martial arts.
My stepfather is a retired policeman. Sometimes he works security at sporting events, a lot of retired cops do. He had been given two tickets to a big MMA championship fight, and offered them to me. I wouldn’t normally go, considering my past and how I feel about watching people pummel each other, even if it is consensual. But my little brother Max is a huge fan of the sport and I got suckered into taking him. I just couldn’t say no to the excited twelve-year-old who momentarily forgot he was supposed to act cool and was jumping up and down like he did when he was four.
The fight didn’t last long , two rounds. I remember it clearly. It was probably less than ten minutes in total. The pre-fight festivities lasted an hour longer than the actual fight. Our seats were good, only about 10 rows back from the center of the ring. I remember flinching every time one of the men threw a punch, yet I couldn’t turn away. I close my eyes and watch instant replay of those last seconds. Most people think having a photographic memory is a blessing, but in my case it’s a curse. Yes, I remember lots of figures and words, but I also remember all of the bad things I’d rather forget.
It’s as if I flipped on a v ideo and hit play right as those last few seconds play out. I see Nico throw the punch, and then I watch in slow motion as his opponent’s head turns to the side with the force of ten men. He drops to the floor, his head limp and rattling around before it even hits the canvas. The screaming crowd becomes silent and the medical team rushes into the cage seconds after it all happens.
As horrible as it is, s eeing that all play out in my mind isn’t what haunts me. It’s the still of the fighter dropped to his knees when he realizes the man isn’t getting back up. He’s shattered. I can’t take my eyes from his face as I watch him break into a million little pieces. I should’ve felt sorry for the man that just lost his life, but I don’t even look his way. I’m fixated on the man who will never be the same. Never. I know it. I feel connected to him for a stopped moment in time.
In my mind, it’s high noon and the shadow of my past is twice the size of me. Towering over me. I can’t escape it.
Chapter 4
Elle
I’m later than usual when I finally get to the office. I’m still in a fog and find myself dazing out as I catch up on emails and plan my day. Nico “The Lady Killer” Hunter. I didn’t know him before the fight, but that was his name. I remember watching him walk into the cage and smile a cocky smile at the crowd. The ladies went crazy. It didn’t take long to figure out what his name meant. I remember feeling a jolt when I took in his smile and that body, that incredible body.
The press had a field day for weeks after that fight. His name may have been Nico “The Lady Killer” Hunter before the fight, but the press removed the “Lady” part from his name after that.
I’m typing words into Google before I even realize what I’m doing. The pictures that were etched into my brain are no different on the screen when they appear. The referee had ruled the fatal blow a clean hit, but that didn’t stop the press from sensationalizing the story. A few weeks later, after the press had moved on to whatever carcass was yet to be picked over, I read a small story hidden in the back of the paper amongst the advertising. Nico’s opponent had had an unknown underlying head condition and was a walking time bomb.
I’m able to push thoughts of Nico into the depths of my head and finally get some work done after two more cups of coffee. It’s midafternoon when Regina buzzes in to tell me I have a client in the lobby, but I don’t have an appointment on my calendar.
I walk into the lobby, my thick sandy blonde hair being held in place on top of my head in a lopsided bun held together by two
My stepfather is a retired policeman. Sometimes he works security at sporting events, a lot of retired cops do. He had been given two tickets to a big MMA championship fight, and offered them to me. I wouldn’t normally go, considering my past and how I feel about watching people pummel each other, even if it is consensual. But my little brother Max is a huge fan of the sport and I got suckered into taking him. I just couldn’t say no to the excited twelve-year-old who momentarily forgot he was supposed to act cool and was jumping up and down like he did when he was four.
The fight didn’t last long , two rounds. I remember it clearly. It was probably less than ten minutes in total. The pre-fight festivities lasted an hour longer than the actual fight. Our seats were good, only about 10 rows back from the center of the ring. I remember flinching every time one of the men threw a punch, yet I couldn’t turn away. I close my eyes and watch instant replay of those last seconds. Most people think having a photographic memory is a blessing, but in my case it’s a curse. Yes, I remember lots of figures and words, but I also remember all of the bad things I’d rather forget.
It’s as if I flipped on a v ideo and hit play right as those last few seconds play out. I see Nico throw the punch, and then I watch in slow motion as his opponent’s head turns to the side with the force of ten men. He drops to the floor, his head limp and rattling around before it even hits the canvas. The screaming crowd becomes silent and the medical team rushes into the cage seconds after it all happens.
As horrible as it is, s eeing that all play out in my mind isn’t what haunts me. It’s the still of the fighter dropped to his knees when he realizes the man isn’t getting back up. He’s shattered. I can’t take my eyes from his face as I watch him break into a million little pieces. I should’ve felt sorry for the man that just lost his life, but I don’t even look his way. I’m fixated on the man who will never be the same. Never. I know it. I feel connected to him for a stopped moment in time.
In my mind, it’s high noon and the shadow of my past is twice the size of me. Towering over me. I can’t escape it.
Chapter 4
Elle
I’m later than usual when I finally get to the office. I’m still in a fog and find myself dazing out as I catch up on emails and plan my day. Nico “The Lady Killer” Hunter. I didn’t know him before the fight, but that was his name. I remember watching him walk into the cage and smile a cocky smile at the crowd. The ladies went crazy. It didn’t take long to figure out what his name meant. I remember feeling a jolt when I took in his smile and that body, that incredible body.
The press had a field day for weeks after that fight. His name may have been Nico “The Lady Killer” Hunter before the fight, but the press removed the “Lady” part from his name after that.
I’m typing words into Google before I even realize what I’m doing. The pictures that were etched into my brain are no different on the screen when they appear. The referee had ruled the fatal blow a clean hit, but that didn’t stop the press from sensationalizing the story. A few weeks later, after the press had moved on to whatever carcass was yet to be picked over, I read a small story hidden in the back of the paper amongst the advertising. Nico’s opponent had had an unknown underlying head condition and was a walking time bomb.
I’m able to push thoughts of Nico into the depths of my head and finally get some work done after two more cups of coffee. It’s midafternoon when Regina buzzes in to tell me I have a client in the lobby, but I don’t have an appointment on my calendar.
I walk into the lobby, my thick sandy blonde hair being held in place on top of my head in a lopsided bun held together by two
Similar Books
A Southern Exposure
Alice Adams
Shattered
Kailin Gow
Deadly Betrayal
Maria Hammarblad
Mockingbird (A Stepbrother Romance)
Abigail Graham
Holly's Wishes
Karen Pokras
Furious Old Women
Leo Bruce
The Bricklayer
Noah Boyd
The Demon King
Heather Killough-Walden
Crawl
Edward Lorn
Suprise
Jill Gates