Claiming The Prize (3 page)

* * *

Six o'clock in the morning brought the
shrill, rousing cry of Drago Zadrovec's alarm.
Sitting up, he
remained a moment, the events of yesterday re-playing in his mind.
He was here, at Guy Antolini's training camp, in America.
Drago had
been to America before, once when vacationing with a woman he
thought he may love, and again four weeks ago to sign his single
fight contract.
Now he was here to better the skills needed to
become the champion.

He knew all about Guy Antolini, for the man
was a legend.
Guy's kicks had been feared during his reign as
heavyweight champ.
Many men had collapsed with broken ribs and
bruised organs from a single kick, and more had been knocked
unconscious when those deadly and precise legs connected with
temple or jaw.
When other fighters were so fatigued that they could
barely keep arms raised, Guy Antolini was still breathing
close-mouthed, a testament to the brutal cardio training he
subjected himself to.
Drago knew Guy was the right man to help turn
his dream into reality.

The guest house was about a half-mile from
the main dwelling, and as Drago jogged toward the brick, colonial
two-story, morning activity was evident.
Yellow light shone from
the tall windows on the side he approached, and a steady plume of
smoke rolled from the wood stove's pipe into the dark sky.
The
biting wind at his back, Drago anticipated the promise of warmth as
he knocked at the side door.
When the white panel-box door swung
open, a thermal-pajama clad Grace hurried him inside, pushing the
door closed against a blast of wind, the whirlwind of twisting
flakes losing vigor in the stillness of indoors.
The power and
shock of the frigid assault brought breathy laughter from the
pair.

“
Come in!
Hurry!”
Grace encouraged.
“It's freezing out there!
Did you walk?”

“
Yes.
Well, no.
I ran,” Drago said,
laughing with her and shaking the frozen flakes from his coat.
“Walking would have taken me too long.”

Grace took Drago's coat and hung it in the
mudroom and returned to the cozy kitchen as he familiarized himself
with his new surroundings.
A black, wood and coal burning stove sat
on a raised brick hearth, its blower fan softly humming,
circulating heat around the sitting area.
Olive green walls topped
winter-white bead-board that extended from floor to chair rail, and
the ten-foot high ceilings gave the impression of a much larger
room.
Similarly, the cabinets were bead-board panels, and above,
glass panels were used in place of the wooden fronts, showcasing
colorful dishes of red, yellow, and green within.
Butcher-block
counters mimicked the honey oak floors, and red and yellow
Dutch-Country rugs added color between the counter and island.

Before the wood stove was an off-white,
wicker settee and two matching chairs atop a pale pink,
rose-covered area rug.
Green and white gingham cushions added
comfort to the old rattan, and throw pillows of green, teal, and
pale yellow littered the pieces.
It was Grace's favorite spot in
the house, especially on cold mornings.
The cottage-like look of
the arrangement encouraged cheerfulness with its light, spring
colors during the often bleak winter days.

“
Would you care for some hot coffee?
It's decaf,” Grace asked.

“
Thank you, yes.
Forgive my intrusion.
I was not aware of the morning plans for traveling to the
gym.”

Grace handed Drago his mug and plunked down
into her usual spot.

“
It's really no bother.
Please, sit
down.
You'll be waiting for Anto for awhile.
He usually stops home
to shower around eight o'clock before going to First
Strike.”

“
Where does he go so early?”
Drago
wondered aloud.

“
Oh, he rides the property, inspecting
the barn, fences, and that sort of thing.
This time of year, he's
watching the ewes.
It's nearly lambing time.
You're welcome to wait
here.
There's fruit and bread on the counter if you'd like
something to eat,” Grace answered.

“
That sounds very good.
Thank
you.”

Grace set out a plate, and Drago began
helping himself after Grace encouraged him further.

“
I'll be back down shortly.
If you need
anything at all, please help yourself.”

She floated off to get ready for the busy
day.

