He spotted Tate over in the corner getting his hands wrapped with tape, and he dropped the subject.
Maybe the guy had something serious going on and wouldn’t be able to fight in a sparring session all week.
“All right, let me get geared up,” Tommy said, and snatched up his headgear.
“No gear. Get your hands taped, your gloves on, and that’s it.”
Tommy stared at his coach with a frown. “This is a sparring session, right?”
Mike sucked on his teeth for a second before saying, “No. You’re fighting.”
Tommy’s mouth dropped in surprise. “Mike, what the hell’s going on?”
“I need to see what you’ve got. Tate is a good opponent for you, for me to gauge how far you still have to go.”
“So this was never about me being an opponent for him?”
“It’s for both of you. Tate needs the practice, too, and you are a good match-up for him. I’m killing two birds with one stone. So get out there and give me, and him, everything you’ve got.” Mike looked at Tate, who’d walked up to join the conversation. “That goes for you, too. Don’t be easy on him.”
Nerves hit Tommy, and he hated the moment of weakness. This was important. He didn’t have time for nerves. But he felt them nonetheless. He inhaled deeply, then breathed out, cleansing the anxiety away and focusing on what he had to do.
He didn’t want to put on a good show. He didn’t want Mike impressed with his progress. He didn’t want him coming back with a list of things he needed to work on.
He wanted his coach to be confident that Tommy “Lightning” Sparks was back, and there would be hell to pay.
Which meant he had to beat Tate. And beat him good.
One of the other guys taped Tommy’s hands and shoved his gloves on. He warmed up for five minutes, then Mike called him and Tate over. After a quick smear-down of Vaseline over their faces and their mouth guards put into place, they were ready to duck under the ropes.
As Tommy hopped around the middle of the ring, getting his blood flowing even more, he studied his opponent. The auburn-haired man had the same look—firm resolve narrowed his eyes as he studied Tommy.
Tate was just as determined to win as Tommy was. Excitement shivered through him. The thrill of an impending good fight enveloped him, and he smiled, welcoming the sensation.
He was so ready for this.
“All right, we’re doing five five-minute rounds,” Mike yelled from the side of the ring.
That took Tommy aback, and he shot a glance at his coach. Mike was watching him closely for his reaction, so Tommy sent him a calm nod, as if that information hadn’t just shocked the shit out of him.
He’d been training for three five-minute rounds, a regular bout in the cage.
Not a damn championship fight.
A bell echoed inside the gym, and Tommy had no more time to think. He automatically brought his gloves up to his chin and searched for his opening. It wasn’t easy, since Tate was a southpaw.
Being a left-handed fighter, Tate definitely had the advantage. Orthodox fighters like Tommy mostly went up against other orthodox fighters, with a southpaw thrown in only on occasion. Southpaws, however, went up against right-handed fighters all the time, so they didn’t need a period of adjustment.
Because Tate’s stance mirrored his own, Tommy had to do opposite of what came naturally to him, which was circling right. Every move felt off, even though he’d actually practiced this over the past few days.
He had a couple of options to take the fight onto a more even playing field. Get Tate in a clinch or take him to the ground. Tate was weaker in the clinch, but if things went in Tommy’s favor, he wouldn’t get a chance to show Mike what he had on the ground.
Crap. Ground it was, then.
Tommy studied Tate. With his right leg forward, his opponent’s stance made a double-legged takedown difficult, but he could always go for the single leg.
Fake it. Open up his stance more.
Tommy feigned a right hook, which made Tate react with his left side, opening him up. Tommy delved into the pocket, pressing his face against the other man’s chest and locked his arms around his opponent’s left thigh as he dropped to his knees.
As soon as they hit the mat, Tommy scrambled for the half-guard by sprawling across Tate’s upper torso. Both fought for dominance. One second, Tommy had Tate pinned as he tried for a submission hold, the next, Tate had landed a mind-boggling left punch that made Tommy loosen his grip. Tate took the opportunity to worm his way out of the hold and get back on his feet.
They circled each other again. That southpaw left-cross caught Tommy on the side of the head, but he shook off the impact, giving back fist for fist.