My throat tightens. “What if I’m not ready to be on my own?”
“You’ve been on your own for a while and you’re just now figuring it out. You’ll always be my baby, Haley, just like I’ll always be your mom.”
She wraps her arm around me and I rest my head on her shoulder. When I was younger, my mom read to me every night. Back in our old home, back when life was simpler. She snuggled in my bed and brought peace and security. “Why did it have to change?”
“I don’t know,” she whispers. “But it did and all we can do is go forward.”
“I’m trying.” Air is harder to inhale. “But how do I walk away from you?”
“You aren’t walking away, baby. You’re growing up. But remember, I don’t care if you’re eighty and I’m a hundred and thirteen. I will always hold you, I will always love you and I will always be right here.”
West
I straddle a chair as John wraps the yellow strip of material across my hand. An official watches us in the corner to make sure John stays within regulation. He pulls each new layer taut and concentrates like he’s performing surgery. Outside the crowd roars and there’s no mistaking the anger. They hate it when the match goes to the floor. Matt and I are the last amateur fight on the card and the waiting is slowly killing me.
“She trained you well.” John never mentions Haley by name. It’s as if saying her name creates pain. Part of me wants to tell him I understand. “Stick with the combinations she taught you, keep up your guard and keep your emotions in check.”
The wrap is new and John applies it tighter than what I’m used to, but without the gloves, I’m going to need firm. I swallow, thinking how Haley tried to warn me off this. The realness and heaviness of the situation sinks in. The moment I enter the cage, I might as well be dodging traffic on a busy interstate.
The only solace I have is if the fight does go in the wrong direction that I’m doing what needs to be done. I’m not a man because I’m walking into the cage. I’m a man because I’m standing up for Haley and myself. No more relying on my parents and their money. No more letting a past I can’t control dictate my choices and future. No more being a child.
I called Mom an hour ago and told her I loved her and I told her to tell Dad the same thing. I made peace with her as she cried and, somehow, I found peace within myself. My lone regret is not being able to hold Haley again and whisper to her those three precious words.
The door to the small room at the convention hotel opens and Jax in full Mohawk mode strolls in. “After this fight, you’re on deck.”
John finishes with the wraps and slips his hands into the practice pads. “It’s time to warm up.”
The official pulls the cap off a black marker with his teeth and signs his name over my wraps. I’m regulation, not illegal, and one step closer to the cage.
After practicing with gloves, my hands feel naked and vulnerable. John holds up the pads and I widen my stance. Attempting to ignore the nerves, I blow out air. I could kid myself and say this is all for Haley, but this is also for me.
* * *
John stands in front of me and I’m flanked by Jax and Kaden. Behind the door to the hotel convention center, I sport hand wraps, a cup and a pair of wrestling shorts. I swing my arms, trying to keep them loose though tension begins to build in my neck.
Doing a bad job parroting a real MMA announcer, the master of ceremonies comes off like a sleazy carnival gamer as he advertises my weight and city.
Jax pops his head to the right and opens the door as my name is called. “Let’s do this.”
The crowd screams and whistles when I hit the floor and stalk toward the octagon cage in the middle. I notice everyone, yet I notice no one. All of it is flashes of color and movement. Music pounds through the speakers, and, in a moment of clarity, I recognize the song.
I glare at Jax and he’s smiling like a damn hyena. “Sorry, couldn’t help it. You scream Rocky.” He slams a hand on my back. “Get a sense of humor. You’re going to need it in there.”
John and the ref exchange a few words before the ref motions to me. “Arms up.”
I do as he asks, holding them straight out to my sides, then widen my feet. His hands skim my body, frisking me for foreign items. A quick scan checks my ears, that I’m wearing a cup and that my nails are trimmed and that the wraps haven’t been tampered with.
When I’m cleared, John steps in front of me and offers my mouthpiece. I accept it and he moves his mouth as if talking while he applies a coat of Vaseline on my face. The noise in the room mixes together and nothing is clear or coherent. John looks me in the eye and says, “Got it?”
I nod. He glances at Jax and I don’t miss the subtle shake of his head.
“Good luck and Godspeed,” says John.
I walk up the three steps and enter the cage. Nervous adrenaline courses in my veins and I continue to work my muscles to keep the blood flowing. Matt stands on the opposite side of the cage with his back toward me.
The ref calls Matt over and the son of a bitch smiles when he sees me. “Have you pissed yourself yet?”
I smile right back. “Fuck you.”