Sick Heart: A Dark MMA Fighter Romance

I made Bexxie’s monument myself. It’s a tower of nine flat rocks. Alternating color. Black, white, black, white. I painted something on each one and wrote her name on top. And then I sat next to it and told her everything that happened since we last saw each other. I didn’t leave out a single detail, even though she’s not really old enough to hear the sexy parts, I told her anyway because this was the first time I have ever talked to her. It was the first time she ever heard my voice. And if I stopped talking, I wasn’t sure I’d ever want to speak again.

I wasn’t sure I’d ever get over the sadness.

So I just kept going and finally, the entire camp was listening to my tale. Even Maart was listening when I described the last breakfast I had with Udulf and how I had figured him out.

Irina pointed at me and said, “Mental ninja,” and this made Cort laugh, and Cort’s laugh made everyone laugh even though we had tears in our eyes.

Then… it was over and we were all ready to say goodbye.

Every lost warrior has been accounted for.

Not a single one of them has been forgotten.

And maybe some park ranger comes along in a month and kicks them all down, we don’t care. We did this. And that’s all that matters.

We are all huddled together in a pack. I’m in between Maart and Cort, kinda snuggled in between them, in fact. Maart’s hand is resting lazily on my leg and Cort is absently playing with my wild hair.

I don’t know what we are. A couple? A threesome?

Not sure.

Don’t care.

We just are.

None of us have sleeping mats and we’re not on the platform of the Rock, but the entire camp points up at the moon with a single finger at the same time.

We have locked the past up in the rock shadows of the fallen warriors around us, and that’s where it will stay forever.

Because this is day one.

EPILOGUE - CORT

ONE YEAR LATER

The mood after Paulo’s first professional fight is celebratory.

Sergey paved the way for Lilith. Lilith paved the way for Ivano and Kioshi. And they paved the way for Paulo.

This might be Paulo’s first official win as far as the wider world is concerned, but they don’t care.

They flock to him, just like they flocked to all the others. They are trying to write offers as they hand him drinks. They are begging him for attention.

His eyes find mine from across the room and I hear all the words he’s not saying. Thank you. I owe you. I love you.

And I raise my glass to him and silently say it all back.

He nods, then starts paying attention to reps from the UFC and Jungle Fight as they have a bidding war, complete with lawyers furiously amending contracts on their tablets as the discussion progresses, at the after-party.

Anya slides up and hooks her arm in mine, leaning into me a little.

“Tired?”

She doesn’t say anything, but I feel her shake her head. She’s still not much of a talker, even when we’re at home. But when we’re out, she almost always prefers to speak with her eyes.

“Good. Because we’ve got big plans tonight.”

She pulls back a little, smiling. “What plans?”

“You’ll find out.”

She smacks me playfully and then says, “Get me a drink, will you? I’m gonna go congratulate Maart.”

I lean down and kiss her, enjoying the way she kisses me back. Then she turns and walks off and I wait, and watch her ass, as she makes her way across the room, parting throngs of people as she approaches, and finally lands in front of Maart.

She is gorgeous tonight.

Her blonde hair is sleek and straight. Her face has a little bit of make-up on it. And her strapless gown is the same shade of blue as her eyes.

Maart takes her hand. Kisses her lips. Plays with her hair. Smiles.

He and I are still close. We talk nearly every day and every few months we do more than that. But Maart has his gym in Rio and I have my camp out in the jungle, and, well… that’s just how shit shakes out when you grow up.

We haven’t grown apart, not really. We’re still walking the same road, but one of us is slightly off the beaten path.

He likes the attention. He likes the lights, and the parties, and the hectic pace of Rio. And I still dream about my life on the Rock.

“Now that’s a story.”

I turn at the remark and find a woman staring back at me. Slightly familiar, but only slightly.

She shakes her head. “You don’t recognize me, do you?”

“I’m sorry, I—” But then I do recognize her. The reporter from Ring of Fire. She still looks her age, but she’s wearing a dark blue gown and a jacket, not even a hint of cleavage. And her makeup is subtle, like her updo hair. She has an air of sleek sophistication. “Huh. I can honestly say you were the last person I ever expected to see again.”