In Your Corner (26 page)

When I get to forty-nine, I catch a glimpse of Jake in the crowd—or is it Jake? Blond hair. White gi. Black belt. I blink to clear my vision, but when I look up again, he’s gone. My body seizes, and my arms shake. But I’m a fighter, just like him. So I pretend it is Jake. And he’s cheering me on. I go down, and then inch by inch, I force myself up.

Success! I jump up and raise my arms in a victory salute.

The crowd cheers. Fuzzy thumps me on the back. I don’t see Jake in the crowd, but he is with me just the same.

The rest of the class is as miserable as I could have ever imagined. Fuzzy rides my ass something fierce. He is constantly breathing down my neck, cursing my ineptness, threatening to make me take the class again. I smile at every curse. Laugh at every insult. And the more pleasant I am, the meaner he gets. Then he pulls out all the stops. Circuits, weights, sprints, and an endless number of starfish jumps. By the end of the class, I never want to see the ocean again.

But the class was not the only reason I came to Redemption tonight. And when Shayla waves me over to the practice ring, my stomach ties itself in a knot.

By the time I reach the ring, Razzor is already in his corner, air boxing his immense shadow. With a force of will I never realized I had, I stand outside the opposite corner. Jake’s corner. And there he is, his gi draped over his muscular body, hair damp and curling at his temples. So handsome. Breathtaking. I drink him in with a never-ending thirst.

His eyes flicker over me, but he doesn’t acknowledge my presence. Instead, he climbs into the ring and prepares for his fight.

I stay in his corner until Razzor is moaning on the mat. Then I slip away.

Over the next week, I dash out of the office whenever Shayla calls to tell me Jake has booked the practice ring for the evening. He never acknowledges my presence, and I never push. But I am always there. Every fight. Every night. I hammer my message home, just like Ray told me to do. I am in his corner. And I tell Shayla I will be there until the week before the big fight event, when the fighters cloister themselves to physically and mentally prepare for the fight.

When the house sale finally goes through, I donate my navy and gray furniture and furnishings to the community legal aid clinic, and Makayla, happy and relaxed after what she calls a “sexcation,” takes me on a shopping spree in antique stores and country chic emporiums. Ray’s couch remains the focal point of the reception room. Penny now recovered and determined to see Vetch pay for what he did to her, replaces her screensaver with a picture of Ray on the couch. Ray is not amused.

Alone at night, I flip through the pictures on my phone. Me and Jake renovating the house. At Redemption after his fight. A photo of us with Penny, Fuzzy, and Shayla at the Slugs concert. My heart squeezes in my chest, an ache I carry with me all day. And then I put the phone away and think about tomorrow and the hope it brings.

***

The day before the big fight event, I return to Farnsworth & Tillman, LLP.

Farnsworth has agreed to meet me after being hit with my one-two punch of a court order from his golfing buddy judge to deliver up his personnel and HR files, followed by a hint that I might have evidence of inappropriate advances toward other associates and a computer hack traceable to his firm. Mom offers to come with me or to hire someone to represent me. I tell her this is one fight I have to fight alone.

Mom says the sentiment is nice but the reality is that I’m a junior associate going up against a seasoned partner with a ruthless, cutthroat reputation. As a result, she spends two days coaching me, ensuring I am prepared for anything and everything Farnsworth could throw my way. By the time she’s finished, I am more than ready to step into the ring.

Taking a deep breath, I pull open the immense glass door leading to the lobby. The firm is built around a central atrium, and above me, associates beaver away at their desks. The murmur of voices and the occasional bark of laughter echo through the vast space. I inhale the familiar scents of lemon polish, leather, and money as I walk toward the reception desk, my heels clacking on the marble tiles. How many times did I walk through this lobby on my way to my office? Why did I never notice the austerity, or the cold, corporate colors, the garish, gold F&T logo in metallic mosaic tile on the wall, or the grim faces around me?

As I walk toward the security desk, my hands tremble and sweat trickles down my back. My steps slow. Maybe Farnsworth has already found a way to refute the new evidence. Maybe he’s waiting with a team of associates and boxes of documents and a smirk on his smarmy face.

