Billionaire Fight Club: Fight of My Life (COMPLETED)

Liam.

Our seats were so close to the side of the octagon, there was maybe 4 feet between my chair and the ring. I was gulping as much air as I could, trying to stifle the butterflies that were nervously fluttering in my stomach. The anxiety-caused nausea that was coming in waves was enough to keep me in my seat. I couldn't see the room without it spinning.

Beside me, Dave was all jitters. His hands were fisting and then releasing on his trouser leg, his palms opening to rub out his energy in circles on the fabric. He was breathing deep, the energy of the room causing his reactions to hype.

The room was filled to the brink with people. The constant flashing of cameras going off, the subdued clamor of conversation, the music blaring from the speakers was all part of this world I had thought I had left behind years ago.

He was in the UFC. The FREAKING UFC.

When I had been the one hauling his butt back and forth to practice years ago, he was still just competing at the local MMA level, going to fight clubs around town and occasionally traveling across state to compete. I could still smell the stank of that old '83 Toyota that I had used to transport us from the apartment above his Dad's garage, to school, to the gym, and back. Every day. All day. That truck had seen more bad days than good.

Nervous sweat was trickling down my neck, making the caramel colored hairs that I had been planning on letting loosely swing, stick to the curve at my nape. I pulled at my hair, raking it to the side, bringing up my hand to create a makeshift fan. It would be a miracle if I got through tonight.

Dave turned to me, laughing at the state of my temperature. "Do you think it's weird that I think it's hott that you're so bothered right now?" His eyes were shining with mischief, his lip was caught between his teeth. I scowled at his perfect face, angry that this was the date that he had finally asked me out on. I had been waiting for months for him to find the balls to ask me out; lounging at the office after hours, being unnecessarily available on weekends to work with him, flirting with him audaciously, so he would pick up on the hint that I was interested was just a short list of things I had done to win him. His short, black, spiky hair and piercing blue eyes made him every woman's object of desire. He was tall, lean--but muscular, and had one of the sharpest minds I had ever encountered in my field. He was everything I had ever thought I wanted. I had finally--FINALLY--felt ready to move on.

And now this.

I looked through the black net walls of the octagon to see where Liam was. He was standing, head down, listening to everything his coaches were yelling into the cage. Then the announcer was in the middle of the ring, introducing the fight title, and reading off sponsors.  His class was usually one of the first to go, but tonight, he was towards the end of the line up. 

"And now," the announcer vamped, "the moment the entire world has been waiting for! ITTTTT'S FIGHT TIME of the UFC Heavyweight Championship of the World!!!"

The announcer continued, "Introducing first, FIGHTING out of the blue corner, professional record: 17-1, measuring in at six feet one inch, weighing approximately 207 pounds; fighting out of Seville, Andalusia, representing the pride of Spain; presenting as the number one Heavyweight Wrestling Champion in the world; and the number two Heavyweight Fighting Champion in the world, ENRIQUE ALVAREZ!!!" The crowd exploded with a mix of screams of approval and of hate. No wonder the crowd outside had been so bizarre; people literally from all over the world were here to witness this.

Waiting long enough for the crowd to calm, the announcer piped, "And now, FIGHTING out of the red corner, professional record: undefeated; measuring at six feet two inches, weighing approximately 205 pounds; fighting out of Philadelphia, PA; presenting the pride of the U.S., protecting the dignified title of World Champion, it's the number one Heavyweight Fighting Champion in the world, LIAM KELLY!!!"

The name recognition in the room sparked a frenzy. Fans all over the stadium roared at the drop of his name. The ego emanating from him was infectious, as he walked the ring with his arms open wide, welcoming the praise from his admirers. His sandy blonde hair was a standing mess on top of his head, his square jaw sporting a dark shadow that accentuated the shapes of his face. Though he was too far away now, I knew his green eyes were glistening with anticipation. You could almost feel it from him, off of him, exuding from the form of his defined lean muscles. He was ripples upon ripples of abs and cut muscle, and the way his obliques tapered down into his waist was... astounding.

He was astounding. I could feel my mouth water as I watched him bounce across the platform.  The shrieks of admiring females from all over the building were echoing off of him. 

"We love you Liam!"

"What bars do you hang out in?!"

"I'll be the mother of all of your children!"

We watched the fighters step to the middle, listening to the rules the Ref was barking over the microphone. I heard the words belt is prize to the winner, causing me to suck in a breath. The title was at stake. This definitely was going to be one hell of a fight.

