Battlescars (13 page)

Kayla felt every eye on her as she walked to the gym and got into the line to buy tickets. Everyone besides her was in rowdy groups, enjoying hanging out before the big event.

Ticket in hand, Kayla walked into the room, and the rush of enthusiasm around her took her by surprise. The people there were happy and laughing, passing around beers and bets, talking about the fighters like they were celebrities. Kayla had been in the gym dozens of times to help George with the books, but she had never seen most of these people. The range of ages was pretty wide, and some of the spectators looked tough, with leather and tattoos. Others looked soft and sweet, like soccer moms and baseball dads. She had thought she might not fit in, but as she looked around her, she realized that she was just like the rest of them.

And there were so many of them! The guy at the maintenance office had said this was to be a “little” fight. She had trouble imagining a big fight.

She spotted George, who lit up when he saw her and waved her over. She pushed her way through the crowd until she got to the steps where he was standing.

George looked Kayla over and met her eyes. “Wow. You didn’t have to get dressed up for me, Honey.”

Kayla laughed and blushed at his compliment as George motioned to her to come on up and join him. She made her way to the step right beside his and together they stood and looked out over the crowd.

“You’re going to have some serious accounting work this week,” he said, leaning down to talk right into her ear. The place was getting loud. “So I know you didn’t come here looking like that just to meet me. Could it be one of our competitors that made you haul out your high heels?” George asked with a wink and a gesture toward the ring.

The noise level skyrocketed as the lights dimmed and the announcer made his way toward the ring. The tall and lanky man stood in the center of the ring, getting the crowd going by waving his arms and cheering along with them. Women in miniscule bikinis paraded around the ring bearing signs with sponsors’ names and inciting the crowd to even more fevered levels of excitement. Kayla looked at the women, so exposed that they were nearly naked in front of a crowd of fully clothed people, and she decided that no amount of money would entice her to take that job. She might parade around half naked for just a single person, but for a roomful, no way! She felt a flush of heat as she thought about putting on a private show for Dyson, and she realized that she needed to pay attention or she’d miss the fight, lost in her fantasies.

The announcer touted the achievements of the gym and talked up the town’s attractions, and Kayla realized that some of the people in the crowd had actually traveled a long way to see this event. She looked over the crowd with a new perspective. But before she could think too hard about it, the announcer bellowed a name she recognized.

“Mad Maddox!” he hollered, and the crowd went insane.

Kayla watched as Dyson bounced into the ring. She hadn’t seen him come through the crowd; it seemed as though he had appeared out of nowhere. He danced on the balls of his feet, waving his arms and pointing at people in the crowd -- fans he recognized, no doubt. Kayla watched as his confidence electrified the crowd. Men pumped fists and hollered his name, while women blew kisses and tried to get his attention. Kayla realized that the cockiness she’d seen in him the very first time they met made perfect sense in the ring. Dyson was a natural, charismatic showman.

The opponent came into the ring and there were cheers, but nothing like the raucous sounds that Dyson had elicited from the crowd. She watched as the referee stepped between the two men, said something, and then sent them back to their corners. A moment later the bell rang, the men stepped forward and tapped hands, and the fight began.

It was absolutely brutal, right from the beginning. Kayla had somehow expected a more gentlemanly fight, like the boxing matches she had seen on television, the ones that were held in Vegas. This was entirely different. This was two men in a much more serious fight, with nothing gentlemanly about it.

Kayla watched, appalled at the fury and the intensity with which Dyson and his opponent attacked one another. The crowd loved it, and Kayla felt like the only person in the room who hadn’t know what to expect. She saw with growing horror, that the fighters pummeled each other, throwing punches designed to inflict maximum damage. The men were grabbing each other, wrestling to the mat, holding each other down. They were doing it in ways designed to hurt. Pain wasn’t a by-product; it was the sole objective.

Dyson had been transformed from the friendly, happy and confident man Kayla had found so appealing to a fighter with a laser-sharp focus, the kind of fighter who was hell-bent on getting vengeance or revenge – or something else. She watched his face whenever he turned in her direction, and his expression revealed little but barely-banked rage.

Dyson was in control. He moved his opponent around the ring, dictating the pace and making the most of his speed. There was no room for debate about who was the aggressor. Dyson made a move to finish the fight, charging the man and pinning him back against the ropes. A flurry of movement revealed Dyson’s attempts to isolate and lock up the man’s limbs. Dyson grappled with arms and legs at angles, trying to get the leverage, the advantage. Kayla was amazed that no bones were broken. Dyson put the guy in one hold after another, keeping him there until the opponent’s face turned blue, until the whistle sounded.

At the whistle, Dyson stood up, arms lifted, enjoying the roar from the spectators. As he turned around to receive the adulation of his fans, his gaze fell on Kayla for the first time. She knew the moment he saw her – it happened just as the fight resumed. Dyson missed a step, lost his rhythm, and when the next punch came it landed so hard on his jaw that he spun around and landed on his knees.

The crowd roared, sensing blood.

Dyson came up off the mat with a burst of power, slamming both hands into the guy and sending him reeling backward. It was as though a fury had been unleashed, and now Dyson was playing for blood, not just for money. He pinned the guy down with his hands on his arms and started an all-out attack, beating his face over and over.

Kayla had to turn away. The violence was so ferocious that she could feel it in the air. It went beyond the ring and into Dyson’s heart and mind. She wondered what had sparked his fury, but she knew it had something to do with her. Dyson’s focus was no longer solely in the ring, and his distraction was evident every time he looked toward Kayla..