Heart pounding, I grind to a halt. Maybe this is all part of the game.

Footsteps ring out behind me. A firm hand on my shoulder freezes me in place. Soft lips brush over my ear and an arm snakes around my waist holding me tight. “You’ll do great, baby. I know you will.”

I don’t need to turn around. I know that voice. I hear it on every street corner and in every café. I hear it as I drift to sleep every night. I hear it in my dreams.

“Jake.”

I close my eyes and lean my temple against his cheek, soaking in his warmth. Although I desperately want to turn around, I know I’ll cry if I do, and I can’t let Farnsworth see I am anything other than cool, calm, and collected.

“I’m fighting tomorrow.” His breath is warm in my ear.

“I’ll be there.”

His hand finds mine and he slips something into my palm. And then he’s gone.

For a long moment, I remain motionless, remembering the feel of his arm around me, his heat, the softness of his cheek, the steady beat of his heart.

Finally, I raise my hand. He’s given me a picture. Me. In Redemption. My arms raised after my fifty push-up triumph. And on it, he has written, “In Your Corner.”

***

The meeting takes place in room thirteen. My lucky room.

Farnsworth postures and swaggers. He threatens to bring to light every sordid detail of my past, every sexual encounter I’ve ever had, every man I ever propositioned. I tell him I never had to proposition men. They came to me. Just like he did. But he was one of the few I turned down. His face turns an interesting shade of red, almost purple.

Undaunted, he stalks around the meeting room. He says he will ensure I am humiliated and embarrassed, my reputation in tatters, and my bank account empty when he’s done with me. He says I’ll have nothing left. Not even self-respect.

I tell him I will live on love, but of course he doesn’t understand.

Then I check my watch. I tell him I have a full schedule this afternoon, which involves kicking Reid’s ass in court again, and if he has no more stories to tell, perhaps we can get on with the settlement meeting.

He tells me Evil Reid is no longer with the firm. Given the complaint Mom filed with the California State Bar, I am not surprised.

My mouth waters when I shove a thick, blue—I told Penny it had to be blue—file folder across the table. “Take a look.”

Farnsworth takes a look. He pales when he sees the evidence I have collected about his penchant for propositioning vulnerable associates and the evidence Ray has collected tracing the hack on my computer to his firm, and the police report matching the fingerprints of his PI, Eugene Clements, to the fingerprints the police took from the break-in.

He pales even further when I give him my settlement terms: the equivalent of five years’ salary donated to the community legal aid clinic and the local battered women’s shelter and a public apology.

Farnsworth offers more money instead of the public apology. He also offers to retire early. This is not a big sacrifice on his part, since my mom told me had been talking about it for the last year. In the end, I accept his offer on the condition that the money is used to set up a self-defense program for women at the firm. I tell him I know a good teacher with an expertise in kickboxing.

That night, Mom invites me home for a celebratory dinner. The lights are on when I arrive. My parents are both there. The rich, tangy scent of spaghetti sauce fills the air. These are not normal things in Amanda’s world, but I don’t complain.

Mom gives me an awkward hug, and I thank her for all her help. She tells me she’s expecting me to call whenever I need her and she’ll always be there for me. My father and I stare at each other. After a long, heavy silence, he says I have, in a way, actually upheld the family tradition and done one better. Albeit my firm isn’t a big law firm, I made partner before I turned thirty-two. Not only that, it’s a damn good firm. They aren’t the exact words I wanted to hear, but they’re good enough for me.

BAM. BAM.

“I can’t believe I’m going to a real MMA fight.”

An excited Penny bounces around the reception area as I rush to finalize the settlement agreement. Farnsworth is going out of the country tomorrow, and I need everything signed before he leaves. Ray stretches out on the old Victorian couch, folds up his newspaper, and sighs.

“You better keep your ass in the seat at the fight, or I’ll tie you to the fucking bench. I heard about you at the Slugs concert. There’ll be none of that on my watch.” He taps his chest, then points at his eyes, then points at Penny. Maybe he
was
in the mafia.

Penny freezes mid-bounce and her eyes narrow. “If I want to dance around the cage, that’s my business.”

