When the ref throws his arm down, Ryder bursts forward, met with Young’s violence in a series of punches and kicks, both men hitting each other in waves of power, their bodies flexing from head to toe to counter such extremes.
Then, Ryder dodges a punch with such speed that I swear Young’s arm goesthroughRyder, countering by slamming Young onto the mat, restraining him and twisting his arm behind his back in a very technically complex pin. Ryder’s skin stretches against flexed muscles, his cords of strength twitching and moving to maintain dominance.
Young cries out, veins swelling in his forehead and neck as he strains, Ryder using all of his weight to ensnare Young until he slaps the ring’s floor.
I stand and clap as the ref calls it a victory for Ryder, Andrew cheering in his corner as Ryder’s hand is raised over his head, his body gleaming with sweat. Tiff and I swiftly share a hug before bouncing up and down.
The fights really become official today.
The announcer says, “There we have it, folks. Joey Ryder is officially back to MMA fighting, representing a small gym named Rhino MMA. Young is out only twenty-nine seconds into the second round. No doubt, Ryder will give us one hell of a performance when competitors like Legends, Marshall, or Beckett fight our man.”
Tiffany yells out, “They said your gym, babe!”
My smile falters as I realize Tiffany was screaming out to Jeremy. But it’s good—this is healing. It has to be. It’s important to finally feel good about the bittersweet moments.
Andrew escorts Ryder away, who doesn’t stay behind to gloat or put on a show; that was never his style.
With excitement, I yell, “Alright, I gotta go down there now. Text me!”
Tiff pulls me in for a parting hug, and I shimmy past the other fans, a few so caught up in their cheers they nearly hit me.
I overhear commentary from the crowd, and more than one person mentions how excited they are to see Ryder return, how they want to meet him—and as I wait for someone to move—I even hear someone mention looking up Rhino MMA.
Imposter syndrome grips me, only to be beaten away by memories of my brother.You got this, Jules. You have to.
The announcers broadcast another fight as I depart, roaring cheers erupting behind me when I head backstage by show my badge.
The first room is near the walkway that the fighters will use to enter the stadium, ground level with the arena. I glance out at the stage when I get a chance. The stadium isenormousfrom the ground floor, and withso many peoplewatching. It’s similar to a gym meet in terms of pressure, but this blows that out of the water. I can’t imagine going out there to fight for so many people, let alone knowing that it’s televised.
A door muffles the thundering crowd once I’m inside, and I pass by all the other fighters who wait their turn.
Many of the them look me over with questionable motives, but I’m not bothered. They always do that when their adrenaline pumps. As long as they don’t touch me, I’ll ignore them. One of the benefits of having so many fighting men is if one acts out, there are ten more to defend me. At least, in settings like these. I don’t necessarily trust underground rings.
The longer I’m in there, the more the scent of sweat permeates—my heart skips a beat when I recognize the backside of Ryder as he sits on a bench, Andrew leaning down and speaking to him.
Ryder surveys the room, his gaze latching onto me when he spots me. Once standing in front of my champion, I ask, “How are you?”
Ryder runs a towel over his face. “Fine. Fucker punched me hard in the ribs, so that’ll hurt, but nothing serious. At least he didn’t land a liver shot.”
“As long as nothing’s broken,” Andrew chimes in.
I take in Ryder’s body underneath the fluorescent lighting. “Well, congrats on the first round of many!” I commend with a wide grin. “But really, does anything hurt? Feel off? How are your knuckles?”
“I’m better than I expected,” he affirms. “Nothing that won’t feel better in a month.”
He stands and rolls his shoulders forward, giving me one last, long side glance before going to grab a water bottle, chugging it as his entire muscled gut moves todrink. He glances back at me, those hooded blue eyes, broad lips, and sharp jaw captivating me in thrilling ways, but Andrew interrupts whatever consumes me with a pat on Ryder’s back.
“Fucking hell, that was great. Just what we want.”
I ask, “So, not next month, but the one after he fights?”
Andrew nods. “Yeah. It’s like that all the way up until Hell Week, where it’ll change to fighting every other day for a week.”
I shake my head. “Damn. That’s going to be so rough.”
Andrew, hardly fazed, replies, “Yup, but that’s why you’re here.”
He eyes me with unnatural approval, but I take it.
