Rika, the Cuban Flame

16. Jealousy is a Virtue

Rika

I watch Lucas leave the room, and not even a minute after, my phone vibrates in my pocket. I pull it out to see who's calling, then answer it and hold it to my ear.

"Papa?"

"Mija! I've been calling you!"

"Yeah, sorry. I was helping Lucas. He collapsed—"

"I don't care! Do you know where you're supposed to be right now?" he yells.

I rub the back of my head. "Um... no?"

"Get it together!"

I suddenly make the connection. "Oh, shit!"

"Yeah, oh shit is right, mija! Get to the airport so you don't miss your flight."

"Yes, papa!" I pull my phone away and end the call, now bolting out the hospital room door and sprinting down the hall.

"Hey! No running in the halls!" some guy yells.

"Sorry!" I'm not really sorry and I keep running. I make it back into the parking lot and back to my supercar. I waste no time, start it, and floor it onto the road.

I completely forgot about something because of what happened to Lucas. There's a gathering of fighters on the other side of the country and I have a first-class ticket to get there. Anyone popular or rising through the ranks in the leagues will be in attendance. It's a big deal, and it's also a great way to pick up new sponsors and meet some fresh faces, as well as fight them.

I make it to the airport on time, well, sort of. This turned into one of those situations where they hold the flight until I get there. The airport staff even announce that I need to report to gate B18 for immediate departure. I'm never late, and it always makes me angry when a flight is held because someone else is late. But today, that's me.

While running through the airport, I don't have time to stop and talk to the fans or sign any autographs. Ellis probably won't be happy with people recording me running down an airport terminal while people beg me to sign shit. Again, I'm not sorry and I have a reason to be sprinting with my carry-on bag strapped over my shoulder. I didn't even change clothes and I'm still wearing that shirt and shorts from when I saved Lucas's life this morning.

I've never been a big fan of flying, even if it is first class. I just don't like it. Never have, never will. The thought of being so high in the air in nothing but a metal box gives me the creeps, and it's shocking that gives me the creeps and nothing else in my life. I always get a window seat and while flying, I think about the gathering. It's technically a conference, but the official title is the Gathering of Fighters. Anyone involved in the sport of fighting show up, even if they don't actually fight themselves. That includes managers, coaches, announcers, agents, and probably other people I'm forgetting about.

I hate that this conference is on the other side of the country. It's a long plane ride even with first class and the comfy chairs and leg room. Hours and hours and fuck do I just want to plant my feet on solid ground again and keep them there. I try not to hurl as the plane descends and I breathe a sigh of relief when the plane lands on the runway. Thankfully, I didn't need the complimentary barf bag that almost every airline worldwide provides. I gather my carry on and remove my ear buds and get off the plane. The first-class cabin is always in the front, at least every time I've flown, so we always get to exit the plane first. Though, sometimes I feel sorry for the poor bastards sitting all the way in the back who have to wait an additional 30 to 45 minutes to even deplane.

I'm not a taxi or ride share kind of girl, so I rent a car to get to the places I need to go. Nothing against taxis or people who work in that industry, but I need my own personal space. The Gathering of Fighters takes place at one of the large convention centers in this sprawling city of skyscrapers and suburbs. It's basically the same city I just flew from, except on opposite sides of the country. Though from what I'm told, the people of this city hate the people from my city and vice versa. Some kind of rivalry that I never cared about.