Ray swings his feet down and glares. “You just
try
to dance around the cage, Pen. I’ll be all over your ass. We gotta find you a man who will look after you. A good man. Someone who’ll treat you right.”

“I had a man.” She folds her arms and glares.

“You had a worm.” He tosses the newspaper on the table, folded at the entertainment page. The headline catches my eye.

Slugs
Front
Man, Vetch Retch, Discharged from Hospital.

From a quick skim of the article, it appears Vetch was attacked in an alley outside a concert venue a few weeks ago. He suffered broken limbs, cracked ribs, a broken nose, and a concussion. He appears in the picture in a wheelchair, his arms and legs in casts, and his face a mass of bandages.

I look at Ray. Ray looks at me. I don’t ask. He doesn’t tell.

“I wasn’t talking about Vetch,” Penny snorts. “I had a life in England before I came out here. A different life with a decent man. And I had to leave it all behind.”

Penny has never talked about her past before, and I’m filled with curiosity. But before I can ask, she shakes an admonishing finger at Ray.

“You shouldn’t be offering dating advice. You don’t even have a girlfriend. In fact, in the time I’ve known you, except for Sandy, I don’t think you’ve ever had a date.”

Ray sips his coffee and his gaze flicks to me. “Private things should stay private. Always believed that. Always will. And I didn’t have a date with Sandy. Not my type.”

Curiosity piqued, Penny assails him with questions about what exactly he might be keeping private, why he didn’t go out with Sandy, and what was his type, none of which he answers. And I know he never will.

“You coming?” He taps his watch and looks at me. “We’re gonna be late. I thought you wanted to be there to watch your man fight.”

“All signed and ready to go. Penny’s going to take it down to the courier while I change. Shouldn’t be more than ten minutes.”

“Five,” Penny says, picking up the envelope. “I’m actually going to run. No way am I going to be late.”

Ray pushes himself off the couch. “I’ll go with you and pick up a coupla coffees for the road.”

After they’ve gone, I race into my office and slam the door. Moments later I’ve stripped off my suit and pulled on studded jeans and a T-shirt. Fight events are dress down, but I can’t resist throwing on a pair of heels. Jake loves heels. Clackity clack. Clackity clack. I race to the washroom to put on my “Amanda” face. A slap of blush, a slip of lipstick, a stroke of mascara, and I’m ready to go. I pull out my ponytail and fluff my hair as anticipation ratchets through me. I’m going to see Jake.

My heels click down the hallway to the rhythm of the Slugs’s latest single, “Danger Lies Ahead.” Damn. Penny forgot to turn off her radio. I race back to reception at top speed. After only a few sessions of Get Fit or Die, my top speed is pretty damn fast, and I am at her desk in a heartbeat.

Wham
. Someone shoves me against the wall from behind. My purse flies out of my hand and hits the floor with a soft thud.

“I’ve been waiting for you.”

Who’s been waiting for me? I don’t recognize the voice and my inquiring mind wants to know. I look back over my shoulder. Oh. It’s Evil Reid. Just hanging around my reception room as evil doers do. The skin on my neck prickles and I fight for calm.

“Reid. Hi. I’m in a hurry. I have to go. Something I can do for you?”

Reid spins me around to face him and his cruel smile cannot hide the darkness in his eyes.

“There’s a lot you can do for me. You fucking owe me, Westwood. Farnsworth kicked me out of the firm. He said I didn’t meet the moral standards for the partnership. Can you believe the irony? And not only did you humiliate me, you did this.” He pulls a sheet of pink paper from his pocket and waves it in front of me.

Heart thumping, I try to focus on the blur of black letters. “What is it?”

“Your complaint to the State Bar. I’m going to lose my practice license. Because of you.”

One less attorney in California. And an unstable one at that. Well, it’s a start.

“I didn’t report you to the Bar.” I try and fail to keep my voice from wavering. “You decided to send a copy of that file to my parents. They reported you.”

“I have no doubt you put them up to it.”

Breathe. In. Out. Slow. Deep. Swallow the fear. Focus on the fight. “What do you want, Reid?” I try to keep the conversation going as I take stock of the room. Why don’t we have emergency psychopath attack supplies alongside the fire extinguisher and flashlight? Maybe a knife or a bat or even a frying pan?