No one can ride a wave of rage forever, and Dyson was no exception. He started to tire. His punches faltered. His muscles, tense and hard, quivered under the strain. The opponent realized what was going on and pressed his advantage, slamming Dyson to the ground hard, as if putting an exclamation point on the change.

The tide had turned.

Kayla watched as Dyson was hit again and again. Each time it seemed harder for him to get his hands up. Each time he tackled, he seemed to lack the energy to get the man down. He wrapped his legs around the guy and tried to slam him to the floor, but the other guy rolled just in time and wound up on top of Dyson.

This time, when the punches came, blood flew. It had to be Dyson’s. Kayla bit her lip and looked away, but there was no blocking out that sickening sound. She had heard it too many times before, when she was a little girl and her father came home drunk. She could suddenly smell the alcohol on the breath of the man behind her and the intensity of the fight and her memories threatened to overwhelm her. She felt light headed, and, she wanted to put her hands over her ears and stop the sound, wanted to close up her nose and stop the smell, wanted to stop the flood of memories that were all mixed up with the deluge of sensations from the fight.

For a moment, Kayla was afraid she was going to pass out.

And just like that, it was over. A referee yelled and a bell clanged, and Kayla looked up to see the victor – the other man – standing up on feet that barely were able to hold him upright. And there was Dyson, lying on the ground, barely moving but certainly breathing hard. He slowly pulled himself to his feet. The crowd booed and roared at the same time, a cacophony of victory and disapproval.

Dyson stood up. His shoulders were slumped, the universal sign of defeat. He looked up at her once more – just one long glance – and then he turned away and left the ring.

The crowd was moving, and Kayla let herself be swept along, heading down the stairs toward the center of it all. She looked for Dyson in the ring but by the time she got there, he was gone.

The blood was there, though. She looked at the floor, where sweat and blood and maybe even tears had mixed together, and vowed she would never watch another fight as long as she lived.

D
yson slammed the locker shut and dropped down onto the bench. He hurt everywhere. There wasn’t a single spot on his body that wasn’t battered and aching. He was absolutely certain that he had never had a beating like this before in his life, and he was secretly surprised that he was able to walk out of that ring. He had been pretty damn sure Chester was going to have to carry him out.

It was Kayla’s presence that gave him the strength to get back on his feet.

It was also his reaction to her presence that made him lose the fight.

“Damn her!” he hollered, slamming his fist into the locker. He left a large dent where his hand connected. He kicked it for good measure.

He had pictured the face of Kayla’s lunch companion while he was out there. It had fueled his anger, driving him to excel against an opponent who was a true contender. Dyson had known that the fight would be a challenge, but the vision of Kayla’s mystery man in his head had changed all that. He had definitely had the upper hand as long as he thought about the many terrible things he would love to do to the man Kayla had chosen over him.

But then he saw her, and it all came crashing down.

What happened during the last part of the fight was a blur, and it wasn’t from the concussion – though he was sure he had one of those. The blur was a result of the emotions that coursed through him, turning his typically logical mind into a mess and sending him on a course that was dictated by emotion. He had been furious that Kayla had dared to show up, but then he had begun to doubt himself. What if he had misunderstood the meeting between Kayla and her mystery man? Could he have judged her unfairly?

As if those thoughts weren’t distracting enough, Dyson also wondered what Kayla would think of him, watching him pummel his opponent. Would Kayla worry that Dyson could ever be angry enough that he would turn his fists on
her
?

That horrible thought gave him pause, and that was all it took. The other guy saw Dyson’s focus waver, and he took advantage of the lapse. Dyson just didn’t have the energy left to get his intensity back. It was as though the worry and anger and sadness had sucked him dry of everything else, and he was just a bleeding shell.

Now he sat in the locker room and listened to the sounds of the crowd outside dissipating. Almost everyone was already gone. He had taken his time in the showers, letting the hot water ease sore muscles, but there were other pains too deep to be healed with water. He was still thinking about the mess he found himself in and trying to work it through in his head when he heard footsteps heading his way.

He knew it was Kayla before she came around the corner.

Even though he tried to steel himself, his heart went crazy when he saw her. He looked up at her through one good eye, the other nearly swollen shut.

Kayla winced as she approached him. “Looks bad,” she said softly.

Dyson just nodded. He watched as she came to a stop before him and stood there awkwardly, as though she didn’t know where to look or what to do with her hands. Finally she looked him full in the face. “What happened out there?” she asked.

Still Dyson said nothing.

Suddenly Kayla stepped forward, reaching toward him with a tentative hand. “Your forehead…”

Dyson felt the drop of blood hit his thigh. He lifted his hand to his forehead and it came away streaked with blood. One of the worse cuts had opened up again. “Shit.”

“Where’s the first aid kit? Bandages?”

Dyson pointed, and she turned quickly toward the corner of the room he indicated. She seemed more confident now that she had something to do. Kayla came back a moment later with the big kit and sat down beside him, opening the box and looking through the contents to find what she needed. Dyson watched as she pulled out peroxide and gauze pads and butterfly bandages, stacking them neatly between them.

Then she looked up at him. “May I?”

It was all Dyson could do to keep from leaning over to kiss her. But visions of the other guy clouded his vision, so he just nodded and didn’t say anything. He didn’t even trust himself to move.

Kayla started work on him, cleaning the wounds with a firm yet gentle touch that reminded him of the sports medics who worked the big fights. After a moment he realized that she was rather an expert at what she was doing. The thought of where she must have learned to clean wounds so efficiently melted the ice around his heart a little.