I recalled how this part almost always made my stomach sink to my toes, knowing that in mere seconds, punches, jabs and kicks would be hurled with full force to Liam's body. It was the thing about his fighting that I had hated the most: the full-blown contact. I never knew why he was so addicted to the rush of adrenaline you could see pulsing through him when he landed a contact punch. It was foreign to me, but Liam... He was a born natural, and everyone in a room with him always knew it. He was fluid, animalistic, and always determined. It was that intensity that had drawn me to him so long ago.

They parted to their corners before the opening sound. I held my hand to my mouth, knowing what was coming next. My eyes were glued to Liam, and I hated myself for it. All of these years had passed, and here I was still concerned about the outcome of another reckless endeavor. And this one was televised to the world with about another twenty thousand people watching live in the room. He turned, swinging his arms wide, his smile beaming into the crowd, wild kisses being thrown in the air while he skipped around on the tips of his toes. Dave was poking my ribs with his elbow, and screaming his support at the top of his lungs.

Right before the sound blasted marking the open of the first round, Liam turned, pointing a finger directly at me. Shaking his head up and down while keeping his aim precise in my direction, he pranced his way backwards into the center of the ring, high on the burst of moxie erupting in the atmosphere. I swear Dave about peed his pants when he saw that, and by the way he was shaking my arms right now, I knew everyone else had too. I was working hard not to let it affect me, but I couldn't help but wonder what that meant exactly. I couldn't help the affect it had on my heart. Was that his olive branch, letting me know that I'd been forgiven? Was it just acknowledgment that my presence was accepted? Was it a call from his body to mine?  

The performance began, with Enrique trying to eliminate the distance that Liam was putting between them, and Liam trying to back Enrique into a tight corner as soon as possible. If it was true that Enrique was a prize wrestler, I had a fair idea as to what his tactics would be, just from sitting in on all of those cage matches, listening to coaches talk technique and shouting direction repetitively at their fighters. Enrique would try to pin him as soon as possible, relying on his weight and agility to get the points. But... if I knew Liam, he would come out swinging as soon he found an opening, making sure he got as many contact punches in as possible.

I was all but hunched over in my seat, watching my predictions play out in the ring. Enrique had pinned Liam, but Liam was swinging his elbows, working on arching his back to get control back. I covered my eyes, not willing to watch the s*******r on stage.

I could hear the cracks and the smacks as hands were breaking into jaws, and heads were snapping back. That queasy feeling was settling into my abdomen, the one where I had convinced myself that I could smell the blood that was pouring out of both of their faces. Whether I could or not was a mystery, but the reality of their life source being smeared all over the tarp was enough of a visual for me to want to slink into the floor.

The congregation's energy shifted, and I heard sharp gasps followed by a swell of cheers. Hesitantly allowing myself to peek at the stage, I was happy to realize that Liam had managed to regain footing, and was rounding with his opponent upright. Liam was spinning into his kicks, gaining him speed and power as he landed hurt after hurt on Enrique. I almost felt sorry for the poor Spaniard, knowing the beating he was suffering was brutal.

Liam was laying combination after combination on Enrique, dominating to the point Enrique looked like he was starting to swoon. Liam wasn't letting up though, and brought out his full arsenal of tricks. Bouncing off the sides of the ring walls, they flew at each other. Punch after punch launched through the air, and kicks and jabs and blocks were furiously flying back and forth as the two men spent all their strength trying to weaken the other. It was like watching two lions in the wild, fighting for territory.  My teeth were clamped together, my cheeks beginning to sore as I watched Liam's face swell with blood from the fight.

And then, the moment we awaited.

In slow motion, we were witness to the last punch landing as intentionally as possible into Enrique's left jaw. The crowd held its breath as the contender went to the ground, his body limp from the impact, awaiting the Ref to kneel and make the call.

And like that, it was over.

Hordes of people were on their feet, shouting, screaming. It was a T.K.O. in the first round, in the first 3 minutes. The sound of the victory was overwhelming, ringing in my ears.

Liam's arms were in the air, an American flag draped across his shoulders, as his team rushed onto the mat, hugging him and slapping their love onto the man. His emotions were high, and you could tell his team was letting out all the pent-up steam and anticipation they had been keeping under locks for some time now.

That man. Who led his team to victory. 

