Perfect Illusion (Perfect 1)

Three

I slump to the floor outside Kayden’s apartment, bumping my head against the wall in defeat.

Well, that went well.

I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone who treated me this shitty upon first meeting before. It was like he was repulsed by me. Or maybe he just took one look at me and assumed the absolute worst of me. Whichever the case, I’m not in the mood to stick around to find out.

Swallowing my pride, I collect myself and head out. I guess another night at a crappy hotel it is.

Finding another place to stay will take me weeks. Even then there’s no guarantee. Maybe I can hold out until spring break, when there will be more availability, but I doubt I’ll be able to endure even a couple more days of my paycheck getting eaten up by the cost of living in budget hotels. Brent might be willing to let me crash at his place for a while, but I’m not sure how I feel about asking for help from someone I’m not that well acquainted with yet.

I’ll just have to keep myself busy on rental apps and hounding college officers. It’ll be all right. I’m sure it will be.

***

It’s not.

It’s been three days and I’ve had zero leads. My nights since my encounter with Kayden have been spent eating out of noodle cups and scrolling endlessly on the college website, filling out applications for every listed accommodation offered. So far most of them have not gotten back to me, and when they do, it’s usually doomed with the email opener

“We regret to inform you . . . ” Other off-campus places I’ve checked out are either too far away from the city or way out of my budget.

Deciding that a small break is in order to take my mind off this, I decide to pay a visit to UFG. When I arrive, the gym is unexpectedly sparse for a Saturday evening. Apart from the two guys sparring in the cage and the trainer who has just started their metabolic conditioning class, yelling at his three students to speed up their push-up burpees, the space feels somewhat empty.

My attention lingers on the class being held because it’s the only thing that seems riveting to watch. I don’t usually run big classes here, instead preferring one-on-one training because I like to give my full attention to whomever I’m training. Most of the people who come for my training sessions are beginners—usually guys who went down the YouTube rabbit hole watching UFC fights and decide that it’s easy enough to get into the competitive sport. But while the sport is fun to watch, there are very few people with an appetite for getting punched in the face. And once they do, they usually don’t stick around very long.

And unlike other kinds of sports, you don’t have anyone to rely on but yourself. The fight falls completely on your shoulders, which usually comes with its own psychological and physical barriers that can be difficult to overcome. When I first started with Jax, it was incredibly overwhelming. The endless hours of conditioning, strength work, and martial arts training packed into a crazy six days a week schedule completely shattered my body for the first month until I finally built up my tolerance. The only reason I didn’t give up was because I craved the emotional release I got from those sessions. I sought it like a miracle stimulant drug, dissolving all the pent-up anger of the week from my body once I got my boost of adrenaline and power.

I adored every minute of training with Jax. I could watch him in that cage for hours and never get tired of it. He’s merciless when he fights, like a king cobra with its imposing size and deadly bite, looming over his prey, only to strike a viciously fatal blow that knocks them out for good. I love the way he moves so fluidly around the cage, bred with boldness and strength as he keeps pushing himself—both mentally and physical y—until he’s toeing the precipice of his limits yet still remaining fearlessly on top.

I particularly looked forward to him kissing the hell out of me afterward, claiming me wildly with his mouth, hands, and body. For a moment, it felt like I was the only prize that he ever needed.

Goddammit, Sienna. I mentally slap myself for letting my thoughts catapult to Jax again. He’s not worth it. Hecheated on you. He’s not worth loving anymore.

Banishing thoughts of him from my head, I set my gym bag down, then aim for Julian’s office. He’s a burly, middle-aged man with a shaved head and ink running down the sides of his arms. When I walk in, I find him perched behind his desk, his huge hands cupping a pink doughnut with sprinkles on it. I like that he just eats whatever the hell he wants. Since leaving the UFC several years back and opening this gym, he keeps up with a training regimen from time to time but can’t be bothered with the strict diet.

He’s still one of the best MMA fighters I know. Legendary, in fact. Everyone who fights in the area knows who he is: UFC Middleweight Champion for five consecutive years.

He was known for having a dynamic fighting style and was skilled at exploiting the gaps in his opponent’s game. A truly unique fighter. But to the shock of many, he decided to leave the UFC before he could make it to a double hat trick win. Said he wanted to quit while he was still ahead and leave a legacy that wasn’t tarnished by the slow decline of age and sustained injuries. It was a move that invited a lot of controversy, and most people give him shit for it, but I respect his decision. It’s the reason why Universal Fighter’s Gym exists today, so I’m grateful.

Julian licks his icing-coated fingers and gives me a curt nod when I pop my head into his office.

“Hey.” He acknowledges me, raising a perplexed brow as he straightens in his seat. “What are you doing here? I told you your evening class with Parker got postponed. Said he injured his leg hiking a few days ago.”

“Yeah, I know. But I just can’t seem to stay away from my favorite trainer,” I say cheekily, and he makes a big show of rolling his eyes and scoffing his irritation. He hates that I still call him that even though he doesn’t do training sessions anymore, preferring to focus on gym operations instead. My head whirls around to see the nearly empty gym. “Where is everyone?”

Julian looks disappointed when I remark about the turnout.

“You know where.” He shrugs, his attention falling back to his half-eaten doughnut. “Watching the fight.”

My lips pucker into a frown. Usually around this time of the year, Breaking Point, a rival MMA gym, holds the biggest underground fighting event in Boston. It’s a no-holds-barred tournament where the stakes are high and one wrong move can quite possibly cripple you for life. This isn’t just regular MMA shit. It’s MMA on crack, where all the standard rules are thrown out of the window.

There’s a strict no gloves and padding rule to maximize the carnage in the cage. The refs don’t care about safety, and the fighters aren’t insured, which makes watching someone snap a leg or break a rib much more difficult to watch. Every time I go to one of those matches it feels like being in a butcher’s shop, the smell of sweat and blood and savagery making my stomach churn with discomfort.

The underground is illegal and circulates a lot of money, but they have a tight relationship with the Boston Police Department, so the force usually turns a blind eye to the gym’s affairs.

Julian has a love-hate relationship with Breaking Point. While he doesn’t mind watching the occasional fight there, he has a strict no illegal shit rule when it comes to training fighters at his own gym. At UFG, he only breeds fighters he knows are clean—from both steroids and the underground—and those he’s hopeful will be able to go pro someday. UFG has a stellar reputation because of this, but unfortunately, a stellar reputation doesn’t always equate with profitability, driving some of the most promising fighters who are looking to dabble with the dark side from UFG to Breaking Point.

I only put up with the underground because Jax loved to fight there. He had been trained by Julian and was supposed to go pro before ultimately deciding he was too good for any of the big promotions and settling for fighting in underground circuits instead. He’s so skilled at it that he’s expected to win the championship title at Breaking Point for the third time without even breaking a sweat.