Tapout (The Submission Fighter Book 3) Read online

  So far, she hadn’t found much to be afraid of. She attempted positivity at every turn, attempting to smooth the huge folds between the employer and the employee. While Alice realized that Pete would never forget, she had hoped he would let go. And for the most part, he had seemed to do that. Slowly, he had begun talking to her again. He had allowed schedule changes and was flexible about her hours. Instead of putting her to task doing dirty work, he trusted her again to pick up her shifts like the pro-waitress she really was.

  Still, being in the locker area with him left her feeling vulnerable and unguarded. The hairs on the back of her neck instinctively rose at the root.

  He sat down on a white plastic chair across from her; his legs folded one on top of the other. He stared at her, as she twisted the knot of her hair. His voice, slow and twangy, broke through: “Listen, Alice. I’m real sorry about everything.”

  Alice took two steps back. The last thing she was expecting from him was an apology. She staggered, as she replied, “There’s nothing to apologize for. We both did wrong. I just want to get back on a good foot.”

  “No, I really do need to apologize. I was an ass, a real big one. I shouldn’t have put you in that position that night, and I should not have disrespected you. You told me it straight, and I was too stubborn to listen.” His voice was firm, as if he had practiced his speech many times before.

  “And I’m sorry about the punch. I really am. I did not ask Micah to do that.” Alice wasn’t sure what she should apologize for herself, but she did feel obligated to own up for Micah’s actions.

  Pete held up his hand to stop her. “Yeah. I thought you didn’t have much to do with it. He seems like he does what he wants and thinks about it later.”

  “That would be him.” Alice was unsure if she was agreeing on an insult or if she was just admitting to her boyfriend’s character flaw. Either way, it did not excuse his violence.

  “Let’s just start over. I want us to be okay.” Pete stood up and offered his hand out to her. She looked at it hesitantly and then shook it firmly as she stared into his blue eyes. “After all,” he continued still holding onto her grip, “if you get us that much publicity every time you’re out and about with him, I can’t stay mad.”

  With that, Pete dropped her hand and walked out of the room confidently. Alice watched as he went back into the kitchen to bark orders at the other waitresses checking in for the lunch shift. She sat down in the chair he had abandoned and pondered his last sentence. What did he mean by “publicity?” What “publicity?” Where was this all coming from? She was at a total loss.

  Alice touched up the final bits of her lipstick and tucked some strands of hair in place. As she stood, she smoothed out the wrinkles in her shorts and tied the black apron loosely around her waist. It was time to claim her domain.

  Pete gathered the three waitresses together in a huddle. Caroline was there, as Alice had expected. She was sporting her usual uniform—dark makeup, a dirty t-shirt, shorts, and a piss poor attitude. She chomped spastically on a piece of gum, as Pete assigned Caroline her tables and Alice was given the coveted spot up at the front servicing the bar area.

  “Why is she getting special treatment? The bar countertops are my space.” Caroline’s hands were on her tiny hips, as she eyed down Pete and Alice as if they were in on the conspiracy together. Pete brushed her off, ignoring her question altogether as he reviewed the lunch specials and handed out break times. The small group broke, and each headed out to their respected areas.

  Alice settled into the bar area quickly. Working this area gave her time to chit-chat with regulars and be a bit more social than if she was running from booth to booth. She could see why Caroline, who hated breaking a sweat doing anything outside the bedroom, loved this territory. Each of the customers Alice served was friendlier than the next.

  One customer in particular seemed especially perky, yet needy that day. Whenever Alice had a second, he would jostle for her attention. He requested more napkins, needed some water, wanted to know what food she recommended, and asked to see a menu the second time. She was more than happy to oblige.

  However, when he begun to ask her questions, Alice couldn’t help but become a bit suspicious. Sure, a customer would occasionally ask her about her personal life. The really flirty ones would even go so far as to ask her information about her boyfriends (despite not having one until recently). Others would ask about her accent or where her family was located. In either case, she was fine giving a vague answer and moving about her day.

  But the man seemed to only pile it on. First, he asked her how long she had been working at the Tick Tock. It was pretty innocent, so she answered truthfully. On her second round, it was more along the lines of “Why do you like being a waitress?” and “What do you do in your free time?” When he finally approached the relationship question, every bit of her screamed that there was something more sinister going on.

  She began to watch him closely. She had been on the shift for nearly three hours, and he had been at his spot the whole time. It was not unusual to have a regular sit around for an extended period of time. But for an out-of-towner, this was something brand new for Alice. He ordered coffee; then an appetizer. His main meal came out an hour later. Then, he stuck around and ordered dessert after dessert. And with each plate delivery, he began to eye his waitress more boldly and ask more pointed questions.

  Alice placed a piece of carrot cake in front of the man, as he bent over a small white notepad, furiously writing away with a small, golf sized pencil. She tried to eye what he was doing, but he kept his arm protectively around it. What she could see, however, was the fold of an old newspaper sticking out from under his brown coat. The pages of which had been tabbed and folded over.

