A few beats pass before I give him a nod, sweat dripping off my hair and onto my forehead. After swiping the back of my covered hand over the damp skin, I continue hitting the bag in front of me. I know he’s right, and I’m damn thankful to be here. Without Cage and this opportunity, I’d have to tuck tail and go back to Dallas and get lost in the mix of Erickson MMA. With all the big names and bigger egos, that’s the last thing I want.
Even though Green Valley, Tennessee is a culture shock, it’s already growing on me and it’s the perfect place to buckle down and focus on my end-goal—be the best, no distractions, make it to the top.
I’m toweling off an hour later when I hear Cage call my name.
“Yeah?” I holler back.
“Can you give me a hand hanging this new bag?” he yells from the other side of the studio.
Recently, he acquired another portion of the strip of old buildings the studio resides in. It’s a great set-up. He and Tempest have turned the upstairs into great living quarters, and everything below is nothing but mats and bags with mirrors lining most of the walls. Eventually, Cage plans to build a ring in the middle of the new building, amping up his arsenal of training equipment.
Fuck, before he’s done, this place will be better equipped than Erickson’s. He’ll have enough space to host his own events. Being in the backwoods of Tennessee, there’s nothing like this for miles. You’d have to go into Knoxville to find something even close, but all of those gyms lack one thing.
Cage Erickson.
I might be biased seeing as how he’s my older brother and I’ve always looked up to him, putting him on a pedestal, but it’s true. Before his injury, he dominated the sport. Everyone wanted a piece of him even though they knew they couldn’t beat him. They just wanted the bragging rights: I fought Cage Erickson—The Fighting Viking.
I want that.
I want to be everything he was . . . but better. I’m going to fight smarter and be in it for the long haul. It’s all I’ve ever wanted. Now that I’ve paid my penance and finished college—something Cage never did—I’m going for my real goals.
“On my way,” I finally call back, tossing my towel down and jogging over to where he’s standing on a tall ladder, marking where to drill bolts into a beam that’s attached to the ceiling.
“Hold the ladder,” he instructs when I walk in. “This thing is shaky as fuck and if I don’t get this in, I’m going to Hulk smash this place.” He mutters continuously as he positions the bolt and begins to drill.
Hanging bags is something my brothers and I have done together for years and we usually make quick work of it. This time, though, is proving to be more difficult.
Cage has managed to strip a couple of bolts trying to drill them into the old steel beam and he’s getting more pissed by the second.
Meanwhile, I’m trying not to laugh and piss him off even more.
“You got a good grip on the bag?” he asks when he finally gets the bolt in and attaches the hook.
“Got it,” I tell him, ready to get this shit over with so we can go back to training.
As I’m holding the bag, I feel the tension give way. Instinctively, I look up just in time to see the chain whip through the air.
I try to drop the bag and guard my face, but I’m not fast enough. The impact of the chain hitting my face knocks me off balance and I fall to the floor with a thud.
“Oh, shit, man! Are you okay?” I hear Cage jump down off the ladder and the next second he’s kneeling down beside me, hovering. “Let me look at your face.”
“I’m all right, just a little stunned.” I hiss, pressing my hand to the skin and feeling a sting. “I might have a shiner, but those are a dime a dozen around here.” Sitting up slowly, I try to get my bearings.
Cage curses under his breath before rushing off. Seconds later, he tosses a towel at me with instructions to hold it to my cheek then grabs his phone and calls Tempest.
“Hey, baby. Look, we’ve had a bit of an accident in the studio and I have to take Gunnar to the ER.” His eyes grow concerned and he draws his brows together when I bring the towel away from my face and we both see all the blood. “No, I’m sure he’ll be fine, but I’d rather a professional check him out just to be safe.”
My stomach rolls as I register how the once-white towel is now bright fucking red. You’d think being a fighter, I would be good with blood, but this is more than I’m used to. Besides that, typically when I see blood, it’s usually coming from someone else. Not to be overly cocky, but I'm a damn good fighter.
“Keep that towel on your face, dammit,” Cage orders.
“Where the fuck is it coming from?”
Come to think of it, my face feels a little numb.
Cage grabs me by the arm and helps me stand, then quickly guides me outside to his truck.
Once I’m seated and buckled in, he jumps behind the wheel and takes off, tires screeching as we leave.
“You have to talk to me, man. What’s going on?” I’m practically begging for answers because all I know is my face is bleeding and we’re headed to a hospital somewhere. My brother’s silence, while probably soothing for him, is only causing more panic to rise in me.
“I think the chain that hit you must’ve had a jagged edge because it sliced the shit out of your cheek. I’m sorry, man . . . that’s on me.”
Hearing the worry in his voice is concerning.
I’ve always looked up to Cage, idolized him probably more than I should, but he’s always taken care of me. I can see it all over his face that he feels like he’s failed me somehow because of a stupid accident that could’ve happened to anyone.
“Shit, bro. I know you hate me being better looking than you, but you didn’t have to fuck my face up,” I say, trying to diffuse the tension with some humor. When he takes his eyes off the road for a second to look at me, I give him a wink and the best grin I can manage, but he doesn’t take the bait.
“It’s not funny, G. You could’ve been seriously hurt. It could’ve sliced your fucking eye or something . . .”
I hear the unspoken truth. It could’ve sliced my eye and taken me out of the ring—and ended my career before it ever got started. But it didn’t.
“It’s just a flesh wound,” I joke, quoting our favorite Monty Python movie. This gets a smirk out of him and I see his shoulders relax some.
“Where the hell is this hospital you’re taking me to?” I ask as Green Valley fades into the rearview mirror and nothing but trees frame the road.
“The closest hospital is in Maryville, about thirty minutes away.” He glances over once more, giving me a furtive stare. “Keep that towel pressed on your face . . . we don’t need you losing too much blood.”
I can’t help the laugh that escapes me, but I quickly shut that shit down. The splitting pain from my face moving is enough to make my stomach roll again. The initial numbness I was feeling is fading and now, I have to admit, I’m kind of nervous.
Put me in the ring with someone twice my size and I’m good.
Stick me with a needle and I’m the biggest pussy you’ve ever seen.
“Think I’m gonna need stitches?” I ask, sounding more like a kid than I’ve felt in years.