Jen arrived in Memphis, Tennessee, a place she had not been in a couple of years. It held many memories for her because it was the place she had called home for her entire life until she embarked on a career as an MMA fighter.
“The Memphis Inn, please,” she said to the cab driver as she slid into the back seat.
“Right away,” the driver said.
He drove away from the airport and onto the highway. “Visiting? A tourist?” he asked.
“No, I’m from here,” she said.
His brow furrowed. “But not staying at your home? Why the hotel?” he asked, far nosier than a cab driver should be.
“I don’t live here anymore. My dad does, but I prefer to stay at the hotel,” she said. Then she turned to look out the window, giving the driver a silent plea to stop prying.
Home had become a painful place in recent years, and she avoided it when she could. Coming from a long line of soldiers, policemen, and firemen, she was expected to follow in her family’s footsteps, but she hadn't.
This, of course, did not sit well with her father, Lieutenant Dane Nellis, and drove a rift between them. The divide grew the more she concentrated on fighting and taking it seriously as a career. It came to the point that she could barely speak with her father without erupting into an argument, which seemed to be like a broken record every time they talked.
It was the cascade of arguments that she’d played over and over in her head since she got the fateful phone call about her father. Now, she walked with a thick fog in her mind after boarding a plane and arriving in Memphis.
She got her baggage somewhere along the way, then caught a cab, checked into a hotel room, and laid out her black dress.
The hotel was near her father's home, the home she had grown up in, but she could not bear to go there just yet. If she went, she would crumble. That couldn't happen yet. Although she thought of herself as a physically strong woman, she felt emotionally on edge. Her father was her last close relative; the rest were extended family she didn’t know well, and they were scattered across the country.
She fell asleep in her hotel room, crying into her pillow until the sadness and grief overtook her.
The next morning, she somehow managed to get dressed and mustered the courage to go to her father's funeral.
The rain fell relentlessly that day, as Jennifer stood dressed in black, under a black umbrella. The raindrops hit the umbrella so loudly she could barely hear the preacher.
She stood at the edge of the fresh grave, watching as the casket was gently lowered into the ground. Tears moved down her cheeks, mixed with the rainwater.
Her mind and heart were heavy with grief and unimaginable pain. Now, the loneliness felt palpable and like ice. This felt more intimidating because she had no one. She was alone in the world and upset that there hadn’t been time for reconciliation between her and her father before he passed. That weighed heavily on her.
As she strained to listen to the preacher say the prayers and last words, images of the arguments with her father kept moving through her mind. She could still hear him pleading with her to give up her career as an MMA fighter. His voice was worried and heavy with disappointment.
“It's a waste of time, Jen. Why can't you see that? You should have enlisted in the Army and followed in my footsteps. You could have gone far with your skills and intelligence,” he said over and over as he paced the living room of their home. “All you'll get from this sports entertainment career are broken bones and crushed hopes and dreams.”
That speech played over and over in her mind because she had heard it constantly—every time she saw him, in fact—but it didn't matter how strongly he gave the speech because her passion for the sport would not be suppressed. Entering the octagon prepared to fight any challenger was a rush she could not explain to her father or anyone else. She discovered her true self when she was in the ring.
“My condolences to you, dear Jennifer,” her great-aunt interrupted Jennifer's thoughts.
“Thank you, and to you as well, Aunt Sophie,” Jen said. She remembered she needed to do her duty as a grieving daughter and go to the reception. She wanted to honor her father, of course, but she felt like nothing but a shell at the moment.
Half an hour later, she found herself at the reception, surrounded by extended relations and her father's friends, including those who had served in the Army with him. She loved hearing stories about him, and everyone happily recanting their experiences with him made her feel warm inside.
Everyone had such great stories to tell about his days in the Army. He was like a hero from another time. She knew deep down that her father wanted her to be with a man who mirrored his heroic feats so that she was taken care of. She wanted that, too, but her choice of such a masculine profession had led her to the wrong men over and over.
After a while, it all grew a bit exhausting, and she moved into a corridor of the reception hall for a moment alone. She was so lost in her thoughts that she didn't notice the figure approaching her until he was directly in front of her. His presence was a bit oppressive, but with her defensive skills, it took a lot for her to be fearful of anyone.
However, this man made her very uneasy because he had a strange demeanor and appearance. He was dressed completely in black, with a wide-brim hat that cast a shadow over his scarred face. His presence gave her goosebumps, and she moved backward a couple of steps. Who was this man? Did he know her father?
“Jennifer, I am sorry for your loss,” he said. His voice didn't match his appearance. It was soothing, with an almost musical quality to it that she found unusual.
“Thank you; and who are you?” she asked. “How can I help you? Did you know my father?”