  After some time, the man went off to the bathroom. Curious and anxious, Alice picked up after him, including swiftly grabbing the newspaper he was concealing. She took the stack to the back of the kitchen where she unfolded the paper on the countertop of the silver metal prep table.

  It didn’t take long for her to understand the man’s true intentions. On the front page of the Steubenville Wire was a picture of her boyfriend Micah after his victory at the quarterfinals. But he wasn’t alone. Instead of showing him in action or his hand being lifted in triumph, the shot was something completely different. It showed Micah, covered in blood and sweat, with his arms tiredly draped over Alice’s tiny body. Her face was concealed by Micah kissing her passionately. The headline read: “Local Fighter Brings Romance to the Ring.”

  The article attached to the image was brief, but what it said made Alice’s senses tingle. Something was not right:

  Micah Anderson, 28, has been rising in rank as a contender for MMA national and international titles. Best known for his powerful blows, his quick takedowns, and his ability to defeat some of the top fighters on a local stage, he has always been thought of as the resident bad boy. However, Anderson has gained a new claim to fame: “Ring Romeo.”

  After defeating his opponent in an amazing comeback, tap-out victory in the quarterfinal of the Breakthrough Invitational, Micah did not stick around to hear his name announced. Instead, the lovesick Lothario ran out of the ring to passionately embrace a woman standing in the front row of the enamored crowd.

  The object of his affection is believed to be another local woman by the name of Alice Cross who works at the Tick Tock Diner. Insider sources say that she has been dating him for the last several months and is the main reason for his sudden rise to MMA stardom. Another source believes that Cross may be behind Anderson changing his coaching team so suddenly due to a conflict of interest.

  Anderson will fight at the semi-final rounds of the Invitational in Chicago, IL against legendary fighter Tomás Alredo. The match will be aired live on SSN channels. While eyes may be on the match, we know others will be scanning the room for Anderson’s real life Juliet.

  Alice crumbled the article and its glossy, intimate image in her hands. While part of her was
glad to be done with the sneaking around and the hidden romance that had plagued their relationship with issues, she still couldn’t help but feel exposed. Micah finding her in the crowd that evening was one of the best moments of her life, and now it wasn’t just hers; it would be shared by everyone with a newspaper or access to the Internet.

  Frustrated, she tossed the ball of newspaper into the trash with a slam. As she turned around to return back to her shift, she spotted Caroline leaning against the brick wall of the kitchen. A devious grin stretched across her taut and tan face.

  “Can’t handle the fame, eh?” She raised her hand, pointing out the trash bin where Alice’s paper laid at the top of the stack.

  “Excuse me? Are you talking to me?” The last thing she wanted was to even tolerate Caroline’s snarky attitude. Yet, she approached her roommate and former friend, unafraid of what would happen if she got too close.

  “You wanted this, Alice. You wanted to snag yourself a celebrity, and it looks like you got one. I would call you lucky, but I know luck had nothing to do with this.” Caroline’s eyes scanned Alice’s body slowly, implying way more with the way she sneered.

  Alice shoved past her, uncaring of what the likes of Caroline had to say. As she walked out the door and back into the dining area, she could hear Caroline calling after her, “He’ll get bored with you. You’re just another piece of side trash wannabe. You’ll see. You’re nothing to him.”

  Her words cut through her, and the sight of the curious note-taker returning to his barstool made it all so much worse. Alice approached Pete, as he chatted jovially with Caroline’s boyfriend, Jace. She whispered that she was going to take a quick break. He looked at her concerned as she powered past him. A breeze kicked up behind her with her speed.

  As she retreated to the back alleyway, she slumped up against the side of the building. Out of sight from the crowds and the passersby, she allowed herself to slowly sink down to the warm, gravel ground. Images of her beating came to her, as she ran her fingers through the tiny bits of dirt and stones.

  Despite the memories taking over her mind and clouding her vision, she couldn’t help but also think of Micah and the article that she read. “Lothario?” “Ring Romeo?” This couldn’t be the image that he wanted to conjure up when he stepped into the octagon. It was certainly not a nickname that created fear or allowed him to hold on to that bad boy image he loved.

  Alice’s presence was once again destroying his. Despite all that the two had fought through and survived, if Caroline was right, it was only a matter of time until he understood that.

  Chapter 3: The Interview

  “This is freaking stupid, Chris,” Micah said, annoyance dripping from his lips. The schedule in his hand had laid out his day, and nowhere in it was any mention of actually working out or practicing. Instead, it was a list of names and times. Each name had number that corresponded to a resume stapled together on a clipboard in Chris’s hands.

  “It’s not stupid,” Chris replied sternly. “You have to interview these guys. Each one. You cannot be coachless going into the semis. It’s just not possible.”