Underneath her calm exterior, Grace felt
curiously excited.
Rushing to ready herself, she dressed in navy
compression leggings and a team Anto-Engage compression shirt.
Tuesdays were jujitsu lessons, and also the day Grace took notes on
all her father's trainees as the Friar worked with them.
Of course,
Tuesday evenings were team meeting nights, and she speculated about
what would be on the menu for the evening meal.
More so, she
anticipated the outcome of the sparring sessions between Carson and
the Slovakian.
It promised to be an interesting day.
Donning baggy
jeans over her leggings and brushing her hair into a pony-tail,
Grace headed downstairs.

Drago was looking at the photos lining the
hallway when she rounded the bottom of the staircase.
He smiled at
her – that smile that opened his face up – and Grace felt her legs
go wobbly.

Oh, this will never do, she warned herself.
Get a hold of yourself, Grace.

“
These are all you...,” he half-stated,
half asked.

Grace broke into a grin, her dark eyes
agleam.

“
Yes, they're all of me.
Anto has his
own ideas about what constitutes a good photo.”

Her cheeks were blushed lightly at his
inspection of her childhood images.

Drago was moved.
These were not studio poses
of the 'perfect family'; they were treasured moments of life.
Guy
had spent time and money preserving these moments in his daughter's
life, and something about that made them more powerful.
The wall
was lined from top to bottom.
Grace riding a bicycle.
Grace with
her first missing tooth, at the gym, a few jujitsu practice shots.
Guy with his daughter perched upon his shoulders when he
successfully defended his title.
There were so many.
Drago's
perusal stopped on a photo of Grace hanging over the edge of a
First Strike sparring cage, her expression intense, caught in the
middle of yelling instructions to a fighter as Guy stood beside her
watching on.
This snapshot, above the others, captured the essence
of father and daughter poetically.
Guy's eyes were focused on his
daughter, and a look of pride shone on his face.
Drago knew the
woman more from this singular image than he had in the previous
night's conversations.
Passion for the sport was evident on her
face, and Guy Antolini obviously trusted his daughter with his
team.

“
Grace, these are quite impressive,”
Drago commented.
“You are valued, no?”

Her reddened cheeks gave the only evidence
she had heard his words.

“
Let's enjoy another coffee before Anto
drags us off to begin the day.”

Drago smiled again and nodded toward the
kitchen.
Grace Antolini was not like most women; this he knew.
He
was at ease in her company, and he liked spending time with her far
more than he was entirely comfortable with.

Grace was professional at First Strike, but
her easy manner was still in evidence.
Their morning meeting had
gone smoothly, and Drago found himself pleased with the workout
schedule she had designed for him.
Mornings and afternoons utilized
different routines, and Sundays were days of rest.

“
I designed this last week, so Anto may
decide to rearrange things once you have a run through this week,”
Grace noted.

“
It looks challenging, but I much enjoy
a challenge.”

Drago looked at her pointedly, and his
lingering gaze suggested there was something more to his answer.
Grace lowered her eyes to interrupt the moment, but her skin
tingled its wake.
His deep voice, combined with the sound of his
thickly accented words spoken with slow care, seemed to make
everything he said carry a weight beyond its surface meaning.

“
Anto will keep making it harder as the
weeks go on,” she said, shuffling the papers in front of her,
wanting something to focus her eyes on other than him.
“Especially
if he thinks you aren't wishing for
anything
, even death, to end the day.”

She laughed then, and he laughed with her.
One minute she felt more aware of herself than she had ever felt
before, and the next, she found being in his company easy and
relaxing.
These new sensations were both exhilarating and
troubling.

“
I will not be gotten rid of so
easily,” he returned, again making her wonder if he spoke about an
entirely different topic than the one at hand.
“I am
ready.”

“
Then let's get you started,” she
smiled, heading for the stairs.
“Each morning you'll complete a
strength and cardio workout before your first session with the
Friar.
Take a seventy-five pound bar and work through eight
repetitions of these six different exercises from the list I
printed for you.
After one full set of all six, loop a medicine
ball in between your legs in a figure eight pattern while in a semi
push-up position.
You'll repeat the entire group until you get five
finished rotations and end with a twenty-minute deep stretch.
Most
of this I took from the workout schedule you sent us.
I added a few
things that Anto thought would boost your results, but since not
much is changed, you'll have it down in no time.”

