And he does.
I know it the second he sees me. I feel his eyes on my face like a touch. It’s as though there isn’t a field of people between us, as though there aren’t a million eyes on him. For a tenth of a second, it’s just Rogan and me. Our connection sizzles with electricity as he brings one fist to his mouth, kisses the knuckles and holds it out to me.
To me. He holds that kiss out to me.
Everything inside me melts. Even as people turn to see who he’s giving such a public nod to, my heart thunders, my pulse races and my face breaks out into a smile that I can’t stop. It comes from too deep, it speaks of something too beautiful to hide.
This man. God, this man!
I don’t know whether to laugh or cry. Or do both.
How can he do this to me? Make me feel so much with such a tiny gesture?
After a few seconds, he drops his hand, bumps his fists together and smiles that cocky, lopsided grin that makes my stomach turn flips. And, judging by the response of the ovary-possessing portion of the crowd, I’m not the only one. There are a couple of girls sitting close to me that I worry might faint. I wonder briefly if they think he might’ve been motioning to one of them. I don’t know, of course, but a guy tells one of them to sit down before she falls down. When she does, I see that her face is pale and streaked with tears.
This fan business is some serious stuff.
As the two fighters enter the ring, the announcer explains that this is a fight to benefit a charity called A Way Out, a safe haven for abused children, and that no title will be awarded, yada yada yada. I’m even more anxious for Rogan to win now, now that I know why the charity is so close to his heart.
After that part, the announcer starts to become more animated, drawing out certain words as he gives the information on the challenger, Daniels. He goes through weight and titles and his nickname. I think everyone is as impatient as I am for him to get to Rogan.
When he does, the announcer pauses, like he knows the anticipation is rising to fever pitch. I can almost feel it vibrating through the bodies in the stadium like a living thing.
“And in the corner to my left, weighing in at two hundred nineteen pounds, wearing his signature black and green, the reigning UFM heavyweight champion of the world, Kieeefer ‘The Rain’ Rooooooogannnnnnn!”
Another deafening roar as Rogan bounces out, turning three hundred and sixty degrees in the center of the ring before facing off with his opponent. The guy who I’m assuming is the referee gives them some kind of “protect yourself and listen to me” speech before asking them to tap gloves.
As the fight starts, I’m recalling the research I did about this sport. I watch them dance around each other, taking shots called jabs, I think, and kicking out with their knees. Not much is connecting yet and, based on the grin Rogan is wearing, I’m guessing he’s not overly worried that any might. It seems as though he’s toying with his competitor.
I read that this guy, Daniels, will be one of the next in line to challenge Rogan for the heavyweight championship, but this particular bout doesn’t count. This is more of an exhibition type thing, just for charity. But it’s still strong in the back of my mind what Johns, his trainer, said about not wanting to see this kid eat him for breakfast. That must be why my fingers are curled into such tight, nervous fists that my knuckles ache.
My eyes are glued to Rogan when, all of a sudden, like lightning striking a tree, he steps in and punches Daniels. The blow is so hard that it whips his head viciously to the right. Obviously Daniels wasn’t expecting it. He reels backward, shaking his head to try and clear it. The crowd cheers Rogan on, but he doesn’t take the bait. He just grins at them and steps back, giving his opponent time to recover. I’m sure this isn’t the way he normally fights. The point would be to take advantage of Daniels’s addled status and take him down. But since this is for charity, I’m sure Rogan wants to give them a good show.
Daniels finds his way back to the center of the ring, his left hand raised to protect his face from Rogan’s potent right hook. They engage in their dance again, advancing and retreating, Rogan the fierce cat playing with his prey.
Daniels punches at Rogan several times, but he doesn’t land even one strike. Rogan dodges each one like he can see it coming just a fraction of a second before Daniels decides to throw it. Rogan’s muscles bunch and shift under his skin a moment before Daniels attacks, moving him out of the way as smoothly and effortlessly as water flowing over rocks. He’s quick and graceful. Fluid. Amazing to watch.
Rogan’s opponent reaches in to grab Rogan around the neck. I’m a bit puzzled at first as to why Rogan would let him, but the guy beside me yells excitedly, shouting, “That’s just where you don’t wanna be, asshole!”
I return my attention to Rogan just as the crowd starts to shout again. Bring the rain! Bring the rain!
I can see just enough of Rogan’s fierce expression to know that he isn’t playing with Daniels anymore. Things just got serious.
Both men are still in the center of the ring, Daniels gripping each side of Rogan’s neck, Rogan’s hands on Daniels’s shoulders. They hold each other like that for several long seconds. The chanting, the anticipation, the energy of the crowd—it all collides to bring my nerves to a jangling crescendo. And then, in a movement that is so perfectly executed, so blindingly fast, Rogan kicks with his knee, slides his other foot behind Daniels’s and has him on his back in the blink of an eye.
They are a writhing mass of slithering limbs and grappling hands, and I’m unable to make heads or tails of their form until Rogan pushes out with his legs. I hear the excited cries and shouts of the people surrounding me. I see them coming to their feet and cheering, so I know something significant is happening. Then I see Rogan stretch out nearly full length at an angle to Daniels’s body, his legs wrapped around his opponent’s upper body and Daniels’s arm being pulled up between them. Rogan, holding tight to his opponent’s arm, continues to stretch back, a little at a time, bending the joints in a way that makes them look deformed. Daniels’s face is bright red as he reaches toward Rogan with his free hand, punching haphazardly.
Something happens and Rogan loses his grip, Daniels’s arm slipping out of his grasp and almost free of him completely, but Rogan bends forward, smashing his fist into Daniels’s face in four rapid-fire strikes. Even from a distance, I see blood fly as Daniels’s head bounces against the mat with a thud I’m sure I could hear if the crowd wasn’t so wild.
My stomach clenches and, for a moment, I’m caught in a time and a place where I felt the impact of fists, where I was held down so that I couldn’t escape. The fear, the incapacity, the remembered pain flood my body with a sick adrenaline that causes my hands to shake and perspiration to pop out across my forehead.
I blink my lids, forcing my eyes to focus on the present, on where I am, on the fact that I’m safe. But the feelings are still there, too intense to be part of my past. It’s like they leapt out of my nightmares to become a reality to me again.
My chest feels tight as I watch Rogan regain control of Daniels and pull his arm through his legs again. “Arm bar! Arm bar!” the man in front of me yells. Rogan shows no mercy this time. He stretches back, his face a stony mask, and relentlessly contorts Daniels’s arm.
I see Daniels tap the mat with his free hand. The referee makes a gesture and says something that I can’t hear, causing Rogan to release his opponent and jump to his feet. He won.
His stance says he’s the victor. The crowd says they had no doubt.
I study Rogan’s face. Gone is the fierceness of only seconds before, replaced by the confident smile that won my heart. He never had any doubt either. He’s in his element when he’s in battle. And I’m in my own personal hell.