  As one of Micah’s few friends and closest confidants, Chris had quickly become Micah’s favorite sparring coach. To Micah, it only made sense to stop pretending that he was not just going to give Chris the job to replace Dean, his former head coach and trainer. But Chris was insistent. He wanted better for Micah despite the fighter knowing that he was not leaving this gym until they had settled on a contract.

  Chris led the way, as he ushered Micah into the office at the back of the gym that Dean had just moved out of. Micah could still smell the old man’s cologne and the faint smell of cigars. It was as if the ghost of his former coach still resided despite everything that had happened over the course of the last few days.

  Once Dean had lost his contract with Micah, the gym had fired him almost immediately. The ownership had sided with Micah, as they realized just how much of a pain and fame hog the man had become. His penchant for letting journalists into the sanctuary of the gym had angered more than just Micah. Other fighters and athletes took note and complained frequently about the lack of privacy Dean had created by making the intimate gym a spectacle rather than an actual training zone.

  Micah also quickly realized how much leverage he would have on the gym owners, as well. Losing someone as big as Micah when his career was just about to take off on a national stage would not sit well with any owner, especially when it meant their name would no longer be announced on camera and at almost every major MMA event in the immediate future.

  So, it seemed that while Dean was replaceable, Micah certainly was not.

  Now, Chris and the rest of the crew had lined up a group of trainers and coaches from across the state to come in and interview with Micah. Most were names that had been floating around the MMA scene for years while others were relatively new—trusted friends of a particular coach or someone whose time had passed with another fighter.

  Micah took a seat in a leather armchair across from the window. Swiveling around to the desk, he looked down at his blank sheet of paper. There was only one question written down on it: “How would you make me a better fighter?” That question seemed like the only appropriate one to ask. Everything else that his crew had prepared him to ask seemed so fake, such as, “Describe a time when you worked with a difficult person.” Micah could work with anyone who was worth the time.

  Chris opened the door to his office and sent in the first candidate. Burly and stout, the man was more hair than skin. He smelled of a stale locker room, and the sweat stains on his shirt were not a convincing look. Micah asked him his one question and waited as the man stumbled to give an answer. When he was done, Micah stood up and showed him the door. No other words needed to be spoken.

  His friend came in soon after, not with another candidate, but with a sharp reprimand. “Micah! Come on. That was Chase Lahley! He trained Erik Donners and Kelly May. You gotta give him more time than that.”

  Micah stared at Chris with a puzzled expression, not truly understanding what he meant. “More time? Aren’t I just wasting my time just sitting here not training? I don’t understand the point. I just want to hire the person I trust most and get on with it.”

  “How do you know you can trust them if you don’t actually let them speak?” Chris fired back.

  “I let that guy speak and all I heard was crap. I don’t need bullshit.” Micah rose to his feet and placed his hands on his shaved head, rubbing the skin back and forth. Chris waited patiently for him to calm down and sit back in his chair. When he was ready, he looked up at the young man and asked him the one thing he had wanted to since he fired Dean, “How would you make me a better fighter?”

  “You know the answer,” Chris answered immediately. “We’ve talked about it a ton. To be a better fighter, you need to work on your reflexes. You’re too slow on the backswing. You put your body at risk for blow after blow by not being quick to duck. You’ve got great technique in terms of quick moves, but you just haven’t mastered the art of getting yourself out of the way.”

  Micah smiled. “Yeah, and what should I do training wise?”

  “Get in the goddamn ring and actually practice taking hits from people instead of spending your entire time showboating around with pretty boy tactics like takedowns. You mastered those years ago. No need to show off.”

  Micah was ready to pull the trigger on the whole thing, but another question popped into his head. “Fine. I’ll give you that. But I have another question for you.” Micah looked down at the stack of papers on the desk. Buried under a messy stack was a newspaper clipping Micah had ripped out just hours ago. He pushed it towards Chris and watched as he read the article and looked at the image.

  “I want to know,” Micah lowered his voice, “what you think of this.”

  “What do you mean?” Chris was there in the stadium when Micah had jumped the ship and ran towards the girl in the front row. He had seen this girl befo
re. She had been at a couple of practices, and he remembered her from a few non-tournament matches. But really, she had not registered anything to him.

  “Do you know why I fired Dean? I mean, do you know and understand the real reason behind it?” Micah understood the rumors around his camp to be that Dean was mismanaging his career. It was a half-truth he had made up to get through the fight and explain away the coach’s absence to the press. “He set me up. The girl, the girl in this photo—this is Alice. When he found out about her, he convinced her to break up with me for the good of my career. I managed to win her back, and he spent weeks trying to plant other women to seduce me and to get me in trouble with the media. I need a coach that actually gives a shit about me and not about this petty crap. Alice isn’t gonna be negotiable anymore.”

  Chris sheepishly spoke, “I didn’t know that was going on.” He held up his hand, flashing a gold band on his hand. “I’m married. I get it. I’d probably kill the man who tried to come in between me and Rebecca. But, I have to say man that he had a point.”