Asher grunted and opened his truck door. “Good luck tonight,” I said.
The others wished him luck too, but he only nodded. It seemed like he was in some kind of zone and didn’t want to lose focus. Asher drove off, and we followed. I sat shotgun, and Jonah let me control the music from my phone. The drive was fast and easy, but when we got to the stadium, I didn’t know whatto expect. I’d never seen a fight before, and Asher seemed so intense when we left Maple Valley. I took a deep breath and left the car not ready for how much this fight was about to matter.
CHAPTER 10
Asher
I swore the second I stepped into the locker room. Not because of the fight or the crowd but because of Claire standing under the arena lights in black jeans and that fitted top like she hadn’t just spent the last week hauling crates and wiping dirt off her hands. Her hair was blown out. Her eyes looked feline. And she was watching everything in a state of wonder including me.
“Focus,” I muttered to myself, tossing my duffel onto the bench.
I’d never had a problem focusing before. I had a ritual for fight night which revolved around control and structure. My mind didn’t wander but tonight it wouldn’t shut up. Is she trying to get me killed? She looked like a goddess. I scrubbed a hand over my face and forced myself into routine focusing on my wraps first. I sat down and started winding the gauze around my knuckles, tight but not cutting circulation. Over the wrist and between the fingers. I repeated the mantra in my mind control what you can.
My coach, stepped in behind me. “You good?”
“Yeah,” I said automatically.
He grunted. “You look distracted.”
“I’m not.”
He gave me a look that said he didn’t buy it but didn’t press. I stood and stripped down to my fight shorts, sliding into the black pair with Maple Valley stitched in subtle white along the waistband. Mouthguard into the case. Gloves set aside for inspection. Ten thousand dollars if I lost. Twenty if I won. It wasn’t UFC money. I wasn’t at that level yet. I was a mid-tier professional fighting regional circuits in Quebec and occasionally Ontario. But this was one of the larger venues I’d fought in. A Montreal event with sponsors and real attendance. The kind that could change things. For better or worse. I bounced lightly on the balls of my feet, testing my legs. The only thing I felt was adrenaline as the muffled roar of the crowd filtered through the concrete walls. It felt louder than usual.
“Good turnout,” Marc said, glancing at his phone. “They’re packed.”
I rolled my shoulders, shadowboxing slowly. Jab. Cross. Hook. Slip. Repeat. Claire’s face flashed in my mind. Jonah’s whistle. The glance she gave me when she thought I wouldn’t notice.
“Dammit,” I muttered.
“You say something?” Marc asked.
“No.” I closed my eyes for a moment. You don’t step into a cage thinking about a woman. You think about angles, timing and distance. Your opponent’s weaknesses. Her scent had been faint when she’d passed me outside the cars. Clean. Something citrus.
Focus.
Charles my coach checked my wraps, tightened the tape, then handed me my gloves. I slid my hands in, the leather snug and familiar.
“Game plan,” he said.
“Leg kicks early,” I replied. “Test his range. He drops his right when he jabs.”
“Good. Don’t brawl. He wants chaos,” Charles said.
“I won’t give it to him,” I assured.
The arena announcer’s voice boomed faintly through the walls. The undercard fight was wrapping up. My heart rate ticked up with anticipation. This was the part I loved most. That moment right before everything hit. We moved toward the entrance tunnel. The noise hit me full force when the door opened to music, chanting and the rhythmic pounding of the crowd. Then I heard it.
“ASHER! ASHER! ASHER!” I froze for half a second. They were chanting my name.
Charles slapped my shoulder. “Let’s do it.”
The lights were blinding as I stepped out. The cage sat in the center like something alive, metal glinting under the floodlights. The crowd surged to its feet, sound breaking over me all at once. I scanned the stands without meaning to and found her. Claire was standing with Soleil and Jonah, hands gripping the railing, eyes locked on me. I raised a glove briefly, not to her specifically, but the timing felt too precise to be coincidence. I forced myself to look away. Inside the cage, I paced once, testing the mat under my bare feet. The canvas smelled faintly of sweat and disinfectant. My opponent stepped in across from me, lean, quick, and bouncing. We touched gloves.
The referee gave instructions. “Protect yourself at all times. Obey my commands.”
I nodded. Across the cage, my opponent smirked. The bell rang. And everything else disappeared.
CHAPTER 11