take off down the sidewalk. It’s strange walking with my hair down, blowing and loose. It’s like I’m somebody else.

I’m pretty sure I’ll never get back to my old
status Jo
.

I wake up a few hours later, surprised I’ve crashed on my bed. My knuckles are so swollen from hitting Brittany that I can barely straighten my fingers.

Maybe I’m not the fighter I think I am.

When I roll over, I hear the crinkle of the paper in my hoodie pocket. I pull out the flyer and the check. Colt’s image stares at me, smiling. He’s wearing gloves, shiny black shorts, and nothing else. My throat closes up. I drop the flyer on the floor on the far side of the bed.

I unfold the check. It won’t be for much. I just got paid a few days ago. I’ll have to stretch it carefully. Rent is due in two weeks. Plus electric. My old life settles around me, painful but familiar.

But Buster’s done all right by me. It’s a couple hundred extra.

I decide, screw it, I’m going to go get my grandma’s necklace from the pawn shop. No telling how much that jerk will try to charge me to get it back. But I won’t pay a whole lot over what he gave me. I understand interest and all that. But I have nothing to do and nothing to lose. I’ll park myself on his front step until he turns it over out of annoyance.

I feel a twinge of sadness when I pass the Sac ’n’ Pac where I first saw Colt. The parking lot is empty. No Harley. No hot fighter guy in designer jeans and leather. I stop for a moment on the spot where he pulled over and dragged me away from those punks who were messing with me. My eyes spark a little like I’m going to cry. I have to conjure up some anger to make it stop.

The pawn shop hasn’t changed. Still the same kiddie bicycles out front. Same barred-up front door. The owner is inside on his stool. Today he’s reading a gun magazine.

He narrows his eyes when I come in. “Got something else to sell?” he asks. His voice is gravelly, like he’s swallowed rocks.