"Let's get out of here," Jax says after a final swig of the tequila. He raises an eyebrow and offers me the bottle, which I take with a shot of my own. From the corner of my eye, I see Hailey shudder.
I grin and smack her ass as I walk past her toward the door. "Let's go watch some fights."
* * *
The arena is buzzing with excitement. Even though we've arrived fairly early, the building is already half full of drunk fans that are eager for some fights. A few sections have been taken over by a group of people in matching fighter T-shirts, waiting for their friend or family member to make their appearance in the cage. Occasionally a fighter with taped hands can be seen weaving through the crowd, trying to kill their nerves by killing time with their friends. The air smells like sweat, Vaseline, and leather.
"What's our section number?" Hailey yells over the crowd's noise.
Jax, tall as he is, looks over the heads of everyone in front of us and around the arena for anyone from our gym. He spots the group quickly, and grabs Hailey's hand to drag her along behind him in the path that his large frame clears. I chuckle—not for the first time—at the massive size difference between Jax and my little sister.
There are a handful of people already sitting in the section that is saved specifically for our gym. I smile at the girls and give the boys fist bumps.
For the next few hours, we drink beer, watch fights, and talk about training. Fight nights are my favorite nights because my teammates are my best friends and watching fights with them is like the best kind of party. I always think my jaw is going to fall off by the end of the night from laughing so much.
When the lights dim for the announcement of the last fight, everyone in our section stands. My skin prickles with nerves and anticipation and I wring my hands anxiously as we wait for Max to appear. I don't understand how anyone can deal with the nerves before a fight—I can't even handle being nervous for someone else's fight.
The announcer calls Max's opponent first. Our section stays quiet, refusing to boo like some drunk fans like to do when an opponent is called. Instead, I study the guy that steps through the smoke and makes his way down to the cage. I notice that he's tall for this weight class, which immediately makes me nervous because Max often struggles with sparring taller people. In the back of my mind, I wonder if that's why Coach lined up this opponent for him.
"And now introducing his opponent, Max Davis!"
At the announcer's words, our entire section erupts in screams. We make as much noise as humanly possible, cheering Max on as he emerges from the smoke and heads down the walkway. He winks at our group when he passes by, which I take as a good sign of his confidence level going into this fight.
Behind him, Tristan and Aiden are walking with towels and a bucket of supplies. Their faces are masks of complete focus and concentration.
"Where's Coach?" I ask Jax incredulously. "He's not cornering?"
He leans down to talk in my ear. "I heard him say something this week about wanting Tristan to lead more, and that he might put him in charge of the corners tonight instead of just assisting. Guess he actually decided to do it. I've always thought it would help Tristan to see fights from a coach's eyes, instead of just a fighter's. I have a feeling this will be good for his fight IQ."
I watch Tristan as he settles in his chair beside the cage. He places the bucket by his feet and gestures for Aiden to sit in the chair next to him, all the while keeping his focus on Max in the cage. At one point Max turns to look at his cornermen. Tristan seems to give an instruction, followed by a firm nod with a set jaw. Max's eyes blaze at the encouragement and he nods hard in response.
"Ladies and gentlemen, this is a Middleweight matchup and your final fight of the night! Fighting out of the red corner we have…"
I tune out the announcer's booming voice as I continue to wring my hands nervously. After what feels like an eternity, the ref brings the two fighters to the center of the cage and indicates they should shake hands and "fight clean." I watch with wide eyes and bated breath as Max finally backs up to his corner again.
"Fight!"
As soon as the two fighters begin circling each other, it becomes apparent that my height analysis is just as big of a factor as I thought it would be. Max's opponent from the red corner is several inches taller, and his limbs are longer. He snaps out a few straight punches to test the distance.
Max slips out of the way, getting a feel for his own distance, as well. He knows he's going to have to get close to land any shots, which means he'll need to avoid any punches thrown his way as he steps in. He aims a few leg kicks at his opponent's long legs, testing his defense.
At one point the fighter in red steps in with a lightning-fast series of punches, stunning Max into falling back a few steps. Red moves to close in on him but Max's movement is slick, and he manages to step out of danger. Red tries again to land his long punches but Tristan is screaming so loudly for leg kicks that Max doesn't hesitate before kicking his opponent's leg just as he steps in to punch.
I look at Tristan, still sitting in his chair and loudly yelling simple, clear instructions every so often. Subconsciously I think about how perfect this role looks on him: not only does he have a great voice for yelling directions over an obnoxious crowd, but he also does so with a confident and knowledgeable tone. Everyone at the gym knows his experience speaks to a very high level of proficiency in the sport, but he also delivers instructions in a calm and steady manner that you immediately know you can trust in. The man was built to be a leader.
I'm distracted, studying Tristan's coaching style when the bell rings to signal the end of the first round. He grabs his stool and jumps in the cage to give Max a place to sit. A very wide-eyed Aiden scrambles in behind him with the bucket.
As Aiden holds a bag of ice to the back of Max's neck, Tristan stands in front of him and begins explaining what he needs to do in the next round. It's a safe guess that Max's opponent won the first round, simply because of the hard combination that landed mid-round. Max was countering Red's long punches with great leg kicks, but it's clear that in this second round Max really needs to get in closer and land some punches of his own.
A sound indicates that the coaches need to leave the cage. Tristan gives Max one last sip of water before smacking him in the shoulder and hustling back to his chair outside of the cage.
The second round starts at a higher pace than the first one did. Red is clearly feeling more comfortable with his long distance and is starting to loosen up and throw more punches. At first, I think Max is struggling with the increased stream of attacks, since he doesn't try to step in closer. But then I spot Tristan's strategy at the same time that Max does.
During the last round as Red threw more and more shots—thinking his pressure was overwhelming his opponent—Tristan must've noticed that each punch got sloppier than the last. Because Red is so much taller than Max, he has to punch down when he throws. Now with every additional punch, Red's hands drop and his shoulders droop. His chin is wide open when he's attacking.
"Now,Max, throw itNOW!" Tristan bellows. The whole arena vibrates with his urgent command.
At the same time that Red throws a sloppy jab, Max slips to the side. With his opponent's hands and shoulders down, it only takes one big overhand right to the chin for Max to drop his opponent to the canvas. The ref jumps in to stop the fight before Max can jump on him and continue his onslaught.