Page 58 of You Had Me At Thirteen

He frowns and rubs the back of his neck. ‘If it’s about money—’

‘It’s not about the money.’ I rake my hands through my hair, trying to avoid his knowing glare.

Jordan grins. ‘It’s about a female, then.’

‘No. Fuck… maybe.’ First my mum, now Jordan. Am I really that transparent?

‘What’d she do? Fuck your best friend?’ He slaps me on the back as he laughs.

Fuck no. I’d cut Koby’s balls off if he even looked at Matilda the wrong way. What she’s doing is way worse. She’s weeding her way into my life. Into my goddamn soul.

‘It’s complicated,’ I say in defence.

Jordan sighs. ‘It always is with women. That’s why I don’t do relationships.’

Neither do I, at least so far. But now, I’m not sure I want any other woman. Nobody else gets me going the way she does with just one look. That’s all it takes these days, those big brown eyes reaching into my goddamn chest to squeeze my heart each time she bats an eyelid. I hate it. I also love it just as much, if not more.

* * *

Half an hour later, I’m dressed in my MMA shorts, my hands gloved up and ready to take down The Trenchman. He paces the other side of the cage, a sly smirk on his ugly face as he throws some uppercuts. Not all fighters have come from mixed martial arts backgrounds. Some grew up learning Muay Thai, kickboxing, regular boxing, wrestling. The range is wide, but the goal is the same: Take your opponent out.

Dan calls the fight, and we both step forward, hands up. Cole is solid, about twenty kilos more muscle on him than me, which means I’ll have to use my skills to take him down. In a professional fight, we wouldn’t even be in the same weight division, but this is the joy of underground fighting.

My best bet is to get him on the ground. If I can get him in a near naked choke, I can cut his air supply and make him tap out.

I watch him like a cat hunting its prey, tunnel vision narrowed on him as I block out the rest of my surroundings. He’s already breathing heavily, a sheen of sweat covering his solid chest, and dripping from his bald head. It’s always harder to keep a hold when they’re sweaters.

We dance around the cage for a few more seconds, testing each other with little jabs to the air, before Cole throws out a couple of hard punches. I duck before the impact of them reaches me. It only takes a second for me to counter his attack with an elbow strike and an uppercut to his chin, which sends him stumbling backwards with a grunt. He works his jaw from side to side before spitting blood-tinged saliva onto the mat.

The crowd chants my name, igniting my insides. I’ve never been one for the spotlight, but hearing my name chorus through the underground warehouse is enough to make me forget about everything else. It’s a form of addiction.

Cole charges again, muscles and veins popping. I bounce on my feet, hands up in front of my face, until he’s close enough for me to grab him in a clinch hold, so I wrap my arms around the back of his neck and pull down. This is my chance to take him to the ground, but just as I’m about to trip his leg, he strikes me in the ribs with his knee. This sends me grunting at the impact, and losing my grip from his neck, which is when he throws a hook into my jaw.

For a moment, I’m thrown off my game, one knee hitting the mat as the taste of metal fills my mouth. For a second, I lose my vision, but it comes back quickly.

I lift my eyes to meet the menacing gaze of Cole. He stands over me like a hulking giant, chest heaving, victory already set on his face. That’s when my mum’s face comes into view behind my eyelids. Then Matilda’s. I blink back the second one, but it’s then I realise just how important she is to me. Memories of Derek talking shit to her, me kicking her out as she cried, have my body on fire.

Pushing myself up, I spit blood onto the mat and dance around Cole for a moment before dropping my right arm and swinging my right leg up in a round kick. It connects with the side of his face, the impact sending him to his knees with a grunt, so I take my opportunity to throw him backwards and climb on top of him, straddling his hips as I bring my fists and elbows down hard.

We’re a tangle of arms, legs, punches and grunts as he rolls me onto my back, getting his own punches in before I block them with my fists. Bringing my elbow up, I strike him in the face and wrap a leg around his waist, tucking my ankle under the thigh of my other leg and squeezing tight.

My heart beat hammers in my ears, blood rushing through my body, while Cole’s muscles resist my grip around the back of his head. I lock my fingers together and pull downwards, squeezing him with my legs with everything I have. I’m counting down the seconds, and with each passing one, my grip becomes more difficult to maintain as Cole struggles against me.

We’re both sweating and panting as I continue the struggle to maintain my grip on the hundred-kilo monster attempting to free himself.

My ribs ache from the repeated punches and strikes he’s throwing at me, but I feel his desperation when he struggles against my hold.

I’m not budging until he taps out. My hands are slippery, and the muscles in my legs grow weak as I fight to keep Cole locked between them. I’m not sure how much longer I can hold on when he gives up and taps the blood-stained floor.

My muscles give out as I release him, and he rolls to the floor. We’re both panting as the crowd chants my cage name. It’s deafening and numbing all at once, like a meditation chant used to keep obtrusive thoughts from entering your mind. It’s working for now.

Cole climbs to his hands and knees, before pulling me up, and slapping me on the back. ‘Great fight, man. You’re tough, I’ll give you that much.’

I nod at him. ‘Thanks, man. You too.’

‘Been waiting for someone to kick my arse. We’re good, you earned it.’ He holds his gloved hand out to me, so I bump it with one of mine.

‘I thought you had me there for a minute,’ I say, a small grin on my face.

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