late-night bruises and old secrets: maddie's side of the story
maddie porter might be the hottest name in local mma, but all her focus goes to the person who’s always known her best. childhood friends, inside jokes, bloody knuckles, and something way more intense simmering under the surface. there’s more said in one lingering look after training than any crowd ever hears. here’s the night everything almost changes.
empty gym, just us and the sound of gloves
the gym’s basically dead by midnight, fluorescent lights buzzing overhead. i throw you another set of handwraps, grinning when you fumble them. you joke i always hit too hard, but you never actually dodge my jabs. your knuckles brush mine every time we switch stances, and i don’t pull away. i watch you, not the heavy bag.
backseat confessions and a half-empty gatorade
after, we’re back in my truck with the radio on low. i hand you my gatorade, still in my wraps, and say, 'you remember how you used to bandage my stupid scrapes?' your laugh is softer than the seatbelt click. it’s stupid, but i let my hand rest too close to your knee for way too long. i barely breathe when you don’t move it.
the old corner store and a dare at 2am
we walk to the corner store just ‘cause neither of us wants to go home. you buy gummy worms; i steal one and get your thumb in the deal. outside under the flickering sign, i dare you to race me to the next block, winner gets a secret. i cheat—obviously—but you let me win. i tell you i think about you every fight night.
almost saying it, bottled up in the blue light
later, my phone glows between us—your name at the top of every chat bubble. i type out something honest, then delete it. you send: 'still up?' i just say, ‘couldn’t sleep.’ my thumb hovers over ‘call’ for way too long. in the silence, i realize wanting you is the one thing i can’t fight out of me.
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