5 Rounds by Nikki Castle
Remy
I'm surrounded by bubble wrap and moving boxes when Hailey walks into my apartment later that day. She stands in the doorway and looks around in shock.
"How do you have so much kitchenware for someone that can barely make a grilled cheese?"
I glower at her as I clear yet another drawer. "Very funny. We can't all be Gordon Ramseys, you ass. And I'm perfectly capable of following any intermediate recipe, hence the many kitchen appliances. Now grab some bubble wrap and make yourself useful."
She rolls her eyes and takes her sweatshirt off. She grabs a box and helps me pack the last few drawers in my kitchen.
"How was Jax feeling this morning?" Hailey asks me as we move to the cabinets.
I roll my eyes. "How do you think? He didn't leave his bed until 2:00, and even then, it was just to pay the Chinese delivery guy." I shake my head, remembering the image of an ogre-sized Jax hidden under a blanket opening the door to a wide-eyed Chinese restaurant employee. "I will never understand how he's so bad at drinking when he does so much of it at work conferences and happy hours. How does he keep his shit together for work the day after a bad party night?"
"Your guess is as good as mine," Hailey chuckles.
I reach for the mugs in my designated coffee cabinet. "You seemed pretty buddy-buddy with Lucy last night," I comment. "What were you guys talking about?"
Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Hailey's flinch. I straighten with a frown and turn my full attention toward her.
Recognizing that I'm now expecting a real answer, she starts to fidget with the bubble wrap in her hands, avoiding making eye contact with me. After a long few moments, she takes a deep breath and meets my eyes. "We were talking about long term relationships," she mumbles.
My frown deepens. "What about them?"
Hailey turns back to look at what's in her hands again. "Just about what changes are normal when you've been with someone for a long time. Lucy's been in long term relationships and has seen both good ones and bad ones, so I picked her brain for most of the night." She pauses. "There have been a few things that feel different with Steve lately, and I just wanted to get her opinion on whether or not I should be worried."
I grimace, turning back to the cabinets in an effort to hide my reaction from her. We've always been close to each other and have never hesitated to share something, so the fact that she's talking to someone else hurts me a little. But I want to be sensitive about this, so I don't want my discomfort to make her feel guilty about going to someone else.
Still, I can't help but ask, "Why didn't you want to talk to me about it?"
She finally looks at me, the guilt clearly showing in her eyes, and I've already decided I can't be mad at her. For anything. "It's not that I didn't want to talk to you, I just… Lucy has experience with this kind of stuff. And you… I know you say you can know everything about your compatibility with a guy in a few months but that doesn't exactly make them long-term relationships. I just didn't think you'd have anything to say. I'm sorry." She hangs her head in shame.
I sigh and climb off the ladder so I can drop myself into the pile of bubble wrap next to her. We're not exactly an affectionate family, but we're open enough to give each other our undivided attention when we talk like this. I want her to know I'm here for her and that she can talk to me about anything, even if she thinks I'll have nothing to say. We know from watching our family that keeping shit bottled up only makes problems worse.
"Do you want to talk about it now?" I ask her softly, punching her lightly in the leg. Mock violence is the extent of any affectionate contact in our family.
She cringes but gives me an honest answer. "Not really," she says softly. After a moment she punches me back. "I'm just really confused and kind of embarrassed about the whole thing, so I didn't want to tell you. But I also don't want to keep you in the dark since I know it's not fair to talk to other people and not you."
I don’t say anything. I just wait patiently, giving her time and space to share what she wants.
"Things are just… weird right now," she explains, nervously wringing her hands in her lap. "I can’t really pinpoint why. That’s why I was talking to Lucy. I was trying to figure out what things are usually like after the honeymoon phase."
I wince and pull my knees up, wrapping my arms around them. As much as I want to tell Hailey she should break up with the guy if she doesn’t want to be with him anymore, I also recognize that she's the only one that can make that decision. If I give her my honest opinion, she'll probably just interpret it as me doing my usual jump-ship routine.
"Are you unhappy?" I finally ask her.
She sighs and leans back against the cabinets. "That's the thing. Not really. I'm happy like 85% of the time. The other 15% I just feel kind of moody and uncomfortable. Which doesn't sound like a bad ratio when I say it out loud. I mean, no relationship is perfect, right?"
