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.

As I was finishing up the door to the locker room clanked open, allowing the commotion outside to funnel into the room. I focused on my wrapped hands hovering in my lap. I didn't need to look up, I already knew who it was. The strong stench of gin wafted into the confines of the tight-fitting room.

"Hello, son." The sound of my sperm donor's voice caused the hair on my neck to stand at attention.

The stocky man stood in front of the door sporting glossy eyes and a shit-eating grin. I avoided his gaze. This fucker was already high as a fucking kite. He took a step deeper into the room. The already tight walls began to feel like they were closing in around me. I hated the effect this man still had on me.

"There's big money on the table tonight," he stated, chomping on the gum in his mouth. "You think you can handle it?"

Did it even matter? Whether I felt like I could take Two-Hit or not, he would ensure that I was in that ring by the time they announced my name. If it were up to me, I wouldn't have accepted this kind of matchup. Jordan Matthews was nicknamed Two-Hit for a reason. He was a force in the ring, and while he wasn't all that fast, he was known for knocking out his opponents with no more than two punches. It was fighters like Two-Hit that kept me on my toes. The ones that thought about their next move. Opponents with similar fight styles to mine.

I had to shake things up.

"Yeah," I bit out. "I can handle it."

He slid his grimy hands into his designer jean pockets. It reminded me that he was sitting in the lap of luxury and able to fuel his addiction while I was left to pick up the crumbs. I was like his dancing monkey in his own personal circus.

"Good," he said with a stiff nod. "That's what I like to hear. The boys upstairs are looking forward to it. We're thinking you should take it to the sixth round this time. Give the crowd a little more, you know?"

"Is that what you're betting on?" I asked, levelling him with a glare. "That I'll take it to the sixth round?"

He danced around the question, sending me another dazed grin. Then he turned toward the door, hand on the rusted knob. "I'll give you a bit extra this time around. Buy something nice for your mother."

A fuse lit within me. Andrew stepped in front of where I sat, placing a steady hand on my shoulder before I could rise from the bench. He and I both knew I was thinking about doing something that I might regret.

"The round starts in five. Good luck son," Claudio chuckled as he slipped back out into the chaos.

The door slammed shut behind him, rage pricking my skin. If I wasn't ready to hit something earlier, I was now. I rose from the bench, tossing Andrew the jar of petroleum jelly from my bag. Within a matter of minutes I was under the bright lights of the boxing ring.

Two-Hit had been introduced first. Being a fighter from out of town, he had a lot to prove tonight. He was tending to the mass of people who surrounded the platform we were on. He was putting on a show and the match hadn't even begun. There were some fighters that lived for the thrilled–the rush of adrenaline. These were the guys who were born for this shit.

I gave him a once over, inspecting for anything that could be used against him. He was a couple inches taller than me and if I had to guess I would assume that meant his arm span was longer as well. There was a good chance that in order to win the match I'd have to bring him down a few notches, which meant going for the legs.

The referee motioned us towards him. After a few brief words he gave the signal for the fight to commence. Our knuckles grazed before we retreated to our respective sides of the ring. I was right about his ability to strike at a distance. Two-Hit's reach was more than I could muster. It meant I had to keep my distance and continue to dance around the ring to avoid an onslaught. I was having a hard time staying out of reach. Hell, I was having a hard time landing a punch. I managed to land a few body blows, but I couldn't do much else without risking the fight ending before round six. Whenever I found an opening I'd lay a few blows to his legs, hoping the damage would add up over time.

By the middle of the third round, Two-Hit was becoming more impatient. He rushed me, catching me off guard and landing a punch to the side of my face.

By the fifth round I was running on fumes. I managed to close it out, for the most part, unscathed. The right side of my face was on fire, the pain receptors igniting in succession. I would have hated to find out the damage he would have caused if he had got me with his dominant hand. The metallic taste of blood pooled on my tongue and sent a wad of spit to the ring floor.

My chest heaved as I bounced from foot to foot in my corner, rolling my neck and trying to ignore the pain that radiated down my shoulder. This was it. Round six. I swallowed a thick ball that lodged itself in my throat and I gestured for Andrew to hand me my water bottle. The air was like sandpaper against my lungs. I was gassed. I just hoped I had enough left in the tank to get the job done.

Slipping the bottle back through the cage I made my way out of the corner. The ref manning the match waited for Two-Hit to do the same. Like me, his chest heaved as he approached the centre of the ring. He continued to move his weight from one leg to the other, but it lacked the pep it did before. The last five rounds had taken a toll on both of us. That knowledge gave me a little bit of peace of mind. The odds weren't completely stacked against me.

The crowd threw their hands against the cage as they cheered, urging us on. I took a moment to scan the audience and towards the booth reserved for my sperm donor and his buddies. I found my father standing, arms crossed, by his booth. He sent me a sadistic smile and dollar signs flashed across his face. I wasn't his son. I was his cash cow and there was no way he would let me out of his clutches.

He gave me a nod. It was an unspoken message to wrap things up. I contemplated the next steps, but my brain stilled when I caught sight of a familiar brunette in the crowd. I did a double take. It couldn't be. Cali was the last person I was expecting to see. She was the last person I wanted to see.

My arms dropped a fraction. I stood a little straighter to get a better look at the girl I'd been avoiding for the past week. Her face was twisted in fear and my stomach churned in response.

No. What the fuck was she doing here?

For a moment I forgot I was in the middle of a match. That was a mistake. The kind of mistake that gets people killed.

Something exploded against my template. Black spots filtered through my vision as I stumbled back, catching myself against the cage. I squeezed my left eye shut, a warm sensation trailing down the side of my face. That couldn't be good. Blinking rapidly, I fought to stay upright. I couldn't go down. Not like this.

Not in front of Cali.

Two-Hit bounced around, a few feet away, waiting for my legs to give out. When they didn't he charged forward, ready to deliver another blow. Side stepping out of the way, I raised my knee into his abdomen. Over the screaming crowd I heard him wheeze, the breath getting knocked out of him. He stumbled away, giving me time to shake the remaining dark spots out of my vision.

It was now or never.

Two-Hit came within range and I swung out a leg, knocking him to the rust-stained mat below. The moment his back hit the ground I was on top of him. I delivered blow after blow to his head until it lulled to the side and the ref's hands wrapped around my chest. I allowed him to pull me off of him and I stumbled back as he inspected the man on the ring floor. The world spun around me and I took a shaky step back. The frenzy that swept over the Pit was muted as everyone waited for the official ruling.

"We have a knockout!" The referee announced.

Exhaustion washed over me as the crowd went feral. Before the officials could even name me the winner I stumbled out of the ring, Andrew was waiting by the steps, lending me his shoulder as he guided me back to the locker room.

"I was hoping you wouldn't see her," Andrew muttered as he manoeuvred me around to support more of my weight.

I wished I hadn't either.

* * * * *

author's note:

First fight scene from Lincoln's perspective. Let me know what you think. In the comments rate it on a scale of 1 to 5 boxing glove emojis (other emojis are welcome). Next chapter is going to be Cali confronting Lincoln. I wonder how that's going to go... (:

Have an amazing weekend! Also, wishing all the Mamas out there a very happy Mother's Day!