"Yeah," I gave her a short nod and hoped my brusque response would deter any more questions.

"I saw you fight."

This surprised me. "Really?"

"Yep, my boyfriend was a big fan. He was thrilled when they started showing them on national television instead of just through pay per view. But we watched your Thanksgiving fight. It was pretty awesome."

I knew that there was a contingent of MMA fans that were women, but most of them seemed more interested in sleeping with a fighter in hopes that we could drag them with us as we climbed to the top. This rich girl, however, wouldn't need someone like me. She'd have bankers, lawyers, and surgeons to choose from. I started to relax. "Thanks. It was a great opportunity for me."

"How long have you been fighting?"

"Only for a few years, although we had some mock matches when I was enlisted."

"A soldier?" she asked.

"No, Marine."

"That's right. I think I remembered that from the bio they ran on you before the fight." She was closer now, and I could smell her floral perfume. It wasn't as offensive as I first thought it was. I let my arms drop to my side and leaned against the wall a little.

"Most folks don't watch undercards." I had fought on the bottom of a three card match. My New Year's fight would be the second fight on the card. I was working my way up.

She gave a tiny shrug but even that movement caused the strap on her shoulder to slide over the side to dangle on her arm.

"What can I say? My ex-boyfriend was crazy like that." She gave me a small smile as if remembering her boyfriend was slightly painful. Another movement of her shoulder, and the strap slid lower. I stared at it, worried that it would drop lower still. Should I mention anything? Would Grace want to be told if her dress was slipping? I decided yes.

"Your dress." I gestured toward the strap that was now hanging loosely under her bicep.

"Um what?" She looked down and gave me a crooked smile. "Oops." Then she took her hand and it seemed like she pulled down the top of her dress. She wasn't wearing a bra and for a moment I saw a bare breast, the tip of a nipple before her hand covered it all and swept the errant strap back onto her shoulder. Was it an accident? I couldn't tell. Suddenly I was acutely aware of my surroundings. I was standing in a dark corner of a room of strangers. My girlfriend was elsewhere, and a girl I didn't know had bared her breast to me.

Panicked, I looked for Grace and then noticed Josh eyeing me from about five feet away.

“Josh.” I lifted my glass to him. If Bo was here, he’d have swept away the woman in a heartbeat, but even from this distance I could see Josh measuring me. He wasn’t weighing my worth based on what was in my pocket but how I was acting. I could tell that I wasn’t coming in on the high end of the scale. “Sorry,” I told the girl curtly. “I see someone I know.” I brushed by her, pretending not to notice that her hand reached out to stay my departure.

“Took you a minute. Thought we were going to get blood on that white shirt of yours.” Josh took a healthy swallow of his own drink but didn’t hand over the refill he’d retrieved for me.

“I don’t think Grace would like that.”

“Grace wouldn’t like a lot of things, including you enjoying a boob show from some twit who dissed her when they were juniors.”

I grimaced. “I was just making conversation. She mentioned that her boyfriend was a fan.”

“Doubtful.” Josh finally handed over the second glass, and I tucked the empty underneath it. “Come on.” Josh headed out the back toward a stone patio with heaters. Standing outside in the dead of winter without a coat on because there were enough heaters to keep us warm was some kind of luxury.

“You know, when Grace first started writing to you when she was fourteen, I thought it was cute. When she kept writing to you when she was sixteen, seventeen, and then eighteen, I figured it kept her away from the douchebags in school. But then you broke her heart.” Josh looked ready to swing at me, and I was prepared to take it. My actions toward Grace after four years of devoted letter writing while I was deployed deserved at least one good throat punch.

“You’re right,” I said.

“Damn straight I’m right. But here’s the thing. You came back and glued back the pieces, and I’m a happy camper so long as Grace is a happy camper. But if your attention is going to be distracted by every sweet piece that kisses up to you, then you should leave right now.”

“I’m not interested in anyone but Grace, and I never will be,” I said.

“What was that about in there?”

I looked back at the crowd. “That was me being unsure about how to act around here.” I dragged a hand through my hair. “I feel about as comfortable here as knife-wielding assailant surrounded by armed gunman. I was making conversation with the only person who seemed willing to talk to me.”

“You were in a dark corner. The only person willing to talk to you was someone who wanted to do something in the dark corner.”

“I get that now.”

“What if it had been Grace that had seen you and not me?” Josh challenged. “You gotta stop thinking about what all these people have that you don’t have, because the only person who cares about that shit is you. Grace is always going to have money, and someday you might have more than her, but maybe not. If you’re going to be measuring dick size based on the fat of your wallet, then you’re always going to come up short. Is that how you want Grace to feel? Like you’re measuring everyone’s value based upon their net worth?”

“No!” I exclaimed. “That’s not how I view Grace at all.”

“But that’s how you think Grace views you.”

“I…” I started to make excuses for myself, but that’s exactly how I’d been acting. I’d been feeling sorry for myself, thinking that Grace was going to leave me because I couldn’t afford everything I thought she wanted.

My mind flashed a picture of her kneeling on the floor, her hands on her legs just waiting for me. When I was deployed, Grace had sent me a copy of The Odyssey by Homer. Odysseus was a warrior who got separated from his wife Penelope for years and years. He was distracted by sirens and set upon by monsters, but he eventually found his way back.

When he arrived at his home, he found the place overrun by suitors begging for Penelope’s hand. But she’d refused them all, choosing to believe that her Odysseus would someday return. And he did.

