Revive Me

1. Roman

1

ROMAN

“And your winner, fighting out of the blue corner… Roman Ward!! ”

The cheers are deafening. The lights are blinding. The adrenaline coursing through my body is overwhelming.

I wouldn’t have it any other way.

As the ref lifts my arm in victory, a huge grin breaks across my face. One step closer.

I feel someone clap me on the back, and when I turn, it’s one of the commentators ready to interview me. His eyes light up with excitement as he extends his hand for a shake.

“Roman, congratulations on an incredible victory,” he says, his words reverberating around the arena as he speaks into his microphone. “How does it feel to know you’re officially the number one contender in the light heavyweight division?”

My grin widens. “It feels fucking amazing, Joe. Even knowing it was inevitable, it feels amazing.”

He shakes his head, but he looks more dazed with admiration than anything else. “That confidence has carried you far,” he says. “Would you say that’s been the secret to your success? To being 12-0 in one of the most stacked divisions in the world?”

I sober and lean into the microphone to give him a serious answer. “It’s definitely contributed, but I’d hardly call it a secret. And it’s not the only contributor. Hard work, incredible teammates, and the smartest coaches in the game have been just as important.”

Joe nods his approval at that answer. Then he shifts so he can look toward the giant TV screens in our view. “Well, all of those things combined have created a very successful night for you, that’s for sure. Talk us through some of these moments during the fight.”

I look at the screen just as a slow-mo video of me starts to play. I watch myself evade my opponent’s punches, ducking into a double leg takedown that slams him to the ground. As I drop elbows onto his face, I say into the microphone, “Wrestling was a big part of my training camp for this one. I knew he was feeling good about his striking after his last few fights, so I brought in collegiate wrestlers to help me work that part of the game plan.”

Joe turns his stunned gaze toward me. “So you went into this planning to beat his wrestling, even though he’s one of the greatest collegiate wrestlers? Is that what you’re saying?”

I shrug. “I know what I’m capable of.”

As Joe watches another clip on the screen, this time of me defending my opponent’s takedown right before ragdolling him with a takedown of my own, he says dazedly, “Yeah, I’d say you certainly do.”

I feel a smug sense of pride as a third clip plays, this one from the last round of the fight. My opponent was running on fumes, exhausted and dejected by his repeated attempts to beat me with his striking, and then with his wrestling. But I was just getting warmed up, teeing off on him, never giving him a moment to rest, or even to guess what was coming. Beating him with athleticism and force of will.

“So…title fight next?” Joe finally asks with a grin.

“Damn right,” I affirm with a nod. Grabbing the microphone, I look square into the camera as I say, “You hear that, Baker? Keep that belt real warm for me, because I’m coming to take it from you. I’ll see you in London, baby.”

The arena explodes with cheers as I walk off with those parting words. I embrace my team and wave to the crowd, then show off my sponsors in the cameras as I exit the cage. And the whole time, the high of adrenaline buzzes along my skin. I fucking love this shit.

“ Fuck yes, that’s what I’m talking about!” one of my teammates exclaims as we file into the locker room. “That was incredible! ”

When the door closes behind us, I take a deep breath, the privacy and support of my team allowing me to fully relax for the first time all night. When I let it out, my reality seeps into my consciousness, and a slow smile spreads across my face.

I just won my fight.

I just broke a division record with my undefeated record.

I just became a title contender.

I just became a title contender.

I am thisclose to winning that belt and achieving the thing I want most. The thing I’ve spent every waking second dedicated to for the past decade. I’m so close to victory, I can taste it.

“So how soon before Lorenzo calls, do you think?” another teammate asks, practically bouncing in his seat. “There’s no way they don’t offer you the fight soon. I mean, Baker can deny it all he wants, but he’s been training for you for months. And you’re uninjured, even though you just fought. They could schedule that fight next month and you’d be prepared.”

“Speaking of uninjured…” my striking coach says, jumping into the conversation with a concerned frown. He gestures at someone behind me. “Doctor needs to check you out. Let him take a look.”

When the doctor indicates that I should sit up on the massage table along the wall, I sigh but follow directions. Every fighter will tell you that this is the worst part, because more often than not, you end up going to the hospital—even if you won the fight.

But it’s mandatory, so I sit patiently as the doctor does his exam, even knowing the only thing he’ll find are some bumps and bruises.

“Incredible,” the doctor murmurs, pulling his stethoscope out of his ears. “You’re consistently the most uninjured fighter I look at.” He gives me a look of incredulity. “How is it possible that you just fought a fifteen-minute war with one of the toughest bastards on the UFC roster and all you have is a black eye?”

I can’t help my smug grin. Shrugging, I say, “I don’t like being injured. It disrupts my life.”