“
I will begin right away, and I'll let
you know if I have any concerns.”
Drago said.

“
Great.
The Friar will be around soon.
He'll be taking notes, so if you think of anything, just let him
know.
I'll see you later.”

“
I hope to see you later,
also.”

His admission left Grace more eager for later
than she ought to be.

The Friar wanted a daily session with the
Slovak, so Grace had rearranged the schedules to accommodate this
request.
The Friar, thinking that Drago's weakest area of expertise
was wrestling and jujitsu grappling, wanted to focus on improving
there.
Of course, Ike agreed.
Zadrovec warranted an hour of their
time exclusively on top of the usual attention they gave
trainees.

Afternoons were to be split up into workouts
by days.
Mondays and Wednesdays would be crazy-cardio days.
Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Fridays brought striking and technique
sparring sessions with St.
Clair followed by strength training and
bag and mitt work.
Saturdays would be altogether different.
Drago
would begin with a four to five kilometer run.
Then Guy would work
on leg striking and movement strategies with him before specific
leg strengthening exercises would be worked.
The afternoon training
would be determined by Guy's perception of what was necessary from
his observations and team feedback.
Drago did not yet know that Guy
saw something special in him.
No other fighter had been given as
much of his time.
Not only was Guy with Drago an hour or two each
weekday, he was devoting his entire Saturday to this fighter.

Drago worked through the morning routine, and
Ike and the Friar were more than pleased with what they had to work
with over the next six months.
Grace's notes were many for the
wrestling and jujitsu coaches, but she admitted only to herself
that her interest was proving to be more than clinical.
Anticipating the afternoon's sparring match, the minutes ticked by
too slowly.
By noon Grace had ordered supplies, paid all
outstanding invoices, and completed her meeting with the fighters
whose schedules had changed.
The gym shut down until three o'clock,
but, thankfully, today was her own jujitsu session with the Friar.
This would eat up one hour and live grappling another.
She hoped
her partner wouldn't be Carson after last week's incident, but, of
course, neither Ike nor the Friar knew about it, and Grace didn't
want them to.

She headed upstairs for a quick lunch of
sliced apples, black grapes, yogurt, and walnuts.
Guy was not
inside, so Grace set out his lunch and settled at her desk.
The
soft knock on the door frame roused her from her thoughts on the
upcoming clash between the two fighters, revealing Drago at the
threshold, almost as if she had conjured him with her mind's
wanderings.

“
May I come in?”

He waited for her answer before crossing into
the room.

“
Of course, please come in.”

“
I haven't had a chance to shop for
food, and I cannot drive yet in your country.
I was hoping you
might take me...,” he noticed her lunch.
“I see you are eating.
Possibly later then?”

Grace had already gotten up and headed toward
the small fridge and cabinet.

“
How about you eat lunch here today,
since I have class shortly?
We can shop this evening after my team
meeting, if you'd like.”

The broad grin she was developing a fondness
for spread across his face.

“
I appreciate your help, Grace.
As soon
as I am able, I will sit for the exam to gain a temporary license.
Then I will purchase a vehicle.
Your father will help me with this,
he says.”

Again, that deep voice speaking heavily
accented English hummed through Grace.
What was happening to her?
She was quite enjoying the sound of that voice, her morning had
been spent thinking of him, and she was altogether pleased that he
sought her company.

Drago took the plate Grace offered, and
downed an entire bottle of water before grabbing another from the
fridge.

“
What is this class you must make?”
he
asked curiously.

“
I take an hour of jujitsu instruction
and an hour of live sparring twice a week with the Friar,” she
answered softly.

“
Ah, so you are the student.
I see!”
His eyes lit with understanding.
“But who partners you?”

The smile faded a bit as he contemplated the
answer he would likely hear, realizing that he did not like the
idea of Grace grappling with a man.
He also recognized that he had
no right to be bothered by it.

