“It’s a mild sedative. In your condition, too much stress on your heart can lead to major problems...”
“Sedate me after the fight. I have to see it to the end.”
“It’s just a fight.”
“No, it’s not. You don’t understand. I have to...” How could she explain? Owen was losing and she knew it was because of her. What she had said. She couldn’t help but feel guilty and yet determined. She knew his mind wasn’t right. He had lost focus during their time together. Watching him get beaten crippled her but she needed to. She needed to know she was with him in some way. “I just have to see it through. Please...”
Fiona scoffed and rose. Moving the nurse out of the way. “I’ll keep her calm. I promise. Keep the syringe just in case I can’t, deal?”
The nurse looked unsure but finally sighed as the bell rang. “Deal.”
“Round two in what has already been the super fight of the night...”
“Absolutely, John. Never thought this would be the scenario come round two of this fight, as both fighters circle each other. Of the two, I’d say Gasnier looks the most uncomfortable. Oh! Trick shot by Williams! He faked a kick on his preferred leg, John, and Gasnier fell for it. You see how Williams opened himself up for Gasnier to unleash, but it was a ploy. Williams stinging him directly under that cut eye. Brilliant tactics there. Brilliant.”
“Goddammit! Come on!” Fiona yelled. “The face, Owen! The face! Come on, baby!”
* * *
Owen backed away as his cheek tore open. He felt the blood seep out of the wound more and more. He didn’t have much time left. The ref would stop it. Then his dream would be over. He had to end it quick. Deliver a trick shot of his own. Trick shot...
Owen changed his stance and closed in. He lead with his right and yet struck with his left to Williams ribs. The force doubled Williams over, but Owen didn’t let up. Shoving Williams violently into the cage and gritting his teeth against his mouthguard, Owen unleashed with everything he had. To the body first...
* * *
“Oh my God... COME ON!” Fiona screamed. “GET IN CLOSE!”
“Gasnier unleashing furious strikes to the body. I don’t know what he’s thinking here...”
“Trying to wear him down, perhaps? But he’s using a lot of energy here. He’s getting in close. Too close, I think, to do any real damage...”
“Oh my! Williams swung and JUST missed with that hook! We are talking centimetres without Gasnier moving back. It was like Gasnier was expecting that, but jeez, that was cutting it close… ”
“Wait for it... wait for it...” Fiona seethed through gritted teeth.
“Oh man, I think Williams is measuring for his kick, John. He’s readying it. He hits this, it’s gotta be over.”
“Unbelievable. Williams is one kick away from the upset of the decade and a shot at the championship. He’s backing away...”
“NOW!” Fiona screamed.
“OH MY! WHAT A HIT! WILLIAMS NEVER SAW THAT STRAIGHT RIGHT COMING. HE’S DOWN. HE’S OUT. IT’S OVER! GASNIER WINS!”
Both Tegan and Fiona screamed. The latter wrapped her arms around Tegan who, despite a twinging pain in her chest, was crying fresh tears of joy and relief as she stared at the screen where Owen had sunk to his knees, his head down, completely exhausted. The ring filled quickly as the announcements were prepared.
* * *
Owen’s cut was checked over by Robert and then the doctor tidied it up using butterfly stitches. His head pounded with his heartbeat, worse than the pain of the wound. He felt elated yet sick to his stomach.
The announcer joined them in the ring and Williams and Owen stood on either side of the referee. “The winner, with the official time of forty-seven seconds in the second round via knockout, and the new number one ranked contender in the world... The Sydney Scorpion, Owen GASNIER!”
The crowd erupted and chanted his name, though, as usual, he didn’t acknowledge the applause until he shook his opponents hand. Which he did, only to notice Williams looking behind him. Just as Owen turned, the crowd noise swelled. Owen set his shoulders. The door to the Cage had opened, and a new person had entered the ring, given a wide berth by trainers, cheerleaders and cameramen. Brent Diaz had been in the crowd, and now he stood opposite Owen, staring him down through thick and wide sunglasses, the championship gleaming over his shoulder.
He stood for the longest time, saying nothing. Content to loudly chew gum, staring at Owen. Diaz made a big deal of slowly looking Owen up and down before holding his hand out for a mic.
“You know, there’s something about this situation that really befuddles me. I kinda wanna say congratulations to you. I do. But is it really a good thing you won? Sure, you get a neat little few months of being called the number one contender, but when I’m what’s waiting for you, is it really a prize you got? Or a punishment? I came here to let you know the date is set. The fight you’ve been waiting for your whole life. You want this? Come and get it you lil’ Strayan’ bitch.”
Diaz lowered the microphone and made to hand it to Owen. Wanting him to say something in return. Owen figured this was a marketing ploy to generate tickets and subscribers to the pay per view fight channel. Whatever. Owen had never been interested in that shit. He gave the championship one swift glance and turned away from Diaz, helped by his father. The crowd booed him for not answering which may have fuelled Diaz’ next words.