Grace for Drowning

"Think about it for a few days. This is a big opportunity. You don't want to rush your decision."

"I don't need to think. I'm happy where I am."

Task's smile slipped. This wasn't a man who was used to being turned down. He'd expected this to be a cake walk. And why wouldn't he? Most unknown fighters would kill for a chance in the big leagues. But I wasn't most fighters. "You're happy wasting your nights working in this dive, instead of reaching your full potential? You're happy getting

paid peanuts when you could be clearing six, maybe seven, figures a year? That's right. I've done my research. I know all about you Logan. This is a chance to turn your hobby into a career. Don't throw that away."

Something inside me snapped. "I've got a career," I replied, stepping in close and letting the full weight of my anger play across my face. "It involves throwing unwanted customers from this 'dive' out on their asses. And guess what? You just made the list."

To his credit, he maintained eye contact for several seconds before looking away. "I'm sorry that you feel that way." For a man who was a split second away from having his head introduced to the floor, he didn't sound particularly afraid.

He began to walk away, but then called back over his shoulder. "Until next time."

I didn't like the way he said that.

*****

The next couple of weeks felt almost like a dream. Ostensibly, very little changed. I still spent my days training and my evenings working, but now I had Grace to look forward to at end of it all, and that made a world of difference. That night watching films at my place seemed to have unlocked something between us. Without any words being exchanged, we found ourselves spending every night together. The speed of it frightened me, but it also felt like the most natural thing in the world. When we were together, I felt more human than I had since the day I shipped out. I'd been detached for so long, unable to relate to the world or the people around me, and then along came this tiny pixie-haired goddess who just didn't give a shit about any of my issues. It was a goddamn miracle.

All that positive energy was doing wonders for other parts of my life too. My anxiety had never been better, and I was training with the sort of passion I could usually only muster before a big fight. I actually felt hopeful, for the first time in as long as I could remember. The future wasn't just a blur of fists, sweat and loneliness anymore. There was light now, too.

My next opponent was a guy named Billy — another Final Blow regular I'd fought before. Despite the fact that he was really just another average competitor, I was excited to get back in the ring. Unfortunately, it was not to be.

Charlie called me into his office the morning of the fight.

"We've got a problem."

"What?"

"Billy just pulled out of tonight."

I grimaced. "Injured?"

"No." He seemed almost morbidly amused. "Apparently he's now contracted to a rival organization."

That was odd. Billy was good, by Final Blow standards, but between his job and his family, he trained even less than I did. He was a mid-tier beater. He didn't have anything the other leagues would be desperate for. "Which organization?"

"TPW."

It only took a few seconds for things to click into place. My fists bunched. "That fucking bastard." I'd told Charlie about Task's visit. He'd laughed and shrugged and seemed to take it in stride, but I knew him to well enough not to miss the concern in his eyes. Concern that was apparently well founded.

Charlie gave a weary nod. Apparently he'd already made the connection. "It looks like he didn't take your rejection very well."

"There's no way it's just a coincidence, right?"

"At first, I hoped maybe it was, but then an hour ago Johnny told me they'd signed him, too."

I blinked in disbelief. "Seriously?" Johnny was my next fight, the one scheduled a few weeks from now.

I threw myself down in one of the guest chairs and tried to remain calm, which is pretty hard to do when you're picturing all the different ways you can make a man bleed. "Can we get anyone else?"

"For tonight? No way. Not on six hours' notice. For next time, sure, but I don't think it will do much good. This is Task sending a message, and I don't think it ends here."

"He can't buy everyone," I said, but I didn't really believe it. When he'd approached me, I got the sense he wasn't someone to mess with, and apparently my instincts were spot on. This was him saying, "if you won't fight for me, you won't fight at all."

"TPW may not be the UFC, but they don't have to be, to afford our guys," said Charlie, "and from what I've heard, Task is ruthless. If he wants you as badly as you implied, then I wouldn't be surprised if that's exactly what he did."

Tension was building like a rock in my chest, causing my breath to come in fits and starts. Fucking business intrigue. It was so goddamn petty, and I wasn't equipped to deal with it. I solved problems with my fists. I didn't know the first thing about waging war with contracts and checkbooks. All I wanted was for the world to leave me alone and let me do my thing. Was that really too much to ask?