Chuckling, he shakes his head. “I hope for your sake you never get a bad injury, Roman. I’m not sure you’d know what to do with yourself.”

I snort. “You got that right. No thank you. I prefer being healthy and pain-free.”

Closing his bag, the doctor turns to my coach. “He’s all good, Dom. I’m clearing him.”

“Great, thanks, Marty,” my coach says, shaking his hand.

Marty waves at me and at the room as he leaves. “Have a good time celebrating tonight, boys. And Roman, good luck with the title fight.”

The sounds of whoops and cheers follow him out of the room, my teammates once again riled up by his words. I think they might be running on more of a high than even I am.

Proving my point, Dustin jumps up from his chair and starts to shadowbox right there on the warmup mat, too amped to sit still. “Speaking of celebrating… Where we going tonight, champ??”

I wince. My version of celebrating is a little different from my teammates’. “Dude, I’m tired. I really don’t feel like going to a strip club tonight and spending my bonus on a bunch of girls, just so you can take one of them home.”

“Rude,” Dustin sniffs, not stopping his shadowboxing. “I don’t need your money to convince a girl to come home with me.”

“Perfect. Then you go to the strip club. I’ll be home reviewing fight footage.”

At that, he finally stops and puts his hands on his hips. “Come on , seriously. You can’t just go home and study after a win like this! You need to celebrate! You just became the most dominant fighter in division history! ”

I sigh, feeling my defenses crumbling. The truth is, I haven’t given myself a night off in months. I’ve been working to the bone even before I got offered tonight’s fight, partly because I wanted to give everything in pursuit of my goal, but also because it takes a lot for me to convince myself I deserve a break. I rarely do anything that’s not training, recovering, eating, or sleeping.

“Alright,” I concede. Already, my teammates are cheering. “But not tonight. I’m serious. I feel like I’m going to drop into a coma as soon as I leave this locker room and the adrenaline wears off. You know how hard I’ve been pushing my body.”

Dustin can’t argue that. Begrudgingly, he nods. “Okay, fine, not tonight. Tonight, we’ll celebrate in your honor.”

I wave him off as I take a big swig of Pedialyte. “Works for me. Have at it.”

“But we’re planning a night next weekend,” Dustin demands, pointing a finger my way. “You can pick the spot, but we are going out. I’m not taking no for an answer.”

“Fine. Next weekend. Tonight, I’m celebrating my way.”

And by that, I mean going home . Where I can be by myself, in silence, until I eventually fall asleep without having to set an alarm for the first time in months. Maybe years.

Knowing that’s what I have to look forward to has me rushing through all the obligatory post-fight press, then sending a silent thank you to the promoters for scheduling tonight’s fight in my hometown. Being able to go from the arena, straight to my penthouse and sanctuary, is a relief in itself.

As soon as I’m home, I toss my gym bag down in the entryway and immediately grab a cold bottle of water from my fridge. Since I already showered at the arena and changed into sweats, I don’t have a single other thing on my to-do list. Now, I finally get to relax.

Stepping up to the floor-length windows, I take a sip of my water as I look out over the city. With a deep breath, I release every remaining bit of stress, nerves, and adrenaline from the day.

As my heart rate slows, so does my breathing, and I clear my mind of everything but this moment. I’ll watch my fight tomorrow, pick apart every mistake I made and everything I could have done better, but for now, I’m allowing myself to revel in the simple fact that I won—and dominantly.

The sound of my phone interrupts my meditation. Since I have it on Do Not Disturb, that means the message can only be from one of my emergency contacts, so I reach into my pocket and pull out my phone.

Mom: Congratulations, Roman. I’m so proud of you 3

I smile and text back a quick, Thanks, Mom, making a mental reminder to call her tomorrow.

But once I have my messages open, I can’t help seeing how many other texts I have rolling in. Four hours after my fight, I have over a hundred in my inbox. Muttering a curse, I read a few.

Most are just the usual congratulatory text, but some are from people I haven’t talked to in years, sending congratulations and following it up with a we should catch up sometime . Others are from women I’ve hooked up with, asking me to let them know when I’m free for some celebrating .

I huff an amused laugh as I power off my phone and toss it on the couch. A lot of people would probably be overwhelmed, but I’ve always loved the praise.

Pulling in another deep breath, I turn my attention back to the city skyline before me. It’s times like this when I feel like I’m literally on top of the world: I’m rich, I’m adored, and now the entire MMA world knows that I’m also the biggest threat in the light heavyweight division. Only one more fight before I can prove I’m the biggest threat in its history .

I can’t help the slow, self-satisfied grin that stretches across my face at the thought.

God, I love my life.