Page 10 of Strike Zone

“Can you put him on? I want to say congrats.” The phone exchanges hands and Anders’ low tones replace my sister on the other end.

“Hey, girl.”

“Hey, bro. Congratulations on the World Series win. What a game. You guys had to keep us on the edge of our seats until the very last hit.”

“We got there in the end. I’m looking forward to getting a break in Vegas, and I’ll be putting my money on you for the win, so don’t let me down.”

“No pressure then. Thanks, brother.”

“You thrive under pressure. And FYI, I’m bringing Linc… you know you want him. I’ll just keep him on a leash until you realize it for yourself.”

“You baseball boys are so sure of yourselves.”

“With good reason. Just ask your sister. She has no complaints.”

“Can you put her back on the phone, please?”

“Sure, but seriously Dee, don’t sweat a bad training session. We all have them. It’s not the end of the world. You’re an amazing MMA fighter at the top of your game.”

“Tomorrow is another day. I’ll figure it out. Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

“No problem.” He hands the phone back to Brooke who’s so loved-up and happy it makes me want to vomit. I actually feel a little seedy.

“Isn’t he just the best?”

“Yep. You’re a lucky bitch.” I’m truly pleased my sister has found her happily ever after, but today isn’t the day to shove it in my face. “I’m destined for spinsterhood. I’m sorry, but you got the last good one. They’re all fuckwits and liars. Besides, guys don’t want a woman who can kick their ass.” I suppose that’s not strictly true. Married men apparently want me as their dirty little secret on the side.

“Some guys are into that shit.”

“Not the kind I want to hitch my wagon to.”

“I bet Linc could give you a run for your money.”

“Stop! He’s a roll-in-the-hay kind of guy, not the forever man.”

“You’re so judgmental, Dee. No wonder you haven’t found the one yet. If you won’t give someone a chance to impress you, how do you expect to find someone?”

I’m not in the mood for Dr. Phil tonight. Brooke knows nothing about my recent train wreck of a relationship. She’s so damn happy, and I don’t want to witness pity in her eyes for me.

“I’ve given more chances than you know. Trust me, I could use a break from all that. I’ll see you in the morning at Central Park. Meet me at Strawberry Fields. Five o’clock.” It’s not an eloquent change of subject, but it’ll do.

“See you then. Try not to be a grump tomorrow. Go play with that vibrator Mom thought was a good stocking stuffer for us last year. Matching vibrators. Only our mom, right?”

“She’s mental, but I wouldn’t trade her for some stuck-up, out-of-touch mom with a stick up her ass.”

“Night, sis.”

“Night, Brooke, and thanks for the pep talk.”

“You’re welcome.”

As I hang up the phone, I know she’s a better sister than I deserve right now. I’m like a bear with a sore head, blowing everything out of proportion. Hopefully, I’ll feel better after a good night’s sleep, and I won’t get my ass handed to me on a platter tomorrow. Now isn’t the time to hit a slump. There’s too much riding on Vegas—entirely too much.

There’s a part of me—I don’t want to acknowledge—that knows Anthony will be watching the fight, probably with his wife, and I want him to see that I’m not a woman you fuck over. It shouldn’t bother me, but it does. I pride myself on being a strong, independent woman, and he reduced me to a sordid affair. How dare he drag me down to his level.

By the time I finally fall asleep, it’s fitful at best, and when I wake to my obnoxious alarm, the body aches of my session with Brenda yesterday are a stark reminder of the hits I’m taking this week—in and out of the ring. Gritty determination is all that propels me from my bed. If there’s one thing I can say for myself, it’s this—I didn’t become a UFC champion by luck.

Diana Lexington isn’t a quitter.

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