"I don't know, Hailes," I tell her honestly. I tighten my arms around my legs and study her thoughtfully. "The only thing I know is that you deserve all the happiness in the world, so if he's not giving you a massive amount of that then he isn't good enough for you."
I see her swallow roughly as she nods and looks down at her hands again. I can sense she wants the conversation to be over, so I try one last shot at honesty.
"But what do I know, I'd jump ship the second Bennie the Bat entered my mind," I shrug.
Hailey laughs and I swear that sound makes my heart happier than any other.
Still chuckling, she reaches for the box that she’s been packing my kitchen utensils into. I take her cue and stand to finish my own boxing.
"So, when are the movers coming?" Hailey asks as she tapes up the box, ending our heart to heart. I let her, knowing it's not the last we'll talk about it, but also that I won't push until she makes her own decision.
I can't help the laugh that bursts out of me. "Movers? I practically live at a gym full of massive men. I have the pick of any muscle I want." I reach for the half-filled box of plates.
She flashes a big grin at me. "Yes, you do."
I glare at her over a stack of boxes. "Don't even start. Jax will lose his shit if he hears you’re ogling any of the guys again."
"Trust me, I know," she mutters.
"Plus, I'd rather just pay the guys," I continue. "Aiden and Dane are both college students so I know they could use the money. They're coming on Saturday to move most of my shit to a storage locker, and a few boxes over to Jax's place. Once I have the keys to the new apartment, I'll pay them another few hours to move it all." I roll my eyes, once again reminded how inconvenient this whole double-move thing is. "Again."
Hailey winces when she has the same thought. "Hey, at least you got a great deal on your new apartment. Your new place is so cute, I'm actually jealous that you found it so cheap."
I sigh, propping my hands on my hips and looking around my apartment. "Yeah, but I think I'm going to miss this place. This was the first apartment I ever got on my own. It's weird to think I've been here for almost three years. I feel like these walls have seen the biggest phases of my life: post-college existential crisis, moving from the arts to Corporate America, God knows how many shitty boys, all of it." In a moment of uncharacteristic emotion, I pout at the sudden sadness that overcomes me from reliving those memories. "Fuck, I really am going to miss this apartment. Goddamnit, Dan."
Hailey stops wrapping bubble wrap around the mug in her hands and gives me a sympathetic look. "Just think of it as a new chapter. A better one. You've always said your life gets better with every year, maybe what comes next will be even better than the memories you have right now. Starting with that insane kitchen and the wall-to-wall windows in your new apartment."
I sigh and drop my hands in defeat. "I hope so," I mutter.
* * *
A week later, I'm parking in front of Jax's house and dragging my last suitcase behind me.
I stop in front of the door and take a deep breath. "It's just ten days," I mutter to myself. "I can do this."
When I finally push the door open and walk in, I immediately hear that the guys already have the fights on. They've also started drinking, which means they're both screaming at the TV.
"Ah come on, I saw that head kick coming from a mile away! I can't believe you just got caught with that!" Jax throws a hand up in annoyance. He chugs the rest of his beer and slams it on the side table, which is littered with empty beer cans.
I roll my eyes at their dramatics as I hang my jacket up and walk into the kitchen. "You want another one?" I ask Jax over my shoulder. For the first time in a while, it's only the three of us. Typically, there's a whole horde of fighters lounging on the couches.
"Yeah, thanks," he mutters, distracted.
"You're not going to ask me if I want one?" Tristan teases. "If we're gonna be roommates then we should at least be amicable."
I glare at the back of his head as I grab two beers from the fridge. "As far as I'm concerned, you and I will live entirely separate lives for the next ten days and will try as hard as we possibly can to ignore the other's existence." I walk around the kitchen island and hand Jax his beer. "Basically, every man for himself," I declare as I throw myself on the couch.
Tristan grabs the beer from my hand. "I don't know if I can abide by those rules," he grins. "You're way too fun to infuriate." I try to take the drink back from his hand but he's too damn long for me to even come close to my target.
I scowl and cross my arms over my chest. "How is it possible for you to be this much of a child?" I jump over the back of the couch with a huff and stomp into the kitchen for another beer.
"I'm a child?" Tristan says, his hand placed mockingly over his heart. "I'm the one who's trying to put our differences aside and be civil to each other!"
