Chapter 20
Dylan
This was it. The moment of truth. In the next few minutes, Red would be entering the octagon —ready to give it his all.
We were in the private changing room, listening to the roar of the audience on the other side of the thick doors. It was a full house, not an empty seat in sight. I had to fight every urge to tense up, resist the need to overthink. I needed to be on my A-game just as much as he did. Red was relying on me to keep sharp, to keep an eagle-eyed view of the fight as a whole, not just his performance.
Red was in his shorts, a big golden lion logo on display on his outer right thigh. He adjusted and readjusted his black competition fight gloves, flexing his fingers and cracking his knuckles. He hadn’t said a word since the pre-fight conference, totally focused and in the zone. This fight was either going to launch his UFC career or send him back to the lower leagues with his head hung in shame. We knew what was at stake here.
There was only one option: victory.
A soft knock on the door drew my attention. Julia poked her head in, followed quickly by Cash.
“Hey,” she said. “Just wanted to wish you luck.” She sounded nervous; her voice was tight as she wrung her fingers together. She gave me a tight hug, kissing me on the corner of the mouth. “You’re both going to do great.”
“Thank you, sweetheart.” I kissed her forehead. “Sweet girl, why are you shaking? There’s no need to be nervous.”
“I’m not nervous,” she mumbled. “Cash tried sneaking in an energy drink, so I swiped it and finished it. I would have dumped it, but it seemed like a waste.”
I snorted, glaring at him. “You have a serious addiction, dude.”
Cash shrugged nonchalantly. “Says you.”
A few short moments later, one of the UFC organizers knocked on the door and entered. Dressed in all black with a radio piece in their ear, they addressed Red and me sternly. “We’re ready for you.”
I nodded. “Alright. Red, you good to go?”
“Yeah,” he mumbled, rising from the bench he was seated on. “I just need one thing.” He walked over to Julia, wrapped his arms around her slim waist, and lifted her off the floor. She pressed her forehead to his, the tips of their noses touching.
“Kick his ass,” she whispered.
“That was the plan.”
When he set her back down, Julia threaded her fingers through Cash’s and headed towards the door. “We’re headed to our seats.”
I nodded. “We’ll see you out there.”
The second we stepped out those doors, it was a sea of flashing lights and a deafening cacophony of sound. Red marched forward, concentrating on nothing except the caged octagon just ahead. The announcer made his booming introductions, talking fast and clear as the ring girl walked around in her black bikini holding up a big, numbered sign.
I patted Red once on the back before he stepped in, bright spotlights overhead with cameramen perched precariously at every other cage post. I remained outside the ring, in the pit, readying all the supplies we would need on our team’s table: bandages, extra mouth guards, a healthy supply of water bottles, petroleum jelly to apply to the skin to make cuts less likely.
Devil Face was busy making a scene, waving his arms in the air and goading the audience with over-the-top trash talk. The fight hadn’t even started yet, and he was wasting precious energy trying to assert his dominance. It wasn’t working.
“I’m the alpha here!” he shouted at the top of his lungs. “I’m gonna wipe the floor with you! I’m comin’ for you, Red. Dead man walking!”
Red didn’t respond. Instead, he merely stuck his glove out to bump fists. He was a proper sportsman, after all. A class act. Devil Face ignored the gesture entirely, flipping Red off with a cackle.
The referee stood between them. “I want a good, clean fight, gentlemen. My word is law here, itwillbe respected. Fighters, are you ready?” He brought his hand down. “FIGHT ON!”
Show time.
Devil Face came out swinging, throwing a hard left head hook followed by a right. Neither landed their mark. Red was just too fast. He backed up a few paces for distance, his footwork as fast as light.
“Keep the pressure on him!” I shouted. “Don’t let your back hit the cage!”
Red had his fists up to protect his head, moving forward one step, then two. We were in the early seconds of the fight, so he was still getting a feel for his opponent. Everything about Devil Face was erratic, explosive. He had an even mix of training in wrestling, kickboxing, and judo. Even though he had the advantage of more weight, Red had the advantage of height and a longer reach.
Right now, it was a matter of waiting for the right opportunity to strike.