“Someone obviously does. Enough to follow me and sell the story. Or to buy it.”
“I bought every copy the newsstand had. Excellent back up for toilet paper. Speaking of shit, there’s a bunch of journalists downstairs.”
Owen pressed his fingers into his forehead. “Oh, Christ almighty.”
“Now, now. Don’t be so arrogant. There could be another scandalous, world famous athlete in the hospital that they are waiting for. It’s not all about you, you know?”
Owen let out a half chuckle, seeing where her humour was going and he appreciated it. “I’ll use the back entrance or something.”
Fiona sighed heavily, thumbing through the magazine. “Make it all about you... I tell ya...” She placed the magazine down and continued, this time, in a more serious tone, “See the Diaz fight?”
“Yeah. I wasn’t supposed to. But I caught it.”
“You know that’s not right. You shouldn’t look ahead to the next fight until you’ve gotten over the line here first.”
“You sound like my dad.”
“He sounds like a wise man. And a wise man once said... ‘Fucked if I know, ask Fiona.’”
The fact she said this with such a deadpan expression made it funnier. “And what do you suggest I do about the Williams fight?”
“He favours his right leg. Everyone knows that. Stay on his inside, keep circling to your left. Make him switch. Not you. You can get him in close. Wear him down with shots to the body, but don’t wait too long to sting him to the face. Aim for his nose.”
“His nose?”
“Yeah. He uses a brace block to protect himself when he has no intention of striking. He uses it when he is repositioning his feet. Fucking idiots go after him with bloodlust and leave themselves open for his kick. He does it on purpose, opening his left side to be attacked, drawing them in. He can easily swat away hooks and crosses using it, but a straight punch to the face? No chance. Remember that.”
Owen nodded. Impressed wasn’t the word. “I will. Thank you.”
Both went silent, though, as Tegan was wheeled in. Several seconds later, all three were silent as it appeared Tegan had to struggle to breathe. But that wasn’t it. She was crying. Both of them moved to opposites sides of her bed, Fiona gently stroking her hair as Owen held her hand.
Tegan sucked in a breath and slowly eased her hand out of Owen’s. “I need you to go.”
He looked from her to Fiona, who clearly didn’t understand either, before asking Tegan, “Me? What do you mean... what’s wrong?”
“You’ve been wonderful... but it’s over.”
“Tegan, what are you—”
“They took it away!” she cried, half into the pillow, fresh sobs gripping her strained, cringing, beautiful face which she covered with both of her hands.
It was then Owen understood. It wasn’t her ovary she was distraught over. She was no longer pregnant. Her baby... their baby, was gone. He choked back tears like those that both Tegan and Fiona now shed. What could he possibly say? They had discussed and agreed upon the solution both thought was best. But now he second guessed himself. Just as Tegan probably was. He would never have considered putting Tegan at risk. But, as much as they shared the loss, it wasn’t his body. Had she tried to back out in the operating room? Had she had a change of heart? Or was it simply now all too real because it was all too late.
“There’s no reason for you to be here anymore...” Tegan said. “I’m not your responsibility. I’m just the sick girl.”
“Tegan,” he said gently. “Don’t say that.”
“It’s true,” she replied, sniffling as if trying to work up the strength to say what she needed to. “You’re just too sweet to see it. Ever since you’ve known me, your life has been shit.”
“No, it hasn’t,” Owen said quickly. “Stop.”
“You lost your contract because of me.”
“That was my choice.”
“I heard your dad on the phone. You’re distracted and putting yourself at risk not being on the job. We had great times but let’s not pretend we didn’t both know how this was going to go. You’ve got your championship to win, right? I’ve got to get better. And right now, the only thing you’re looking at winning is racing your one-night stand to the grave. Especially if you end up fighting that bald psychopath.”
“You know you’re more than that.”