Page 18 of Unexpected Pickle

Three months later

Oh, this is very different from watching MMA fights on TV.

I grip the arms of my seat. Hex is in the Octagon with somebody who goes by Grim Keeper. And Hex is not beating him handily like he did in the clips I’ve watched since we got together at the chef retreat in February.

Hex took some time off from live fights, building strength and perfecting some new moves to help him as he advanced to the circuit that gives him access to a run for the heavyweight title.

Next to me, Max is gripping his seat as hard as I am. On the other side is Jo “The Hurricane” Jones and her husband, former heavyweight MMA champion Colt McClure. And beside him is, from what I understand, the real royalty, Colt’s father, “The Cure” McClure.

I should probably be impressed, like I’m sitting next to Beyoncé or something, but I mainly judge these people by how friendly they are. Colt and Jo are great. The Cure, I’m not so sure about.

Jo leans in. “So it looks like this is going to be a points match.” She’s figured out I know next to nothing about MMA. “Both Hex and Grim are going to go for blows that run up the score.”

“Hex won so cleanly in the matches I saw before. He barely had a scratch on him.” That’s not so true tonight. His cutman has already had to “glue” two bleeding injuries so the match could continue.

“He’s in the big league,” Jo says. “It’s going to be exponentially tougher.”

The crowd cheers as Hex lands a kick hard enough to make Grim stagger back. They’re both tired. I can see it in how they grip each other’s heads with their slender MMA gloves.

The ref wanders the ring, calling out information I can’t quite understand. The noise is deafening.

I turn to Jo to see her watching me, like she’s trying to figure out if I can handle what I’m witnessing. “This is the moment you figure out whether you love what Hex does, or if you’ll only tolerate it.”

I hold her gaze for a moment. It’s easy to see that she was a fighter herself.

Her light brown hair is pulled back in a no-fuss braid.

She wears a UFC T-shirt, her wiry arms pure muscle.

She hasn’t fought for years, same as her husband, but they still work out every day.

Her younger brother Hudson, who I met before the match, is still in the circuit as a flyweight.

He’s compact like Jo, nothing near the monster size of Hex and Grim and Colt. But these people are seriously tough.

The crowd roars again, and I turn back to the ring.

Hex has knocked Grim back into the ropes.

I breathe easier for a second. Jo’s right.

This is a big night—not just because I’m here in Vegas watching Hex in a live fight for the first time, but because this is his world, and I have to decide if I want to enter it completely.

I’ve taken time off from Max’s deli to dive deeper into sports nutrition.

It’s extremely tailored for each athlete, far more than I ever expected.

Metabolisms are wildly varied. And by the time you factor in allergies, sensitivities, and personal preferences, no two plans are alike.

But if I can’t stomach this part—supporting my clients by attending their fights, paying attention to when they seem to flag, brainstorming a food regimen for fight day that will help them reach their goals—then it isn’t the life for me.

Grim recovers from his stumble and seems to have renewed energy. He comes for Hex in a blazing fast round of punches that have me gripping the seat again.

But I see it. Hex isn’t used to fighting this hard for this long. He needs to adjust his intake. We need to assess what is mixed into his water during the match. What he eats in the final hours before he goes in the Octagon. Everything.

I look at the spectators. They are way into the fight, screaming and jumping up and down. We all stand up as the clock continues to tick down for this final round.

Colt’s mouth is in a grim line, like he’s tallying points and it’s not looking good for Hex. Jo’s arms are crossed tight over her chest. The Cure is shifting his shoulders as if he’s in the fight himself, his hands in fists at his sides.

I look back at Hex. Dig deep, big man. Find that inner reserve.

And almost as if he hears me, he does. He throws uppercuts and jabs, then makes a wild spinning kick that makes Grim stumble.

“He’s got to get the TKO to win,” Jo says. “He doesn’t have the points.”

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.

When I reach him, he puts both hands on my waist and lifts me up like I’m a tiny ballerina. Once again, I feel right next to him, like he’s my perfect fit.

He clasps my hand and we lift them together. And I get it. He’s saying I’m part of why he won. Whether I’m the girlfriend or the chef, I’m part of this world. I’m worthy. I’m the one to know. Part of the team.

It’s what he promised. I can do this work, be in this sport, with him or beyond whatever happens with us. He’s giving me this moment to assure my place.

But then he turns to me and clasps both my cheeks with his big meaty hands, stripped of the gloves but still covered in wraps.

And he kisses me in front of everyone, the crowd, his friends, the cameras, the millions of people who are watching now or will see the clips later.

And I know I was always worthy. He didn’t make that. He just led me forward so that others could see. Like Max did with the jobs he got me. Like my father did when he was trying to get other chefs to take me on.

Nobody was trying to diminish me or fix my problems.

I didn’t have to fight it.

I can accept the victory. I deserved it all along.

I get it. It took the adrenaline, the fear, the wildness of a night like this for me to really take it in.

Hex pulls away to look at me. Cameras flash. He’s going to be the new sensation. The one they want to watch rise to the top. And I’m going to be with him.

“I love you, Jeannie Young,” he says. “Was tonight okay? Are you with me?”

I nod, trying not to gasp with the well of emotion. “I’m with you.”

He draws me against him, sweaty, shiny, and bleeding from at least eight places. And I don’t care. We exit the Octagon together, passing the team ready for the next fight.

And I know I’m in this now. With his man. This career.

Win or lose, this is the life we’ll choose together.

Thank you for reading this crossover novella!