I can practically feel the groan rolling through Steve. He's not saying anything, but I can tell in the way his body tenses against mine that he's not happy about being here for that long.
I nervously nibble on my bottom lip as my gaze whips to him. I hate when he's annoyed or unhappy. His emotions always feel like they settle directly onto my skin, forcing me to find the source of his unhappiness and figure out how to banish it. I don't know when it happened, but the urge is entirely engrained in me now.
"We'll go right after his fight is over," I whisper so only he can hear me. "It means a lot to me that we're here. Thank you for coming with me."
Immediately, the tension seeps out of him. His shoulders relax, and he turns his gaze to me with a sigh. "Of course. It makes me happy to make you happy."
I shine a shaky smile at him and kiss his cheek. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Remy stiffen, but I ignore her, more focused on making Steve feel comfortable while we wait for Jax's fight to start.
I spend the next hour and a half glued to Steve's side, feeling him become more and more tense, even as I try to talk to Remy and the other fighters. The male fighters ignore me, save for the initial awkward hello—whether it's from Steve standing next to me or the fear of God that Jax put into everyone in the gym to scare them away from pursuing me, I’m not sure. The only people to approach me are Remy and our friend Lucy.
I sneak glances at the other fighters as they laugh and tease each other between bouts. There’s something to be said about friendships formed doing hobbies. I’ve always thought that the kind of bond that comes from common interests is one of the best ones, since it’s completely centered around an activity that everyone enjoys. It’s also where you meet the most interesting friends because every person has a different background, job, and reason for being there.
I used to have a hobby of my own. I danced when I was in high school, and I was damn good at it. It made me happy. It became my outlet, just like training became Remy's. The place I would go to express myself on both good days and bad.And I loved it.
When I moved to the city with Remy after high school, my plan had been to find a job first, and then a dance studio. Philly has some great ones, so I was looking forward to a new environment where I could really challenge myself.
But I became so immersed in Philly after I moved here that it never ended up happening. I was constantly working at the bar, and when I wasn't there, I was discovering a new home that wasn't a small town whose only entertainment was a Dunkin' Donuts. I became obsessed with seeing all that Philly had to offer. And it'sa lot.
By the time I was ready to get back into dancing, I had started dating Steve. And he was less than thrilled about the idea. It didn't matter that there weren't any men in the classes, or that I wasn't performing anywhere. In his eyes, it was unacceptable to move in a way that simulates sex outside of the bedroom. So I never ended up finding a studio.
Instead, I threw myself into something he deemed more worthwhile: college. Because how could I have a hobby—any hobby—if I didn't have a career plan? And working at the bar was hardly a job to aspire to. God knows I heard that line often enough.
School trumped everything and everything trumped dance. And soon all I knew was school and work and Steve, without any friends to speak of.
So, looking at the fighters around me, at the men and women that spend most of their free time training and hanging out together, I realize I’m jealous. Jealous of their friendships, and of the fact that they have this hobby that brings them happiness instead of a bitter boyfriend.
I snap out of the dangerous spiral my thoughts have begun pulling me into when the lights dim for the start of Fight #7. Our section cheers the loudest.
I forget all about Steve and his comfort as soon as the announcer calls out Jax's name. I even let go of his hand so I can clap manically and scream as loud as the rest of our group, completely immersed in my friend's success as everything else fades into the background.
The smoke machine starts up and Jax's walkout song “Blood // Water” starts to sound through the speakers, the lights in the arena going crazy. The music builds up until finally the beat drops and Jax appears through the smoke.
He jogs up to the cage, his expression all business. He quickly strips his shirt off and faces the referee for the pre-fight checks.
Watching him, the nerves seep in—like they always do when I watch him fight—but I take a deep breath and remind myself that Jax is very good at what he does. That he's won plenty of fights and never been seriously hurt. I just need to trust and support him.
In the blink of an eye, Jax's opponent is in the cage and the announcer is introducing the fighters. I can't help holding my hands to my mouth and squeezing in worry, even as I take in my friend's serious expression and battle-ready body. Nothing else exists but Jax and this victory right now.
"Fighters, are you ready? Let’sFIGHT!"
I'm so wound up that I jump at the sound of the bell. But Jax strides forward, confident and unhurried in his movements. The second they touch gloves, it's like he's been shot out of a cannon.
It's a flurry of punches and kicks, all power and forward pressure. Being the aggressor has always been Jax's style, and even though I'm sure his opponent knew that going into this fight, it's still a style that works. He overwhelms the red corner so quickly that in less than thirty seconds, he's landed a cross to the face and a hook to the body, the effects of which are a stunned and backpedaling Red.
"Stay on him, Jax, he doesn't know what to do with it!" I hear shouted from Jax's corner. I glance to the cage and see Tristan coaching his best friend, just barely managing to keep his ass in the chair.
Jax heeds his corner's advice and increases his forward attack. It doesn't take long for him to push his opponent back into the cage, where they wrestle for an advantageous position. Jax seems to be the bigger fighter, but Red looks like he's recovered from the initial onslaught and is now putting up a good fight. In a surprising turn of events, he hooks Jax's leg and takes him down to the ground.
I gasp at the sound of them crashing to the mat. They each probably weigh close to 215 pounds—if not more—so the impact is a very loud, very painful-sounding one.
"Damn." I hear Steve chuckle next to me.
I'm too focused on the massive man raining blows on Jax to pay him any mind. From the corner, I hear Tristan yelling, "Control the body, bring him down and go for that sweep!"
I've always been fascinated by the moments in fights that feel like a video game. Because that's what happens now. As if controlled by a joystick, Jax follows Tristan's instructions to the letter and grips Red's head and so he can't sit up to throw his punches. And when he tilts him off balance just enough, he scissors his legs in a way that flips their positions and ends with Jax on top.
The crowd cheers at the action, and grows even louder when Jax starts to drop punches of his own. Our section isscreaming, but all I can do is press my fingers to my mouth and wait with bated breath for the finish.