“
Usually I work with Yves.
My Uncle
Bruno had always been my trainer, but he died two years ago in
Thailand.
You've probably heard the story.
I think most everyone
has.”

Drago had heard the unfortunate story.

“
I'm sorry about your uncle,
Grace.”

There was a sadness behind her eyes at the
mention of her uncle.
Guy's brother had lived with them for as far
back as Grace could remember.
Bruno had never married, being
somewhat of a ladies' man and wholly a brawler.
The man had been a
jujitsu specialist – the Friar had been his prodigy.
But Bruno
Antolini had also liked the drink.
After traveling to Thailand to
study the technique of groups of men who engaged in drunken
brawling for sport, he had decided to join them.
That decision
ultimately led to his death one night in a competition, and it
remained a sore spot with Guy.
He loved his brother, but had been
sorely disappointed with Bruno's choices.

She sighed quietly before explaining on.

“
Anyway, I work with mostly with Yves
now.
He brings in Khaler when he wants to evaluate my
technique.”

Drago stiffened slightly at the mention of
Carson Khaler.
That man's reputation preceded him, and it was well
known that he lived fast and hard.
He had just met Grace, he saw
she was intelligent, and he hoped to God above she wasn't mixed up
with a guy like Khaler.

* * *

Drago, fresh from the shower, had nothing to
do until his afternoon sessions began, so the small gathering
caught his attention.
Moving alongside the jujitsu mats, he watched
as the Friar and Grace rolled and followed one another fluidly
through different attempts by each to better their position.
Ike,
clipboard in hand, scribbled furiously between the flurries while
Khaler, and another young fighter whom Drago couldn't name, looked
on excitedly.
Carson motioned for Drago to join them, and he
learned that the young trainee was Jeremy Henner.
The three turned
their focus once more to the pair vying for supremacy on the gray
mats.

“
They're something else to watch,
aren't they?”
Jeremy said, absorbed in the action.

“
I'm as good,” Carson boasted.
“The
Friar would have me partner Grace all the time, but I'm too big for
her.”

Jeremy snickered his answer to Drago, who
stood between the two.

“
The only thing that's too big on
Khaler is his ego.”

“
Yeah, well just hang around,
Zadrovec,” Carson shot off.
“Jeremy's partnering Grace for live
grappling today.”
Leaning around Drago he added, “She's gonna tap
you out in less than a minute.
And that never happens with
me.”

Jeremy laughed.

“
Never, Khaler?”

Drago couldn't help but smile.
But Jeremy and
Carson were not what held his attention.

Whatever Drago had expected hadn't prepared
him nearly enough.
Baggy jeans gone, Grace's lean, shapely legs
drew his eyes immediately.
Her long ponytail of dark, silky waves
swung from her head at every granby, tuck, and roll, and the form
fitting gear clung to her tiny waist and arms revealing, to his
thinking, a perfection of form.

The Friar spoke, and they separated.
He set
up a few scenarios where Grace would begin in a bad position and
instructed her how to reverse or escape.
Then he called Henner
over.

“
Henner, you're up.”

Yves was demanding in practice, but he was
also a patient and effective motivator.
He had earned the nickname,
the Friar, years before when he was training under Guy and Bruno,
known then as the Brothers Antolini.

Yves Friarsson was extremely soft spoken, and
that character trait paired with the fact that he believed
passionately that jujitsu was an art form – he argued that is was
called 'mixed martial arts' – gave rise to Guy's joking that he was
a 'holy martial artist'.
That his last name was Friarsson made the
transition from 'holy man' to 'the Friar' a natural progression
among the men.
Guy had a certain way of calling a man some nickname
or other that made everyone view it as legitimate, and everyone who
was anyone in the sport knew Yves as the Friar.
And even though
Yves was only thirty-five years of age, the name gave an added
authority and respect to him.

Jeremy, the promising yet inexperienced
fighter, walked over, unsure of what would be expected of him.

“
You will go for the takedown; Grace
will defend.
No hesitation on your part, Henner,
understand?”