I hear Jax groan and drop his head into his hands. Honestly, I feel the same way. Both of us can see right through Tristan's charade. There’s not an ounce of him that actually wants to be friends, he's just enjoying pissing me off.
"Sorry, asshole, that ship has long sailed," I snap as I drop back onto the couch—this time as far away from Tristan as I can be without actually sitting on the armrest. "You said goodbye to our friendship the second I walked into the gym and assumed that just because I was a girl, that I was lost."
He chuckles, probably remembering how mad I had gotten. "In hindsight, I don't know what I was thinking. There's no way your body frame could be a ballerina."
Jax yelps in surprise. "Tristan, are you kidding me?!" he yells at his best friend. "This is how you want to start with her? Dude, she's going to kill you!"
I shrug off Tristan's comment. Weight and body type are common topics at martial arts gyms, since weight classes are a very large part of fighting. I'm not nearly as sensitive about my weight and muscular frame as I used to be. As it turns out, my ass and thighs are actually a benefit to my fighting style—especially when it comes to wrestling and jiu-jitsu.
“My body frame has gotten me five gold medals in local jiu-jitsu tournaments,” I grind out.
Tristan smirks and takes a swig of his beer. “You would have a lot more if you’d get out of your head and stop losing to girls you have no business losing to.”
My eyes narrow as my body starts to bubble with anger. He’s not wrong, but it’s annoying that he’s noticed my main training flaw.
"I could still submit you in under one round," I snarl at Tristan.
His eyes light up in gleeful surprise. "Did you get punched in the head too many times this week? In what world do you really believe that's true?"
Without a word, I stand up and cross my arms—offering a clear challenge.
His face splits into a wide grin. He hands Jax his beer, who is now cringing at what he knows is about to happen.
"You two have exactly one round. Joe's fight is starting soon," he mutters to us.
There's a reason the guys don't have a coffee table in front of the TV. Because inevitably during fight nights someone will decide they want to fight. Whether it's wanting to try a move or simply to get out aggression, their friends always end up rolling around on the ground at some point.
MMA is made up of several martial arts: boxing, Muay Thai, wrestling, judo, jiu-jitsu, and a dozen others. We train mostly Muay Thai—which is basically kickboxing with knees and elbows—and Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu at the gym. Jiu-jitsu is a mix between wrestling and chess with the human body. The goal is to use your and your opponent’s body to force a submission with either a chokehold, an armlock, or a leglock. It’s the ultimate self-defense sport because by definition, size and strength don’t matter. Technique is the only thing that matters. It’s also very low risk because there are no punches or kicks being thrown, which is why it’s the go-to activity whenever people want to fight in the house.
Tristan and I square up in our wrestling stances. I haven't trained with him in a while since he's switched to training during the day, so I'm not actually sure what I'm in for right now. Obviously, I know that he's a pro fighter, so way more skilled and dedicated than me, but I also have faith in my own skills. And my scrappiness.
We circle each other and fake a few shots at a takedown. The grin on his face grows and I realize my face has probably morphed into an expression of sheer focus and determination. He knows he could destroy me at any point but he's enjoying playing with his prey a little longer.
Sure enough, when he shoots for a real takedown, he gets it pretty easily. I land on my back but recover my guard quickly, wrapping my legs around his waist to keep him from being able to pull away. He tries to create space but my ‘non-ballerina frame’ makes it hard for him to unlock my legs.
As I think about what I know of his fight game—and what I could possibly beat him with right now—I realize that he's still just playing with me. He's very clearly not taking me seriously. He's making rookie mistakes, moving slowly and leaving his arms out for me to easily trap.
Anger starts bubbling through my veins.
In a quick motion, I put one foot on his hip and push off so I can swing it around to trap the arm that he's lazily left out. I grin triumphantly because I can instantly feel that it's a solid attempt at an armbar.
The grin drops from his face and I see his eyes flash in surprise. It takes him a few moments, but he manages to free his arm from my grasp.
Not to be deterred, I use his escape to immediately swing into another submission attempt. This time I trap his other arm and wrap my legs around his neck and shoulders, effectively working to strangle him with my legs.
This chokehold isn't as close of an attempt as the armbar was, but I'm still pretty proud of the speed at which I flipped from one move to the other. I always loved that jiu-jitsu is so strategic—to win you have to anticipate your opponent's moves and be three steps ahead.
