Learning to Live

Chapter 43

Hunter's fight was on a Friday night. The buildup to it in the media was insane. It seemed nothing existed in the world other than his comeback fight after two years of hiatus. Everywhere I turned, Hunter's face was on. Social media, news, TV shows, billboards.

Hunter had to be in the venue early, so he went ahead of me. I took the afternoon off, and Jason, Scott and I drove to the arena, which was located a two hour drive from the city limits.

The parking lot was bursting with cars. Fortunately, Hunter had given us VVIP tickets, which included a parking spot in the underground parking lot.

Jason, Scott and I went inside. It was my first time in an arena. Though I watched the fights at home, the experience in the arena was entirely different. The place buzzed with a heady energy. Jason and Scott got the celebrity treatment from staff and spectators alike. I slunk behind them. People were filming them. I didn't want my face to be plastered all over the place.

The fights hadn't even started yet, but the noise of the spectators was deafening, swallowing the thuds of the music. We made our way to our section, and I sat between Scott and Jason. My knee started bouncing as soon as we sat down. I hadn't been overly nervous this past week, but now that I could see the cage and the blood-hungry crowd, my insides were all twisted up in knots. The fence around the octagon looked ominous.

"Relax, your asshole is going to kick his butt," Jason said, patting my knee.

"Right." I let out a shaky breath and looked around.

Melissa walked down the red carpet between the VIP seats, heading straight for us. She caught my eyes and waved me over.

"I'll be back," I said and joined her.

She linked her arm through mine and weaved us through the comers and goers, heading outside. "Hunter wants to see you. How do you like your seats? If you want to change them, let me know."

"We're good, thanks."

Melissa lead the way through a private hallway. The giant manning the entrance let us in without glancing at the ID around her neck. There were less people here, the atmosphere was less boisterous. The posters along the walls melted together into a blob of vaguely recognizable faces as we walked past them. I recognized a few fighters as we wound our way through the hallways.

A group of people stood chatting right outside one door, on which Hunter Jamison was scrawled on a white nameplate.

"Hunter doesn't like people bothering him before the fight," one of the guys standing around said, glaring at us. His friend, whom I recognized from his visits to Hunter's gym, slapped him upside the head and mumbled something.

Melissa just rolled her eyes, knocked and cracked the door open. "Go in, Sapphire."

I closed the door behind me, shutting out the voices and the faint hum of music. The room was a rectangular space with gray walls and floor, posters of Hunter and old fighters all over the walls. In their midst was a red poster with black writings: UFC Team Jamison.

A blue matt was set in the middle of the room, and on a gray L-shaped couch sat Hunter. Leaning forward, his elbows were on his knees, his head lowered, and his dark hair shaded his face. He was already dressed for the fight, in shorts, his hands wrapped. He looked up. His eyes were dark and focused. They had that look in them. The one that promised violence. It receded when he saw it was me.

He sat up, smiled and patted the spot beside him.

"Hey," I said, taking a seat.

"Hey. Nervous?" he asked. His voice was low, calm.