“You’re gonna pay for ruining my life.” He grabs my shoulders and shoves me against the wall.

“Get your hands off me, Reid. I’m warning you.”

He snorts a laugh. “You’re warning me? You think you’re tough because you hang out at an MMA gym?” His eyes slither over my body as he twists his hand through my hair and grips the top of my head. “You’re so tiny I could break you in two.”

Not this time. No one is taking me down.

Holding my hair, I spin out of his hair-grab using a technique Makayla’s stepdad taught me long ago. But Evil Reid is quick; he lunges for me, and in that split second, I smile. Poor Evil Reid is in for a whole world of pain.

Bam. Bam
. I punch Evil Reid in the solar plexus just like Razzor taught me how to do. Then I follow it with an uppercut to the jaw. Evil Reid staggers back and he gasps for breath. This time I don’t need to imagine I’m Shilla the Killa because Amanda Westwood has her own moves.

Taking advantage of Evil Reid’s momentary weakness, I rush in with a Shilla-style head butt. When Evil Reid doubles over, I sweep his legs. Success! Evil Reid goes down.

Now what? Should I follow him down and lock him in submission? Hmmm. That would involve lying on top of him, and if I don’t do it right he might get the wrong idea. Also, I haven’t learned any submissions from a dominant position. How damn irritating is that?

My moment of hesitation is my undoing. Evil Reid jumps up with preternatural speed. He grabs me and shoves me into the corner. And suddenly I’m in Get Fit or Die, and Fuzzy is making us jog on the spot with our knees as high as they can go.

Someone’s got you in the corner. What do you do, Westwood? Do you stand around with your mouth hanging open? No, you loser. Use your knees. Knees! Knees! Knees! Get those knees up or you’ll have me all over your sorry ass.

I don’t want Fuzzy all over my sorry ass. Nor do I want to face his wrath. I knee Reid in the sternum, and when he doubles over, I knee him in the chin. Then I hit him in the jaw with a left hook followed by a right cross, just like Jake did in the cage. Evil Reid stumbles backward, and I kick him between the legs.

“You want me to keep going?” I scream. “I survived Get Fit or Die. I can go all damn night.”

But Evil Reid is down for the count. Winded, gasping for breath, he drops to his knees, and I kick him while he’s down. Illegal move, I know. But who’s around to see?

Clap. Clap. Clap.

“Sounds like that was some class you took,” a bemused Ray says as he peels a sniveling Evil Reid off the floor. Penny watches in stunned silence, a tray of coffees in her hand.

“It was a nightmare.”

“Might have to look into it.” He shoves Reid against the wall and pulls a pair of handcuffs from his pocket.

Penny’s eyes widen. “Um…those are handcuffs.”

“Yup.” Ray snaps the handcuffs around Evil Reid’s wrists and then reads him his Miranda rights from a card in his pocket.

“You’re reading him his rights,” Penny astutely points out.

“Yup.”

“I thought you were a private investigator.”

“I wear many hats.”

Still stunned, Penny says, “I’ve never seen you wear a hat.”

“And you never will, sweetheart.” He glances over at me and taps his watch. “Don’t you have someplace to be?”

“Oh. My. God. I’m going to miss him.”

I
can’t be late.

***

By the time we reach the Kezar Pavilion, the event has started. There are fifteen fights on the card, but lucky for me, Jake is near the end.

Team Redemption, easily identifiable by the huge banner strung over the seats and the sea of shaved heads, has blocked off a section near the ring. Blade Saw and Homicide Hank wave us over. Penny is beside herself with excitement as two lightweights battle it out in the huge cage at the center of the pavilion, brightly lit with a circle of floodlights.

“There must be a thousand people here,” she gasps, looking over the sea of seats around us.

But I’m not interested in the cheering crowd, the excitement in the air, or the rattle of bodies against the cage.

“I need to see Renegade,” I whisper to Blade Saw as we slide into our seats.

