Page 49 of Love Over Easy

I wrap my arms around my brother’s waist and rest my head on his shoulder like I used to when I needed a hug. “I can’t walk out on the fans. They paid a lot of money to be here. The cable company and network is already sending out the feed. It’s too late to back out now.”

He takes my upper arms in his hands and pushes me back so he can get in my face. “Then you need to clear your mind of everything else but beating Petra Monika. That’s all you need to be thinking about.”

He’s right. I’ve never been this emotional before a fight. I know the danger of not focusing. I push out of his arms and start stretching to warm my muscles. “I got this, bro.”

He pats me on the back. “I know you do. Are you ready?”

I jog in place and roll my shoulders to loosen up. “I’m ready. Let’s do this and then I’m through.”

From the underground tunnel that leads to the cage, I hear the massive crowd long before we reach the entrance to the arena. I shut it all out and focus. I’m inside myself, in the zone, and nothing from the outside intrudes.

I don’t hear the announcer introducing Petra, the crowd cheering, or the strobe lights following her to the cage. My name never registers. The crowd goes wild, but my eyes are glued to the brightly lit steel cage and my head focused on the job I must do once I get there.

I walk down the ramp, intimidating scowl in place, and don’t acknowledge the hands reaching to touch me or fans screaming my name. I narrow my eyes and thin my lips, making me appear menacing. I have my game face on.

Once inside the cage, I jog in place and avert my eyes, turning my back on my opponent. I’ve never met Petra Monika, but I’ve watched her fights on replay. I’m quick and my best knockouts happen within the first thirty seconds of a match. Petra has endurance. She can handle the long matches and can easily tire her opponent out.

My strategy is to strike hard and fast.

I take my seat while my coaches and trainers rub me down, give me last directions, and get my adrenaline pumping. I roll my shoulders and shake my arms and legs to keep my muscles warmed up.

On the Jumbotron, time is counting down until the start of the match. Less than three minutes to go.

2:59…

2:58…

2:57…

My brows furrow in question when the clock stops its countdown. Through my mouthpiece I ask my coach, “What the hell is going on?”

He shrugs and looks at the ref who also shrugs. “No clue. Don’t let it get in your head.”

An official climbs the steps to the cage door and calls the referee over. Words are exchanged and the ref shakes his head. More officials join the group and they call Petra’s coach over. After a few minutes, the man’s face turns a flaming red tone. I look up at my coach. “What do you think is going on? A positive drug test?”

“I don’t know, Shyanne. I’ve never seen this happen before.” Coach rubs my shoulders to keep my loose and barks, “Stay focused.”

Five minutes turn into ten and the crowd is restless. The officials have now been joined by a few members of the national board and the discussion continues. One has a phone to his ear. From the expression on their faces, whatever they’re talking about is serious.

As a group, they walk over to Petra and her coaching team. After a brief discussion, Petra’s face loses all color and she staggers on her feet. Two of her coaches grab her by the arms. She shakes her head furiously and lets loose with a string of words I’m glad I can’t understand. I gasp when she hauls off and decks one of the coaches, sending him to the mat, and spews a few more heated words before stomping out of the cage and storming to the locker room. She knocks away any reporters that are brave enough to get close.

“She must have tested positive for drugs,” my coach says.

We don’t have to wait long to find out. The referee takes a microphone, moves to the center of the cage, and raises his hand for quiet.

“Petra Monika forfeits the match due to a positive pregnancy test. The win goes to Shyanne ‘The Huntress’ Lambert.”

My coach pulls me up and pushes me into the center ring. The ref takes my arm and raises it in the air. Another official rushes inside the cage to hand me the championship belt.

No. This isn’t right. I shake my head and back up. He looks at me as if I’ve lost my mind. “No,” I say and look out over the cheering crowd. I take the microphone from him.

I clear my clogged throat and try to keep my voice from shaking when I say, “I don’t accept this title. I won’t win by default. That’s not a win.”

Someone yells from the crowd, “Are you still retiring?”

I smile into the blurry crowd. The lights are so bright I can’t see. “Yes, I am retiring. I’d like to thank my fans for always supporting me and making me feel the love, even back in the early days of my career. I’ve had an incredible ride, but I’m moving on with my life and hanging up my gloves.”

I hear my name and jerk my head in the direction it came from.

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