Page 55 of Unexpected Pickle
Technical knockout. The other fighter has to be knocked out, or else be so spent that he can’t defend himself. Then the ref will call the TKO.
And Hex seems to know it. He comes at Grim with an energy that surprises me. It’s like he’s on fire.
But I smile to myself. I’ve seen this, late in the night, when we both think we’re exhausted after hours in bed. Then we get a second wind. We’ve discussed it the day after, wondering if we hit a new glycogen store, or if our bodies moved to burning fat, or the liver released some calories.
But right now, I’m with The Cure, mimicking the hits, throwing my elbows. “Come on, Hex!”
Twenty seconds left.
“Is he making up the points?” I ask Jo.
“I don’t think so. It was a big deficit.”
So it has to be a knockout.
His attack is working. Grim looks, well, grim. He’s not fighting back, stumbling, trying to get a grip on Hex to slow him down.
This looks closer to boxing than MMA, but then I see the blow that matters. Hex gets a sharp hit to Grim’s chin, sending Grim’s head flying back.
“That’s a concussion,” Colt says. “Come on, Hex! Bring him down!”
But he doesn’t have to. Grim falls back, flat on the mat.
The ref drops to his knees to check him, then raises his hand, palm out, and calls, “Stop the fight!” into the microphone.
Mayhem ensues. Hex turns in a circle, his arms up. His cutman rushes into the ring. Then his coach.
I turn to Jo. “He did it?”
She’s clapping. “He did it!”
Hex turns to us, seeming to search the crowd. We’re only in the second row.
Jo pushes on me. “He wants you up there.”
“What? Me?” My whole body flashes hot.
“Yeah. Go!” She steps back to let me pass.
“That’s allowed?”
“Come on.” Colt takes my elbow and leads me to the aisle. The security surrounding the ring parts for him with a nod.
When the crowd sees Colt, the cheer gets even louder.
We wait at the edge of the Octagon. I’m glad Colt is with me. I wouldn’t have known what to do.
It takes two men to help Grim stand, then the referee gets between him and Hex, clasping each of their arms. He lifts Hex’s and my ears feel blown out with the roar of the arena.
Grim staggers off with his manager. The ref comes to the stairs and opens the mesh.
“Okay, now,” Colt says, pushing me past the ref.
When I stand at the edge of the ring, I’m not sure why I’m there. I’m just a girlfriend. I look nothing like the ring girls in their tiny outfits. Nor the female fighters, muscled and fierce. I feel large and awkward and very much out of my element.
But then Hex sees me and holds out his hand.
My vision narrows to only him. The noise quiets to a dull echo, like I’ve gone underwater. I step forward.
