Page 47 of The Right Garza
Trent ignores the opener on the tray and retrieves his own from his back pocket, one of those compact knife things that also has wine and bottle openers. Quick and confident, he pops the caps, pours our beers, then forks over cash for them.
Tall and Tattooed leaves with the cash and empty bottles. I suppose, at the end of the day, the bar needs to make money as well. In a place this wild and rowdy, it would certainly be easy to get off with serving watered-down beer laced with God knows what.
So maybe Trent has a point. But still…ugh.
WhileMaggieand I chat about the fight that just ended, Trent positions himself behind my chair again. The roaring noise has died down to wild chatter and mid-level music, while two men clean up splattered blood from the fighting cage.
“We should have known Tripp would turn out to be a fighter,” Maggie says after taking a gulp of beer. “He was such a brawler and shit-starter in high school.”
“I know ri…” My words trail off in a hitch as the tips of Trent’s fingers make contact with the nape of my neck and gently drag in a slow circle.
Deliberately.
What the hell is he doing?
Goosebumps raise all over me. I don’t react, not wanting to draw Maggie’s attention to it. Also because, well, maybe I don’t want him to stop. Maybe the confusing things I’ve been feeling of late aren’tjustme.
So, subtly, instead of pulling away, I lean back into the whisper of touches at my nape and carry on talking with Maggie as if nothing out of the ordinary is happening. I allow myself tofeelthis time instead of fight.
Even if only temporarily.
Around ten minutes later, the building erupts in roars again as the next fight is announced. Randy “Krush Kid” Harper versus Tripp “Skull Bruiser” Garza.
Cue Maggie and me jumping up from our seats and rushing toward the railing overlooking the cage.
“Krush Kid” is introduced first, and he darts out through the crowd like a Tasmanian devil on crack while a heavy metal song blasts through the speakers. When he back flips into the cage, the crowd goes wild.
“Well, that one’s a scary ball of wild energy,” Maggie comments, eyes blown wide.
Tripp is introduced next, and he strolls out with far less energy than his contender. Ripped, mean, and unerringly confident, to Fall Out Boy’sMy Song Knows What You Did in the Dark.The crowd goes nuts.
“Looks like he’s a favorite,” I mumble.
After he’s undressed and checked by his team, he just steps up into the cage without fanfare. Cool and collected.
Cocky ass Garza.
As the referee talks between the two fighters in the cage, Trent comes up behind me and his large, warm hands settle on my hips.
I don’t step out of his touch, but I don’t lean into it either. Without a doubt, something is happening here, between us, and I’m not sure how I feel about it. Or if I should evenwantto feel anything.
The bell dings, the referee slices his hand through the air, and the fight begins. Krusher Kid is fast, but Tripp is calculating and traps him without fail every time.
Tripp wins the first round, but Krusher wins the second round with a pin to the ground that Tripp held out on without tapping out. Trent’s fingers dig into my skin the entire time, as though it’s hard for him to watch his brother being trapped like that. I resist the urge to place my hands over his and squeeze in assurance.
In the third round, Tripp attacks without mercy and in less than fifteen seconds, he knocks out his opponent with a swift but unerring flying knee.
“YES!” Trent explodes from behind me, piercing my freaking eardrums. “Motherfucking KO!”
Shouts the man who supposedly “hates the sport.” I can’t help smiling.
Celebrating his victory, Tripp jumps up on the fence of the cage, straddling it, and beats at his chest. With an abrupt pause, he lifts his hand above his eyes to shield them from the light, and I can tell the moment he spots us. He points a finger right in our direction and grins proudly, then makes a show of flexing his muscles.
Maggie and I scream and wave back, bellowing his name with the rest of the crowd.
Reporters and promoters spill into the cage, and what ensues are lengthy acknowledgments and Q and As with both fighters.
Trent pokes my side. “We should get a head start out of here before it gets crazy.”