He shakes his head. “He’s in the changing room and warm-up area. This promotion is following CAMO rules, so the top fighters have a shot at the Amateur State Championships. No one except licensed seconds, media, or officials are allowed out back. Better for the fighters that way because they need to focus.”

My stomach clenches. “But how will he know I’m here?”

Homicide pats me on the back. “He’ll walk through our section. Gives the fighters a boost to have their team cheering them on before they step into the cage. Just make sure you’re standing where he can see you and make a lot of noise.”

We sit through several fights before Ray makes an appearance. He edges in front of us to the seat Penny has saved for him. “Never been to an MMA event. Quite the atmosphere in here.”

I introduce him to Blade Saw and Homicide and then to Razzor, Minotaur, and Master Mayhem sitting behind us. Then I point out a few of the other fighters I know. So many. They are the brothers I never had.

Ray leans over and squeezes my hand. “You okay? Bastard’s been taken down to the police station. I gave them your details and said you’d give a statement after the event.”

“I’m good. And now that I’m here and I didn’t miss him, more than good.”

I am treated to a rare Ray smile. “That’s my girl.”

Team Redemption surges to their feet as Shilla the Killa walks in with Sandy as her second. She is looking incredibly toned and fit, having shed a few pounds to make weight. She’s wearing a sports bra and a pair of fight shorts with the “Team Redemption” logo stamped across her ass.

We stomp and cheer and clap as she climbs the steps into the cage. She is joined by a heavily muscled blond covered in tattoos.

“That’s Sergeant.” Blade Saw takes his seat beside me. “She’s a former Marine. Four tours of duty in Afghanistan and the Middle East. She’s won eight of her ten last fights in the Amateur Open and hoping to go pro after this fight.”

“She looks…formidable.”

Blade Saw nods. “Shilla’s the only one who would take her on.”

The whistle blows. Almost immediately, Shilla is on the attack. Using a move I haven’t learned yet, she throws Sergeant to the ground and locks her arm around Sergeant’s neck.

“Bulldog choke from side control.” The Minotaur gives an appreciative nod. “Unique variation of that choke. Hard to break.”

Sergeant tries to roll to escape the hold, but she can’t break Shilla’s grip. The clock ticks. The crowd cheers. Sergeant taps out. The referee lifts Shilla’s arm and Team Redemption explodes around us. Even Ray is on his feet.

“Christ. That’s some woman. Lookit her. Fucking amazing fighter. It was almost like she was dancing in the ring.”

I sit through fight after fight, my heart drumming against my chest. Why do the fights take so long? Why are there so many? Who scheduled Jake near the end?

Rampage gets his turn against Corn Dog, a giant of a superheavyweight with a tattoo of a corn dog on his back. Rampage avoids two takedown attempts from Corn Dog, who throws kicks to Rampage’s leg and abdomen. Rampage growls and drops Corn Dog to his knees with a solid right punch. Then he dives in with more punches. Corn Dog is unable to get up and turtles on the ground. Rampage is declared the winner at sixty-five seconds. I have never seen a bigger smile in my life.

Finally, Jake is on the card. I squeeze Penny’s hand in nervous anticipation and edge along the row of seats so I can see.

The team cheers as he walks down the aisle, Fuzzy by his side. My God, he takes my breath away. With the weight he’s lost to make his weight class, his muscles are sharper and more defined, rippling as he high-fives his friends. His fight shorts, emblazoned with the Team Redemption logo, cling to his tight ass, and his tattoos shimmer under the light.

But nothing draws my attention as much as his shaved head.

For a moment I lament the loss of his thick, wavy hair. But he looks like a serious fighter now, and without his hair, his jaw seems more chiseled, his eyes more piercing, and his lips more full. Sensuous. Breathtaking.

Emotion wells up in my chest and my throat tightens as he approaches my aisle. I’ve wanted this moment so badly, dreamed about it, longed for it…and I freeze.

And then he walks by.

And he’s gone.

“RENEGADE!” Penny shoves me into the aisle and jumps on the chair just vacated by Hammer Fist. She jumps. She screams. She waves her hands in the air. She draws the attention of everyone nearby. Jake pauses. Turns. Then he sees me.

He
sees
me.