Page 2 of Phoenix's Redemption
"Time!" The ref stepped in just as the world began to tilt. My vision blurred at the edges. “KO.”
I didn't need to see the big monitor above the ring to know defeat was marked across my face. That image would make every sports website and news show before the night ended. I groaned. The word would get out: Liam O’Connor lost by technical knockout to a rookie.
My team got me out of the octagon and the arena. The locker room was a cold slap of reality. My injured wrist swelled as I removed my glove.
“I got this.” I used my good hand to shoo everyone off. Cody and Ryder gave me doubtful looks.
“You’re not serious,” said Ryder. “A doctor should look at you. You might have a concussion.”
“Your head’s scrambled and your wrist is shot.” Cody was a man of few words, but when he spoke, his words were as hard-hitting and blunt as a brick.
“I told you, I got this.” I grabbed an ice pack from the small fridge near the entrance and stuck it on my wrist. “You can go.” When they remained standing, I grumbled and looked at them through narrowed eyes. “What else?”
Ryder’s disapproval remained stuck on his face. “You got a new team member. We were going to introduce you after the match.”
“I don’t have time tonight.”
Ryder and Cody exchanged glances before they filed out, leaving me alone in the locker room.
Stinging disappointment clung to me, heavier than any sweat-drenched gear I peeled from my body. This was supposed to be an easy win tonight against a newcomer. Instead, I was left cradling a possibly broken wrist.
"Shoulda seen it coming," I mumbled, words slurred with pain as I sank onto a bench.
"Looks like you could've used better intel out there."
A woman’s voice cut through my self-pity, sharp and unexpected. I looked up. She stood eight feet away, her unapologetic stance in the doorway of the men's locker room. She had dark brown wavy hair that framed her oval face and skimmed her shoulders. Her light brown skin glowed under the fluorescent lights, and her deep whisky-colored eyes locked into mine like a challenge.
"Who are you?" I managed to ask.
"Sophie Brooks," she said, a hint of a smile playing on her full lips. "You and I have a lot to talk about, Liam."
She already knew my name, but of course, it wasn’t a big secret since my fight with Wyatt had been plastered all over the screens and posters in this small town. I got a good look at Ms. Brooks as she entered the locker room like her name was on the building. Sophie was about five-six, but her confidence made her appear taller. She wore a red Warriors Den gym t-shirt thathugged her slim figure and a pair of jeans that accentuated her curves. I couldn’t look away.
"This is the guy’s locker room. Who said you could come in?”
She crossed her arms over her chest, eyes steady and assessing like she was used to dealing with anyone who stood in her way. "Don't worry, I'm not here to gawk at your bruised ego. Or anything else."
This woman had boldness by the barrel. "Great. I get to be lectured by a stranger now?"
"Wouldn't dream of it." Her cool gaze flicked down to my beat-up wrist. "That needs attention, whether your pride likes it or not."
"Thanks for the concern, but I've had worse." I shrugged to show the injury was minor, though even the small movement made me wince.
"Sure." Skepticism laced Sophie’s voice. "I'm sure you'll handle it just as well as you handled that last punch."
"Look, I don't need—" I started to protest, but she held up a hand.
"Save it. I'm not here to play your nurse, and I’m not about to let you throw away your spot in Fury Combat because you're too stubborn."
The words felt like another blow, this one landing squarely on my already wounded pride. What game was the league playing with me?
"You’re surprised.” She read me without me saying a word. Her left brow arched elegantly.
"Confused more like," I admitted. "The league usually tells me when they're shaking things up."
"Consider this your heads up then," she replied, no hint of apology in her tone. "Starting tomorrow, we work on what went wrong tonight. We’re going to get you ready to represent FuryCombat at Heartland Fight Fest in a few weeks. The first order of business is getting that wrist looked at."
She knew all these things about the business and the upcoming tournament. How? Who was she? My wrist was a throbbing mass of pain beneath the ice pack I stuck on in place of proper medical attention. The locker room's sharp smell of bleach clung to my nostrils as I tried to focus on anything but the dull ache radiating up my arm.