That MAN. With his devil-may-care attitude, and his devilishly handsome good looks that had managed to sweep a fighting nation. And I had been none the wiser. Ogling him a little too intently, the awareness that I had been neglecting my date jumped into the back of my mind. I swung to show him a sheepish grin, hoping he hadn't caught my lustful examinations of the World Champion on the stage.

But, to my surprise, Dave was spread in the chair next to me, an oddly satisfied expression on his face, which was a stark contrast to his spazzing movements from earlier. "You look the cat that just ate the canary," I laughed to him. "What's that look all about?"

His grin shot across his cheeks, a triumphant gleam in his eye. "I don't know. This dude has been my idol for so long, I guess I'm just happy he won. Again." He gave a nervous laugh, the tension between us tangible. "It makes my heart swell," he continued, trying to prove the point.

I laughed, but couldn't quite shake the sad feeling that had wormed its way into my thoughts. Really, I had never been happy at the end of a fight. I had never been proud of Liam's physical accomplishments, because I was so stuck on us completing our intellectual ones together. I sunk into my chair, trying for the first time, truly, to experience what it felt like to revel in the spirit of a win.

I had just closed my eyes when there was a light tap on my shoulder. Frowning, I turned my attentions to the tapper, a little nervous when it happened to be the woman that had earlier shown us into the VIP lounge. "Ms. LaRocca? I've been instructed to bring you and your guest to the after party. Follow me this way, please."

Stunned, I faced Dave, questioning him with a look. "Was that included with the passes? Like, it was a package or something?" Dave shrugged, fumbling around with his pass to see if there were printed details he had missed.

The woman sighed politely, waiting for us to collect our things and follow her through the mass of people. I stood, pasting a smile, while trying to smooth out the wrinkles of my bandage black dress that had latched onto the damp sweat of my anxious skin. "Ma'am, is the after party included with our VIP passes? My friend here can't seem to recall what events were afforded in the package." I tried to keep my plastered smile on to keep it casual, but the broad saw right through me.

"No," she huffed. "The after party is for staff and invited guests only. Your presence was requested." She threw the words over her shoulder nonchalantly as she forged ahead. I gulped down a bit of bile, knowing exactly who had requested us. I peeked back at Dave, hoping that he was just as nervous as I was.

He didn't seem fazed.

I rolled my eyes, raking my trembling hands through my hair to try to smooth my waved tresses into a semblance of order. I needed a mirror to check my face, I needed a brush, I needed my traveling makeup kit. If I was going to see him up close and personal after all these years, I was going to be presentable gosh dang it.

------------

The party we were invited to was insane. There were celebrities from all over in the room, fighters from different divisions, news people, and the list continued. I had found a ladies room, and had managed to get my tawny strands back to springing shape. My makeup hadn't smudged past the point of redemption, so with a little friendly help from a stranger, my eyeliner had been corrected and my lipstick had been reapplied.

I found Dave by the bar, sipping on a scotch and coke. "Hey, gorgeous," he greeted, leaning in to peck my cheek. "What can I order for ya?" He waved his finger at the bartender.

I could barely hear him over the music pumping from the speakers. "Just a martini, dry," I yelled, hoping he'd heard me. Scanning the party goers, I wondered where our conquering hero might be.

"Looking for Liam?" Dave shouted into my ear. Nodding my head yes, I grabbed my martini off the bar and looked for a quieter corner. Dave slipped his hand on my waist, letting me navigate the clusters of people until I saw a small door that led to a balcony. We let ourselves out into the night air, happy to be away from another swarm of bodies.

Chuckling into his tumbler, Dave's eyes locked onto mine as he slowly sipped his cocktail. "So, is there anything you want to fill me in on? Before I potentially meet the greatest fighter in the world?" He was wiggling those eyebrows again, all playfulness.

Rolling my eyes, I swallowed the contents of my martini glass. "There's really nothing to tell you. Everything that happened between us happened years ago. All water under the bridge now." I shrugged my exposed shoulder, grimacing when the tight spaghetti strap slid down from its spot.

Dave sauntered toward me, taking a slender finger to raise the strap back to its correct resting place, letting his hand linger. His fingers brushed against the naked skin of my back, his curiosity testing the tautness of my other strap, by slipping his index finger underneath and gently tugging.

I grinned at him, excited by the attention, but also--

"Sofie, there you are! I was wondering where I'd find you!"

Snapping my head back, that familiar voice sent convulsions through my core. There he was, less than three feet away from me, the ache of my soul for the last 5 years.

My voice caught in my throat. "Liam."