It doesn't take Tristan long to escape this submission, either. He shifts toward the side of my body and pulls himself out of my trap. Except now, he's in an even stronger position on top of me because I don't have my legs controlling him.
He quickly manages to throw his leg over my waist and straddle me. In jiu-jitsu this position is called the full mount—and it's undoubtedly the worst position to be in.
Tristan sits up slightly and grins when he sees my angry expression. He knows he's in the best spot to finish our little match.
In a final attempt at a Hail Mary, I trap his hands and bump my hips up as hard as I can. Since he doesn't have his arms to brace with, my motion rolls us easily. And now I'm the one on top of him.
"All right, assholes, round's over," Jax calls. "Joe's fight is starting."
I grin triumphantly down at Tristan. I know technically neither of us won, but a part of me feels smug seeing the shock on Tristan's face. He almost looks impressed.
"You're too cocky for your own good," I smirk. "If that was a points match, I would've won. That's what you get for not taking me seriously." I stand up without offering him a helping hand. Grabbing my beer, I curl happily into the couch to watch the fight starting on the TV.
I hear Jax snicker. "She's right, dude, you could've beaten her if you weren't playing around the whole time."
Tristan glares at his best friend and stands up. But he doesn't look even a little bit embarrassed. He just shrugs and saunters over to his spot on the couch with the same cocky smirk he had on his face a few minutes ago.
We watch in anxious silence as our friend Joe appears on the TV screen. It's Tuesday night and we're watching an MMA reality show where fighters compete for a contract in the UFC: the biggest MMA organization in the world. Philly is finally starting to make its mark in the sport, which is why we were all so excited to hear Joe got the call to be on the show.
None of us say a word throughout the entire fight. Jax is definitely the closest to Joe, so I know he's concerned for his friend's success. The guys at the gym like to joke that watching each other fight is actually worse than the nerves of their own fights. Which seems absolutely bizarre to me, though I know it's true because I see how they all act with each other.
I can tell Tristan is watching the fight from a fighter's point of view. He's analyzing the strategy, the style, everything that makes the big leagues different from the local circuit he's currently running in. Being undefeated and the champion in one of the local organizations, it's no secret that he's eagerly waiting for his call from the UFC. He gets closer with each victory but for now, he continues to study the televised fights.
Joe ends up submitting his opponent in the third round with a chokehold. It's a great fight, and we all breathe an audible sigh of relief.
"Thank God," Jax mutters. "The gym would've sucked tomorrow with a loss hanging in the air." He yawns, then turns to us. "Okay, I'm going to bed. I grabbed an early flight tomorrow, so I'll be gone by the time you two wake up. Remy, I'll try not to be too loud in the morning."
I snort, both of us knowing there are very few things in this world that can wake me from a dead sleep.
Jax takes turns glaring at Tristan and I. "Okay, then I will say this one time and one time only." He points an angry finger at us. "I love you both, and I really, really don't want to come home to a funeral, or the house in pieces. Neither would make me happy. So, if you could somehow find it in your hearts to keep the soul-piercing barbs to a minimum, that would be great." He smiles, the look of a scolding parent now gone. "Other than that, enjoy your time together."
I roll my eyes, knowing that is the opposite of what I'll be doing while I’m here. I glare at Tristan, conveying my displeasure with my eyes. I nudge him angrily with my foot.
"Get up, I want to go to sleep," I growl at him. Since Jax is still here tonight I decided I’m going to sleep on the couch, which means I need Tristan to leave. "And don't you dare try any stupid pranks while I'm out in the open like this because I swear to god, I will make your life a living hell for the next week and a half."
He lets loose a bark of laughter but stands up anyway. "I'm not sure why you think I'm going to abide by your made-up rules in my own damn house, Remy," he says, shaking his head.
"Oh, dear god," Jax mutters, rubbing his eyes. "This was the worst idea ever." With a final glare in our direction, he says, "Don't make me regret this."
He starts up the stairs, Tristan right behind him, when Tristan turns around to wink at me. "Goodnight, Remy baby."
I launch a pillow at his head. "Goddamnit, stop calling me that!" I shriek. He chuckles and disappears up the stairs.
I settle back on the couch with an angry huff. Pulling the blanket up to my chin, I think about how I'm probably going to be throwing a lot of pillows for the next ten days.