Josh was probably right. If I’d pressed harder in our initial meeting, Billings would have dropped it. No question.
“Hey you guys, what you doing out here?” Grace walked out onto the patio, the fullness of her black shimmery skirt swaying with each step.
“Shooting the shit, lil sis.” Ruffling her hair, Josh bent down and dropped a kiss on the top of her head. “See ya.” He disappeared inside.
Grace wrapped her arms around my waist and I hugged her close. “I love you, baby,” I whispered.
“Love you back,” she echoed.
“I’m going to win that fight for us.”
My declaration was rewarded with a blinding smile. “Oh Noah, yay!”
“Why didn’t you tell me that I was wrong for even thinking twice about Billings offer?”
Grace smoothed her hands across the planes of my chest muscles. “It was a decision only you could make, but I knew you’d make the right one.”
“Did you?” I asked skeptically. “Because I wasn’t even sure until a moment ago what direction I was going.”
“No,” Grace interrupted. “You knew. It just took some time for you to come to terms with it.”
Tipping her chin with my finger, I stared into her eyes. “Your endless faith in me is overwhelming. I’m going to live each day so you don’t regret even an ounce of that faith.”
Grace smiled, and rose on her tiptoes to kiss me. “I believe you.”
FIVE
Noah
THE FIGHT THAT BILLINGS WANTED me to throw never happened. Instead, on December 20th, just eleven days before the fight, Fred Flintstone’s team had admitted that he wasn’t going to make the cut. He had to lose the equivalent weight of a first grader in eleven days, and while he could starve himself to make weight, he’d be about as weak as the first grader.
“They got Abilene to take the fight if you agree to a catch weight of 210.” Paulie sounded defeated. Eddie “The Mauler” Abilene was an experienced fighter with only a couple of losses. He weighed more than I did if he was asking for a catch weight agreement of 210. I fought at the light heavyweight level, which topped out at 205. Abilene’s request to fight at a higher weight meant he probably weighed on the heavier side of 210. Abilene had more experience, weighed more, and would be the favorite.
I’d spent the last month training to fight a Fred Flintstone, who was more of a brawler. Abilene was a grappler, hence his nickname, “The Mauler.” Different fighters with completely different techniques.
“You want to drop out?” Paulie asked.
“No.” I didn’t even have to think about it. “I want this fight, and if I have to face a guy above my weight class, my win will be all the more impressive.”
“You could get injured,” Paulie warned, but excitement danced around edges of his voice.
“I could die in a fiery crash tomorrow,” I replied. Paulie promised to send me and Bo tapes. After explaining the situation to Grace, she responded by altering my diet slightly to increase my caloric intake. I didn’t need to worry about making the cut. Now I needed a little more bulk.
Being the underdog on an undercard meant you stood in the ring while your opponent got announced. His entourage came first. If anyone was looking at you, and only a few were, they were likely looking to see if you felt weakness or dismay.
Paulie had instructed me to be active, to bounce around the ring like a pin ball. Restlessness equaled weakness, in my opinion. The mind game was as important as any other component of the fight. Tonight, when Eddie “the Mauler” Abilene came down his tunnel following his little entourage in his faux silk coat, I'd be waiting for him, arms at my side, face impassive like I just didn't care.
I wasn't going to show any kind of blood to this crowd, which could turn on me in an instant. Right now I had a slight edge with the crowd because I’d agreed to fight at the last minute with a guy above my weight class. I’d heard whispers in the locker room that I had to share with the other undercard fighters that I was crazy or desperate or both. I wasn't positive I was going to win this fight. It was the longest match of my career against my toughest opponent. I could just imagine what the announcers were saying to each other and to the television crowd.
"Marty, Noah "Warrior" Jackson is fresh meat for The Mauler. Can we expect a good fight, or do you think Jackson will tap out in the first round?"
I wouldn’t tap out. Never had, never will. The Mauler would have to break me first. The goal, as I told Bo, was to last the five rounds and put up a good fight. If I managed that, I'd be invited back to another card. Another undercard, but I'd still be fighting for money.
When the bell rang, we went right at each other. It was clear from the start that I was the underdog, a serious one. The Mauler had moves I hadn’t seen before until I watched them on tape. He’d been a champion of a different organization before he was folded into the big time. His expression was a mix of bored disdain and disbelief that he was fighting a rookie like me, but my show at Thanksgiving had been so good that the fans had clamored to see me fight again.
I landed a mid-level kick, trying to aim for the softer parts of Flint's body below the rib cage. Mauler flipped me, but I expected that and rolled onto my back and kicked up my knees into his legs. We were back on our feet and trading blows. He landed a right cross that smashed across my cheek and whipped my head around. A left uppercut from Mauler missed by a whisker. I staggered backward to the fence, my vision blurring for a second. I held him off with an elbow until the bell rang.
