Page 159 of Gym Bros
Oh, holy shit. I don’t move. I stay slouched low, barely able to see the octagon, much less wherever Samuel’s coming in from. There are cheers and hoots and applause.
“What’s happening?” I yell.
“I can’t tell, they’re like frisking him or something,” Rachel says.
“And,” the announcer says, “Beck “The Beheader” Cole.”
“TheBeheader?” I ask. “Is that what he said?”
“And you thought Saber sounded stupid,” Priya replies.
“What does he look like? Is he huge?”
“No. He’s heavy, but he’s not tall.”
“Can you tell why he’s called The Beheader?”
“Nothing’s really standing out. He’s got red hair, but I don’t think that’s it.”
I force myself to sit up, and I’m just in time to see the two fighters enter the cage. Samuel’s tanned skin is already glowing with sweat. The other man is pale, bearded, and has hamhocks for forearms.
I think I enter a fugue state. The man who was on his knees for me last night isn’t in the room. The guy in the octagon is menacing. He doesn’t walk, he stalks. He doesn’t hit, he strikes. He doesn’t hesitate—he attacks.
The Beheader is on the ground beneath Samuel’s strong legs within moments. When he tries to buck Sam off, my one-time hopelessly inflexible yoga student twists his spine and spins off his opponent in a move so fast and confusing, I don’t even see how he winds up perpendicular to the other man, legs trapping his neck, and wrenching his arm into an almost impossible position.
A whistle blows.
“The winner by an arm bar submission is SaberRay!”
“Well,” Priya says. “That was anticlimactic.”
“It’s over?” I breathe.
“They just said he won.”
“The round or…”
Priya puts an arm around me. “He won, babe. It’s over. He lives to fight another day. I don’t even see any blood.”
“Was he like really good or was the other guy just really bad?” I ask.
“Fuck if I know,” Priya says.
“Now can we go find him?” Rachel asks.
I nod, already standing while I drain my beer in a few gulps.
The venue isn’t exactly high security, but it is kind of a maze once we figure out where “backstage” is. None of us is surprised Samuel isn’t returning texts, but it would be a fuck ton easier if he would.
Rachel, who’s never met a VIP area she couldn’t get into, leads the way, asking random people as we go where the fighters from Samuel’s gym are.
Eventually, we’re in a bleak but noisy hallway where people in tracksuits are pacing, and men in actual suits are on phone calls. I’ve deduced that the fighters from Samuel’s gym are all wearing red shorts, and that’s how Rachel’s tracking her way here.
As we approach an open door, a short man in a cheap suit stops us.
“Are you lost?” he asks.
“I’m Saber’s girlfriend,” Rachel says. “Just wanted to give him a big congrats.”