Grace had waited for me, for years, and she was still waiting for me. She needed me to get my head out of my ass and stop whining like a little baby about everything she had that I didn’t. Over and over she’d told me that I was all she wanted and that I was enough.

“Thanks, man,” I squeezed Josh’s shoulder tightly in appreciation. “You know we’re going to be brothers-in-law, right?”

Josh snorted and downed the rest of his glass. “Figured. So you popped the question?”

“Should I have asked you first?” I didn’t want to make an enemy out of Josh.

“Nope. Just make her happy. So not throwing the fight?” He wasn’t looking at me when he dropped that bomb.

“Grace tells you everything?”

“Nope, this was all Lana. She wanted to know what we could do to help you out of the mess. Didn’t know you wanted help.”

“I won’t lie and say I wasn’t tempted,” I admitted. “But Grace deserves better than someone who lies and cheats their way to the top. I want to be able to look her in the eye every morning, and I wouldn’t have been able to do that if I took Billings up on the offer.”

“So what’s your plan of attack for Billings?”

“Report him.” I rubbed the back of my neck. “I’ll make it public and hope that others will come forward.”

“And if they don’t?”

“Then I guess I’ll have to ask my wife to float me a loan for the extra tuition.” I grimaced and hoped to hell it wouldn’t come to that.

“It won’t,” Josh declared confidently.

“And you know this how?” I asked.

“Because Dr. Billings is a coward. You would know this if you weren’t so close to the situation. You come forward, and he’ll fold like a bad poker hand.”

I thought of all that I knew of Billings. His poser status as a former military man. His seedy advances toward Lana. His inability to hold on to enough money to buy into the opportunity of a lifetime.

Josh was probably right. If I’d pressed harder in our initial meeting, Billings would have dropped it. No question.

“Hey you guys, what you doing out here?” Grace walked out onto the patio, the fullness of her black shimmery skirt swaying with each step.

“Shooting the shit, lil sis.” Ruffling her hair, Josh bent down and dropped a kiss on the top of her head. “See ya.” He disappeared inside.

Grace wrapped her arms around my waist and I hugged her close. “I love you, baby,” I whispered.

“Love you back,” she echoed.

“I’m going to win that fight for us.”

My declaration was rewarded with a blinding smile. “Oh Noah, yay!”

“Why didn’t you tell me that I was wrong for even thinking twice about Billings offer?”

Grace smoothed her hands across the planes of my chest muscles. “It was a decision only you could make, but I knew you’d make the right one.”

“Did you?” I asked skeptically. “Because I wasn’t even sure until a moment ago what direction I was going.”

“No,” Grace interrupted. “You knew. It just took some time for you to come to terms with it.”

Tipping her chin with my finger, I stared into her eyes. “Your endless faith in me is overwhelming. I’m going to live each day so you don’t regret even an ounce of that faith.”

Grace smiled, and rose on her tiptoes to kiss me. “I believe you.”

FIVE

Noah

THE FIGHT THAT BILLINGS WANTED me to throw never happened. Instead, on December 20th, just eleven days before the fight, Fred Flintstone’s team had admitted that he wasn’t going to make the cut. He had to lose the equivalent weight of a first grader in eleven days, and while he could starve himself to make weight, he’d be about as weak as the first grader.

“They got Abilene to take the fight if you agree to a catch weight of 210.” Paulie sounded defeated. Eddie “The Mauler” Abilene was an experienced fighter with only a couple of losses. He weighed more than I did if he was asking for a catch weight agreement of 210. I fought at the light heavyweight level, which topped out at 205. Abilene’s request to fight at a higher weight meant he probably weighed on the heavier side of 210. Abilene had more experience, weighed more, and would be the favorite.

I’d spent the last month training to fight a Fred Flintstone, who was more of a brawler. Abilene was a grappler, hence his nickname, “The Mauler.” Different fighters with completely different techniques.

“You want to drop out?” Paulie asked.

“No.” I didn’t even have to think about it. “I want this fight, and if I have to face a guy above my weight class, my win will be all the more impressive.”

“You could get injured,” Paulie warned, but excitement danced around edges of his voice.

“I could die in a fiery crash tomorrow,” I replied. Paulie promised to send me and Bo tapes. After explaining the situation to Grace, she responded by altering my diet slightly to increase my caloric intake. I didn’t need to worry about making the cut. Now I needed a little more bulk.

Being the underdog on an undercard meant you stood in the ring while your opponent got announced. His entourage came first. If anyone was looking at you, and only a few were, they were likely looking to see if you felt weakness or dismay.

Paulie had instructed me to be active, to bounce around the ring like a pin ball. Restlessness equaled weakness, in my opinion. The mind game was as important as any other component of the fight. Tonight, when Eddie “the Mauler” Abilene came down his tunnel following his little entourage in his faux silk coat, I'd be waiting for him, arms at my side, face impassive like I just didn't care.

I wasn't going to show any kind of blood to this crowd, which could turn on me in an instant. Right now I had a slight edge with the crowd because I’d agreed to fight at the last minute with a guy above my weight class. I’d heard whispers in the locker room that I had to share with the other undercard fighters that I was crazy or desperate or both. I wasn't positive I was going to win this fight. It was the longest match of my career against my toughest opponent. I could just imagine what the announcers were saying to each other and to the television crowd.

"Marty, Noah "Warrior" Jackson is fresh meat for The Mauler. Can we expect a good fight, or do you think Jackson will tap out in the first round?"