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37

Lincoln

The solid metal door of the underground locker room was no match for the cheering crowd outside. It would be time for me to make my entrance soon. I removed the earbuds from my ears, trying to bring myself into the zone. Fighting in the Pit was much different than the college matches I participated in with Fenton. Those fights were monitored by a number of officials. There were strict rules put in place when the NCAA revoked the sanction they had put on college boxing. In college you played by the long list of rules or you were out. There was a zero tolerance for bullshit.

The Pit had no rules. If you weren't careful you'd wind up dead.

The underground fight club was not exclusive to boxers. It was for MMA fighters across the United States–even sometimes from out of the country. The people who ran this joint had their money hungry hands in everybody's pot as well as up everybody's asses–including the city's police chief. That's how the Pit was able to operate, undetected under one of the state's most prestigious post-secondary institutions. This place was a money magnet with next to no ruling authority.

It attracted a lot of sleazy characters.

"How are you feeling?" Andrew asked from across the cramped room.

His back was up against some worn lockers from the university's newly renovated hockey facility and I cursed myself again for not forcing myself into another sport. Maybe something with more equipment or less ways to be useful in illegal settings. It wouldn't have mattered anyways. My father would have found one way or another to exploit me for his own personal gain.

"It's funny," I said without a lick of humour. "I'm always trying to find a way to feel nothing before a match. Now I finally do."

The past week without Cali had been my own version of hell. Ignoring her calls and texts were like a stab to the heart. I was half shocked she hadn't showed up to the gym and pulled me to tutoring by my ear. In a way, I was happy that she didn't. Avoiding her calls was one thing, but staying away from her in person was something I didn't think I could do.

God, she must have hated me.

The cavity in my chest tightened a fraction. That was probably for the best. It would be easier for her to let me go if she did. She was the lucky one. I wish I could hate her; that I still harboured the same feelings I did when she first walked into my life and threatened to rat me out to Whitmore. I wasn't smart enough to trick my brain into reverting back.

Fuck, I missed her.

I missed her doe eyes, her bubbly demeanour, and the way she chewed her lip when she was focused on something. I missed the way she cared about everyone around her–no matter how well she knew them. I missed how cute she looked when she got angry and how patient she was when I wasn't understanding something for Hamilton's stupid course. I missed how she would come over to tutor me and ended up hanging out with Sadie. I missed the warm, fuzzy feeling she gave me. The idea that I could do so much more with my life.

Cali was a beacon. She signified hope. She was a promise that things wouldn't be shit forever. For a while, I believed it. But being forced to let her go made me realize just how stuck I truly was; trapped at the bottom of a hole that no one was able to drag me out of. After trying for so long I had finally tuckered myself out. I was exhausted. I was numb. I had to learn to come to terms with it. The shitty thing was, before Cali waltzed into my life, I almost had.

Sweat began to seep through my shorts. The air in the Pit was heavy and I couldn't wait to get out of there. Banishing all thoughts from my mind I rewrapped my hands for what felt like the tenth time. Pre-match habits die hard. While I was twisting the dirty bandage around my wrist Andrew stood in silence. He knew the last thing I needed was a pep-talk.