Page 93 of Fighting Fate
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The O2 Arena is screaming around me. The lights are flashing, and I’m being taken back to that first night I met Rory, except this time, it’s not him sitting next to me. His name and his face are plastered everywhere, and every time the commentators read out his stats, my heart races a little faster. My chest tightens. My anxiety creeps up, pounding along with the adrenaline that’s in the air.
“It’s not too late to leave,” Orla says while chomping down on her mega bucket of popcorn. Maybe I’m having an off day and my growing appetite is taking a step back, but the thought of eating anything right now makes me heave. “Or we can go back to base camp and watch it on-screen. It’s not as intense.”
She’s sweet, and since we met a couple of days ago, she’s been glued to my side as my personal mixed martial arts encyclopaedia. For a girly girl, she is as clued in and passionate about the sport as Rory.
“It’ll be over in three to four rounds,” she tells me with a broad grin.
“Three to four?” Frank gives her a dubious look. “Really?”
“Maybe five. Johnson is barely out of Bellator, and he’s still lacking any refinement. Every move he makes is brutish, which only makes him slower and predictable.” She throws one of the M&M’s she’s mixed with her popcorn into the air and catches it with her tongue, crunching down before she muses, “That asshole will be lucky if he makes it to round two.”
“And you are not biased at all.” Frank ruffles her hair as he falls back into his conversation with Abby, who looks as anxious about her son’s fight as I am.
“You sure you’re all right?” Dad asks on my other side.
“Honestly, I’m fine.”
It’s what I’ve been telling myself all day since Rory kissed me goodbye this morning. It doesn’t help that he only told me what happened to his dad a few days ago after the sports news brought it up. Now that bruise on his mouth a couple of weeks back seems like nothing.
“She’s right.” He nods across me to Orla. “This is an easy one. Vegas is going to be the nail-biter.”
“I’m not sure you’re helping the situation,” Jake calls across him as the music gets louder.
My insides are vibrating, and I’m panicking that this is too much for me and the baby. Every drum of the music and roar of the crowd runs through me like an endless echo gonging around inside me. All I can picture is the footage of Rory’s dad collapsing inside a cage almost identical to the one in front of us. It was stupid of me to do it, but I just had to see it to understand fully why Rory is so scarred from it.
I should’ve listened to Beth and left it at what Rory told me.
“Here we go,” Orla shrieks as the lights spin around us in strobes of white and blue.
Every person in the arena stands, including the two security guys with us. One is sitting right behind me and the other in the row in front. Along with the hype of the fight and the pregnancy being out in the open, everything has been chaotic. Between the press and the endless mail, it’s out of control. I’m feeling like the most hated woman in the world, even though I’ve done nothing wrong and I’m just going about my life like every other person on this earth.
“Last chance to go hide out behind the scenes,” she yells over the noise of the spectators.
“No. I’m good right here,” I reply, patting my belly to settle the little man kicking about in there.
All of a sudden, the floor ahead of us starts to get crowded and claustrophobic. With one bright flash of light, the commentators announce Johnson, and their echo is pierced through with the chords of AC/DC’s “Thunderstruck.” A lump instantly forms in my throat as I recognise the song from the reels of various walkouts Rory’s dad did being played by the sports channel Dad likes to watch.
I’m not well versed in any of this, but it feels like an underhanded attempt to mindfuck Rory. When I glance at Orla, she’s staring ahead blankly. Her eyes are glittering with tears, and I’m overwhelmed by the anger that coils my insides tight.
“Son of a bitch!” Frank spits. His teeth are gritted as he holds Abby’s hand tight.
Her usual smiling face is twisted into an angry grimace. When our eyes meet, and I smile sympathetically at her, she looks like she might get up and leave, but instead, she pulls her phone out and starts furiously typing into it.
I’m not sure what she’s doing, but once she’s done, she gives me a terse nod, a small reassuring smile tugging at the corners of her lips.
The chorus runs through twice before they announce Rory, and the crowd roars so loud that my ears threaten to burst. I can’t help but take it all in as pride glows brightly inside me. It doesn’t matter how terrified I am of the possibilities, because my faith in him outweighs it all.
“’Till I Collapse” by Eminem pounds into the air. I’ve heard it so many times now that I’m singing along to it as I watch Rory walk out with Taylor at his side and Jan following behind, capturing his entrance for his social media.
Rory’s in the zone. With his eyes narrowed on the cage, he takes each step steadily. Even with his fists bunched at his sides and his expression staunch, my heart melts at the sight.
“You got this, Fight Club,” I keep chanting under my breath. “You got this, babe.”
The referee calls both fighters to the middle of the cage. From the look Taylor exchanges with Abby from where he’s standing with the rest of Rory’s team, I know something’s wrong. It’s all it takes for me to get tied up in all kinds of knots. I’m sick to my stomach as I watch the referee wait for Johnson and Rory to shake hands. The arsehole has a smirk on his face as he holds his hand out and waits for Rory to offer his.
He’s not going to do it.“What happens if he doesn’t shake his hand?” I ask Orla as the entire arena falls silent in expectation.