Page 97 of 4th Degree

With Skylar hanging onto her arm and completely wrapped around it, the girl summons every ounce of energy and power inside her to stand up.

And then she slams Skylar to the mat to try to dislodge her grip.

White noise fills my ears. People are moving and things are happening, but all I can see is Skylar’s head being slammed. Her grip on the girl’s arm slackens and drops to the mat, and then she’s just lying there. And I can’t tell if she’s conscious or if she broke her neck, and I can’t see, I can’t get to her?—

I don’t know what snaps me back to reality. I think it’s the shrill sound of the ref’s whistle because, all of a sudden, I realize I’m surrounded by chaos. There’s screaming, and someone rushing the mat, and everyone on nearby mats has turned to see what the commotion is.

I feel like I’m moving through quicksand. Slamming is illegal, and one of the most dangerous moves in jiu-jitsu. There are a million ways to get hurt from a slam, and my brain keeps replaying the sight of Skylar getting slammed?—

I drop to my knees beside her, my hands traveling over her body, checking for injuries without touching.

“Skylar,” I breathe. “Breathe, baby. Are you hurt?”

For the first time, my eyes focus on her face. She’s conscious, thank God, and breathing, though her breaths are clearly labored. Her eyes are wide, and she looks dazed.

“I’m okay,” she wheezes. “I think—” She winces. “I think she just knocked the wind out of me.”

Relief flows through my body like rainwater after a drought. She’s okay. She’s okay.

I still can’t bring myself to touch her, but my eyes travel over her one more time, checking for myself that she’s not hurt. As soon as I assure myself that she is fine, my relief flips to rage.

Her opponent is still standing on the mat, looking shell-shocked as she stares at Skylar. I round on her before I can think better of it.

“What is wrong with you?” I yell. “You could have killed her!”

Her eyes dart to mine and widen. “I’m sorry, it was a gut reaction?—”

“That’s no excuse!”

Someone grabs my arm from behind and tries to pull me back. “Look, it was an accident. No one is blaming?—”

I spin to find the ref, and my anger rachets.

“And where the fuck were you?” I shout in his face. “Your job is to protect the competitors! What the fuck kind of ref are you if you can’t do that?”

His expression shifts from being irritated by my outburst to stunned by it. Jacob’s been my friend for over a decade, and I’ve never once raised my voice at him.

When he speaks, his words are quiet. Just between us.

“Jesus, Dom. It’s just a white belt match. What’s gotten into you? The girl’s fine.”

His words snap me out of my panic-stricken haze. Immediately.

When I look around, I realize this entire corner of the arena is quiet, every person staring. I’ve been to hundreds of tournaments in my career, and none of them have ever been brought to a standstill because of me.

I don’t know what to do beyond rushing back to Skylar. “Are you sure you’re okay?” I ask, pulling her to her feet now that she doesn’t seem winded or dazed.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” she assures me. “I promise. I’m okay.”

The awkwardness hits me with full blast. Jacob senses it too, because when I turn back to him, he snaps back to referee mode.

“Competitors, back on the mat,” he orders. I move back to my coach’s chair and watch as the girls take their spots in the center of the mat.

“Due to an illegal slam, I’m ruling the match a disqualification. Blue Team is officially the winner of the white belt division.” He raises Skylar’s hand, but the only celebration heard is a smattering of hesitant clapping.

To her credit, Skylar’s opponent doesn’t seem annoyed by the decision. I begrudgingly admit to myself that she looks apologetic when she shakes Skylar’s hand.

That expression turns to fear when she approaches me. It’s common practice for fighters to shake the hands of their opponent’s coaches, but after everything, I wouldn’t have been surprised if she had forgone that step.

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