The man's expression changed, and he gave her a calculating look, his lip quirked up in a half-smile that made her feel very uncomfortable. There was a bit of a sparkle and curiosity in his gaze, and then he said, “Aye, I did know your father. He spoke about you, his daughter, the strong fighter.”
“My father said that? I find that hard to believe,” she said, confused that her father would talk to anyone about her profession since he mostly seemed embarrassed by it.
The man arched a brow, and Jen noticed that the scar went over his eye and through the hair of his brow. “I know you must be in pain over your father's death. I find the best way to appease the pain is a good distraction. I'd like to make you an offer that will be unlike anything you've ever encountered,” he said.
She furrowed her brow. She didn't know if this man was actually her father's friend or if he was trying to sell her some sort of vacation or timeshare. It would be rude to do something like that when she was grieving, but there were always people who wanted to take advantage of the bereaved, and they were just as bad as ambulance chasers. They were quick to jump on any sort of inheritance someone might be receiving after a death before the person could spend it on anything else. She narrowed her eyes as she considered that this might be what was happening. Then, she straightened her posture and said, "I rarely back down from a challenge; however, I find it extremely offensive that you are here right now, doing this at my father's funeral. If you will excuse me." She turned to leave his presence, but he reached out a hand to stop her. His hand on her arm felt strange. Not unpleasant, but weird.
“Are you turning down my offer of a challenge?”
She stopped and glanced from his hand on her arm to his face. She studied him for a moment. Was he possibly some sort of MMA backer? Was he trying to set her up with a fight that would win her a title? She didn't recognize him, but that didn't mean anything. Many investors kept their identities quiet. "Are you offering me an octagon fight? At my father's funeral?" She gaped at him in disbelief.
“I know this is not the most ideal time, but I was here, and it is the only time I had available to offer this to you. It could lead you to a whole new life and a brand-new adventure; one you could only dream of,” he murmured quietly.
He held her gaze, and she was entrapped, unable to look away. A moment later, someone put their hands on her arms from behind her, and said, "I just wanted to tell you how sorry I am for your loss, Jen."
She glanced at the man holding her arms and recognized him as one of her dad's buddies from the force. "Thank you."
He nodded, patted her arms, and moved off.
She returned her gaze to the investor and said, “I'll never turn down a valid offer for a life-changing fight and an adventure. However, all my bookings need to go through my manager, so you'll have to contact them to set it up. I assume if you know who I am, you know who my manager is and how to reach them. Goodbye." Feeling better about the encounter, she walked away. If he was for real, then she'd soon have a major fight booked that could lead to a whole new life. Maybe she'd be the next Rhonda Rousey or Gina Carano. Maybe she'd even get movie deals like they did. That would definitely be a whole new adventure and a distraction from her grief.
Jen returned to the reception and made her rounds as more people offered their condolences. Many a distant cousin tried to feed her, but she just didn't have an appetite.
She wanted to ask some of her relatives if they recognized the man in black, but when she tried to point him out, she couldn't find him. He seemed to have left the reception without speaking to anyone else. When she described him, no one recognized him, and with that scar, they definitely would have.
Finally, in the late afternoon, the last of the mourners left, and the rain stopped. She drove to her father's house and began to do the hard emotional work of deciding what to do with his home and belongings.
She began cleaning out her father's office, boxing up his paperwork and the case files he'd brought home. She'd have to return them to the station. She was pretty sure they wouldn't want them just lying around. She opened up the bottom drawer and found a heavy book inside. It was almost like a photo album, but it turned out to be a scrapbook instead.
She was surprised to find it filled with newspaper clippings and magazine articles of her and her announcements, fights, and competitions, all methodically clipped and pasted onto each page. All of her accomplishments, even her setbacks and failures—of which there were plenty in her early days in the sport—were placed in the book in chronological order. Her prizes and rise to fame in the world of MMA were on display on those pages.
Jennifer sobbed. The emotions swirling inside of her were a mix of joy that her dad had taken an interest in her work and was maybe even proud of her, but also regret that she had never heard it from him directly. If she had seen this while he was alive, she would have hugged him and felt some happiness in knowing that he at least was proud of her, even if he couldn't bring himself to say it out loud. He had always been a critical observer of her career, but it turned out that he had followed her path all along. Only now did she understand that he had been motivated by love and had wanted to shield her from the hard truths of her chosen path. He hadn't been disappointed in her: On these pages were her every achievement, and he had obviously relished in each and marked it for memory.
Knowing that made her grieve more for him, and she vowed to make him proud and honor him in all her future fights. She had loved him, and she would miss him always. She regretted not being able to share all of this with him before he died.
Wiping her face, she set the scrapbook aside and finished cleaning out the office.
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