The second and third rounds were much of the same. I was able to land a few body blows and one fairly lucky elbow to Mauler’s temple. But he'd driven me to the mat time and again. By the fourth round, I was so tired. So tired. Every inch of my body felt bruised, and my arms felt like Jello. I could hear Paulie yelling at me, but I couldn't figure out what he was saying. I swung out wildly, making some contact and trying to move enough not to be knocked out. Mauler draped his body around mine and we rested, our cheeks next to each other. We swayed in a grotesque version of a dance until the bell rang.
In the corner, I sat dazed. The cut man added a butterfly bandage to the cut above my eye, but I could feel the blood draining down my face. My left cheek was swollen. If I had to guess, I'd say I probably looked monstrous. I squinted across the Octagon to see how my opponent fared. He looked good. I'd bloodied his mouth and his cheek, but he still looked good and he was winning. Dammit, I knew he'd won at least three of those four rounds. My eye traveled back around the crowd and caught on Grace.
She looked amazing tonight. Her hair was Vegas-ed, she told me earlier, before I left for the locker room. It was big, and I couldn't wait to stick my hands in it when I f**ked her tonight. God, would I even be able to do that? Why wasn't she grimacing at my injuries? Instead I saw...encouragement and faith. She believed in me. Always, even when I doubted myself, Grace had always believed in me. She believed that I would succeed in anything I put my hand on, in whatever goal I wanted to achieve. She supported me, sitting there with her hands clasped and her eyes shining.
I didn't deserve her, but I had her nonetheless. Energy coursed through me. I took three deep breaths, inhaling the hope and belief she was sending my way. I wasn't tired. I was going to crush this guy. My once-weak arms felt like tensile rope. My legs firmed up and I stood, electrified by my newfound adrenaline.
Paulie was yelling again, but I didn't pay attention. Grace's face was just one big smile now. She gestured, a tiny crooking of her hands, like she wanted me to move forward. I moved toward the center of the Octagon. I saw what she was saying. Here was the pinnacle of my efforts. A New Year's Eve fight televised nationally. I spread out my arms and swung around. The crowd roared in response. Had they been cheering for Mauler before? It didn't matter, because as I slowly spun in a circle, the crowd in each section responded, jumping to their feet and chanting my name.
I'd have to subdue Mauler. I wasn't going to win on the cards. I'd have to win by submission. His jaw was hard, but not invincible, and his ribs, chest, and neck were vulnerable targets. When Mauler came out of his corner, he looked warily at me and glanced nervously at the crowd. He'd lost them, and I'd won them over in a second. Crowds were fickle. Fame was fleeting. The love I had from Grace was going to last forever. And this man was going down.
When Mauler came out at me, he rushed me with a flurry of punches as if to prove he still had gas in his engine. But even though he'd taken me in every round and I'd ended it on my back, I'd sucked a tremendous amount of energy out of him by getting back up each time. This round of punches was weak, and his execution was slow. I absorbed a few to the body and avoided a fierce uppercut that might have knocked me out. I allowed him to think the uppercut struck though and fell backward, allowing the man to fall between my legs.
Maybe he was truly exhausted, or it could have been surprise that I was still fighting. Maybe he didn't like my grin. But his attention shifted suddenly and the mental lapse was the one I'd been waiting for. I flipped my legs around so both were pushing his neck off to the right and pulled his arm straight to the left. I lifted my h*ps off the ground and stretched until I was almost straight as a plank. His neck and arm were stretched so hard in opposite directions that I briefly wondered if I would pull his tendons completely apart, but I didn't let up. I held on because this was it. If I didn't get him to submit, I'd lose this fight.
Our skin was sweaty, but I was iron and he was clay. I would not let go until someone came to pry my hands off. I turned my head and there was Grace, and once again I felt infused with power. I was the one in control here. I steered my ship and directed my own destiny. Life did not happen to me; I made it happen.
And then I felt it. A laxness in his resistance. The tapping of my shoulder. I swung my head around but didn't let up the pressure. The referee was saying something to me but the buzzing in my head prevented me from hearing him. There were others entering the ring and then they were pulling me off, literally dragging me to the side. I kicked out at first. My fight wasn't done. I needed to get him to submit. I tried to crawl forward, but first Paulie and then Bo were there, holding me back. Mauler lay on the ground, unmoving. I stared at him and then felt my arm go up and heard the roar of the crowd in response.
Through the haze of sweat and blood I realized it was the referee holding my arm up in the sign of victory. I'd won. I'd won. The announcer's voice rang out that it was Noah Jackson in the blue corner that had won by submission in the fifth round. Someone was helping Mauler to his feet. I noticed in detached observation that his arm hung awkwardly from his shoulder.
Paulie and Bo helped me toward the center of the ring. Bo stood behind me, his hand on the middle of my back, propping me upright. Without him, it's possible I would have collapsed on the ground. The ceremony of announcing the winner repeated itself with Mauler and me in the center. I reached out a heavy arm that felt like it was made of steel and wrapped a hand around his neck. Pulling him close to me, resting my forehead on his, I whispered, "Best fight of my life, man. Honored."