Chapter 3 - Leah Ortiz Was Ten Rows Away
Leah was not hiding.
That's what made it worse.
She sat ten rows above the competition floor wearing a black team jacket with another gym's logo across the back.
Older than I remembered.
Same dark hair.
Same narrow shoulders.
Same habit of bouncing one knee when she watched fights.
Three years ago I'd studied footage of that knee for hours because Mason told me Leah's timing started there.
Now I stood at the arena tunnel staring at her like she'd climbed out of a part of my career I'd already filed away.
Nora stood beside me.
“You know her?”
“We were supposed to fight.”
“When?”
“Phoenix.”
Nora frowned.
“Rachel, everybody on this circuit has been supposed to fight somebody at some point.”
“She withdrew twenty minutes before.”
“And?”
“Mason just tried to keep me out because she's here.”
That got Nora's attention.
She asked:
“What exactly is on the voicemail?”
“I haven't listened to the rest.”
“Good.”
I looked at her.
“Good?”
“Because if it involves event staff or another competitor, I want it preserved before people start editing their memories around it.”
I almost laughed.
“You sound fun at parties.”
“I don't get invited.”
She told me I could speak to Leah only if Leah agreed.
No confrontation.
No accusations.
No dragging her into the hallway.
I climbed the stairs.
Leah saw me when I was still six rows away.
Her knee stopped bouncing.
I stopped beside the aisle.
“Leah.”
She looked at the red mark on my hand.
News traveled quickly.
“I heard.”
“Can we talk?”
“No.”
That surprised me.
“Five minutes.”
“No.”
“Mason mentioned Phoenix last night.”
Her expression changed.
Not surprise.
Exhaustion.
She looked toward the floor.
“Of course he did.”
My chest tightened.
“You knew he'd say something?”
“I knew he'd eventually run out of people willing to carry it for him.”
Jake.
Maybe others.
I sat in the empty seat beside her without asking.
She looked at me.
“That's still a boundary.”
I stood again.
“Sorry.”
She almost smiled.
Almost.
“Better.”
I stayed in the aisle.
“What happened in Phoenix?”
She watched the mat.
A teenage division was being called.
Parents clapped.
Nothing about the room suggested careers had been bent in back hallways.
Leah said:
“Ask Mason.”
“He says I don't understand.”
“He's probably right.”
“That's not an answer.”
“No.”
She looked at me.
“You want me to say he paid me to lose?”
I felt my stomach drop.
“Did he?”
“No.”
Relief came too fast.
She saw.
“That made you feel better.”
“I don't know.”
“It did.”
She looked back toward the mat.
“He never asked me to throw a match.”
“Then why withdraw?”
Leah rubbed her palms together.
“My coach got called into a hallway.”
“By Mason?”
“And Jake.”
I looked toward the floor.
Jake stood near our team bench pretending not to watch us.
“What did they say?”
Leah smiled without humor.
“That Reed Combat suddenly had two invitation slots available for the winter showcase.”
I frowned.
“That had nothing to do with Phoenix.”
“Exactly.”
“What?”
“The showcase was invitation only. My gym had been trying to get athletes in for two years.”
I understood slowly.
“Mason offered slots.”
“He said he could recommend two fighters.”
“In exchange for you withdrawing.”
“He did not phrase it like a movie villain.”
“What did he say?”
Leah looked at me.
“He said my wrist looked bad.”
I glanced at her hands.
“Was it?”
“Yes.”
That complicated everything immediately.
“How bad?”
“Bad enough that my coach was worried.”
“Were you cleared?”
“Yes.”
“Could you have fought?”
“Yes.”
“Did you want to?”
“Yes.”
“Then—”
Leah cut me off.
“My coach was looking at a hurt athlete, two younger fighters who needed exposure, and a man who controlled access to a showcase.”
She shrugged.
“He asked whether I was really going to risk the wrist for one semifinal when the gym could get two future opportunities.”
“What did you say?”
“No.”
I stared.
“You said no.”
“First.”
“What changed?”
“My coach.”
She looked toward the floor.
“He said I was being selfish.”
I felt something twist.
“So you withdrew.”
“Yes.”
“Did Mason tell me you had a personal emergency?”
“I don't know what Mason told you.”
“He did.”
Leah nodded as though that fit.
I asked:
“Why didn't you ever say anything?”
“To who?”
“Me.”
That made her laugh.
Not kindly.
“You were celebrating.”
I flinched.
She continued.
“You had cameras around you. Mason's arm around your shoulders. Jake carrying your bag.”
I looked at the floor.
“You think I would've wanted that?”
“I didn't know you.”
Fair.
Then she said:
“You want the part you should actually be asking?”
I looked back.
“What?”
“Why Jake was in that hallway.”
My eyes moved toward him again.
Leah followed.
“Mason didn't need Jake to offer my coach anything.”
“So why was he there?”
“Because Jake had gotten the same kind of deal six months earlier.”
I turned back.
“What?”
Leah nodded toward him.
“Ask him what happened in Denver.”
Another city.
Another result.
Another piece.
I felt suddenly sick of tournament names.
Phoenix.
St. Louis.
Denver.
Leah leaned forward.
“And before you decide everybody but you knew…”
I waited.
Her expression sharpened.
“You should probably ask yourself why you never asked me what happened.”
That one landed.
I started to defend myself.
Couldn't.
I had won.
The bracket had opened.
I had taken the win and kept moving.
Leah looked back at the mat.
“Now we're done.”
I turned to leave.
Then she added:
“Rachel.”
I stopped.
“I didn't come today to expose Mason.”
“Why are you here?”
She nodded toward a young woman warming up below.
“My sister fights for another gym.”
“So Mason's terrified over nothing.”
Leah's eyes moved toward Jake.
“No.”
May you like
She shook her head.
“He's terrified because he tried to make me leave the arena last night.”
