"Everyone in town says you're going to win," the golden stripper said.
I finally took a deep breath. That was the only difference between my father and me. I had talent. My God-given talent had earned me free lessons when I was an angry young boy. Then, I was given a scholarship in high school. I was recruited for college and all but failed while my MMA career skyrocketed. I had not needed my father for any of those things. My talent and hard work got me what I wanted.
I pulled out the wad of cash Kev had given me for gambling. Instead of throwing it away on blackjack or craps, I’d stashed it. Now, I fanned it out and told the ladies I was ready to have some fun. They all giggled, clapped, and bounced. I told myself this was what I wanted. I had the money and I was going to flaunt it.
"The party is on me, ladies. Literally on me, my lap is feeling lonely," I announced.
I was glad when the redhead dropped across my thighs first. Any sight of blonde hair made me think of Kya. So did the color purple, a beauty mark near one stripper's mouth, and the way another put her hands on her hips.
"No touching the girls," the mountainous bouncer barked.
"You mean like this?" I asked. I hoped he would haul me outside for a fight. Anything to stop thinking about Kya.
"It's alright, Roger, I like it," the stripper said. "He's got a soft touch for being such a hardcore fighter."
"That's right," I said. I tipped the tequila bottle and realized it was empty, so I smashed it on the floor.
A few of the strippers jumped away, careful to avoid me and the broken glass under their impossibly high heels.
"Another bottle over here and a clean-up in aisle one," I yelled. The bouncer approached again and I hoped he would grab me by my collar. Instead, he brushed some glass off a strawberry blonde in a blaze orange bikini.
I was saving the strippers from the broken glass by piling them onto my lap when I looked up and saw Kya. She stood, frozen, in the doorway. I was three deep underneath strippers and almost dropped my fan of cash in my haste to get up. One of the girls slipped on the spilled tequila and cried out as she landed on a piece of broken bottle.
"Sorry, move, move!" I said. I evaded the bouncer and ran for the street.
Kya disappeared into a waiting cab and refused to turn around. The driver shut the door and blocked me from knocking on the window.
"How could you do this to a beautiful woman? I hate men like you, don't know what they've got until it’s gone. Or is it that you think now that the challenge is gone, the excitement, that there is nothing left?" the cabbie asked. "You don't know a single thing about what it takes to make a commitment, what it takes to make a woman happy. And, you're going to lose her. You deserve to."
#
I woke up the next morning hungover and sore. Still, before I could assess the damage to myself, I thought of Kya. The look on her face was raw, and it rubbed my memory hard – disappointment, disgust, and a bone-deep sadness I recognized too well. Kya found out she was wrong about someone she cared for and it hurt more because she had cared.
Kya had cared for me. Enough to come find me after our argument. Enough to stick around even after I teased and pushed her. Enough to look for me after I made her uncomfortable.
I heaved myself out of bed and got dressed. I needed to find her. I knew I was the last person she probably wanted to see, but I had to face her. Kya had to know why I had gone to the strip club. It would be a painfully intimate thing to tell her, but that seemed a small sacrifice to see her green eyes again.
I pried open the door of my suite bedroom and my manager slumped into the room.
"What? Oh great, Aldous was right. At least, there was a reason I slept on the floor all night," Kev said.
"There are things called locks," I said.
"Yeah, but not on the outside. I'm trying to keep you from running off and burning any more energy. You remember you've got a match tonight, right?" Kev asked.
I felt sick and hoped it was just the tequila. "I have to do something first."
"Nope, no way, not happening," Aldous said. He appeared from my suite's kitchen with a specially blended drink. "You're going to finish this and then do everything else I say."
Hours later I was detoxed, primed, and ready to fight. I shadowboxed against the green room wall and waited for my music to come on. I had to pump myself up.
No one tells you what to do, you do it alone, you're going to take this Peretti guy, no one else in the ring can do it. Once you've finished him, it’s on to the big title, then you're a champion, then you can get the big bucks, I told myself.
I stopped and stared at my shadow. I should have signed endorsement deals all along. It hurt my career and especially my bank account to resist them. Besides, it did not matter. I had branded myself, sold myself into a hollow replica of my father – the lone wolf, the man that goes it alone, the fighter that doesn't need any endorsements paying his way.
I got in the ring, but I already felt a step off. Mario Peretti was fast, wings of the hummingbird fast, and I took a few hits right after the first bell. I shook it off, but could not rid myself of the feeling I had gotten into the ring on the wrong foot.
His leg snaked out and I just barely jumped back in time. Another inch and he could have gotten my knee. There were some injuries I could not come back from. We danced around each other again, but instead of thinking about his close and hard attacks, I wondered if last night's injured look was ever something Kya would come back from.