Chapter 29
TWENTY-NINE
He asked me to wait for him. It isn’t a promise, and it isn’t what I hoped for, but it’s something. Zia isn’t walking away from me or pushing me away. He’s giving me a chance, a tiny bit of hope, and I have nothing to do but wait.
Lying in the ring, I stare up at the ceiling. It’s been two days since I felt any semblance of peace and happiness, which I only find with him. His world is madness, filled with killers and billionaires, but I don’t care. If I have to be part of it to be his, then I will.
That’s why I’m training harder than ever. I’m determined to win that champion title and make him proud so I can walk by his side.
When the call comes, I happily accept the fight.
My opponent’s ranked third and obviously feeling uneasy about me moving up.
I’m below him in ranking, but I know I can win.
I only have ten days to prepare, but I can do it.
I watch matches over and over with Charlie and my father, until I know his moves like the back of my hand.
I train harder than any other boxer in the gym.
I’m the first in and the last out. I hone my body into a weapon, and the days pass quickly as I collapse into bed every night, the only time I can sleep without Zia there.
I think about Zia the entire time, wondering how he is, if he’s okay, and if he’s thinking about me at all.
Even as I prepare for the fight in the locker room, Zia is all I can think of. I need to focus, but nothing makes me more determined than him. My father and Charlie look worried, however, as they watch me.
“Take it easy on this one, okay? I know you’re ready, but something seems off about this offer. He never challenges anyone. It’s how he keeps his rank. For this to come out of the blue . . . it’s odd,” Charlie advises.
“I agree. I think he was hoping if he caught you off guard, he could easily beat you. Play it safe, okay? No showing off.” My dad tightens my belt. “I mean it, son. Win, but do it the way we planned. No games.”
“I’ve got this.” I bounce on my toes to keep my body warm. “Don’t worry so much, old man.”
Charlie and my father share a look before nodding. “Okay then.” Charlie claps. “Let’s get this show on the road. If you win this, then we will be one step closer to that championship.”
“When have I ever lost?” I scoff.
“Well, don’t start now.” My father chuckles as they head to the door. “See you out there.”
When they leave, I walk over to my locker, pick up my phone, and type the message.
Nikko: I’m fighting today. When I win, I’ll dedicate it to you.
Closing the locker, I head out and wait for my cue, ready to get this over with. I need that championship belt more than ever, and they are right. This will bring me one step closer.
Joe Fitz is a big bastard and tough as hell, but he’s getting older and he knows it. He’s losing his edge.
He keeps his title by never challenging anyone. There’s something evil in his eyes as he watches me in the third round. So far, we have been evenly matched. I’ve been playing it smart like my father and Charlie wanted, playing the long game with him to tire him out and take the easy win.
They nicknamed him “Cobra” for his vicious, fast strikes. I’ve seen them the last few rounds, but I haven’t felt them since I avoided all his swings, and he’s getting angry. My dad was right. I have a bad feeling, but it’s too late to back out.
I duck under his first combination. He’s slowing, so I just need to buy time.
When he tries again, I duck under his guard and bring my fist up in a brutal uppercut.
He stumbles backward before hitting the mat, but before the ref can even count to two, he’s back up and coming at me.
I land a few more blows, but it’s like he’s determined not to go down.
All I can do is avoid his angry attacks pushing me into the ropes, and I start to wonder if I underestimated him. When the bell finally rings, he gets in my face and glares at me until he is dragged away.
I watch him from my corner as I listen to my dad and Charlie before the bell rings again. I stand, putting my mouth guard in. I test him, but it’s like his fury has taken over. I manage to stay out of the ropes, but this round is very much the same as before, and I’m getting annoyed.
I bite it back and keep up the low back and forth.
Finally, he grows frustrated and comes at me.
He drives me back into the ropes, and this time I’m unable to avoid his attack.
His fist hits my guard, and my entire arm goes dead from the impact, refusing to work, and it drops.
His glove slams into my shoulder, and I swear I feel something snap.
My roar of pain is stifled by my mouth guard as I duck under his next swing, but when I whirl around from under him, I stumble.
My arms aren’t working right. Something is wrong.
I go to signal the ref when I hear the whistle of air.
I turn in time to see the glove coming for my face, and I have no time to react.
It slams into the side of my head, and the impact is so strong, it actually lifts me off my feet.
I see my mouth guard fly as I spin and hit the mat, but that is all I remember.
Everything seems far away and distorted.
Has time passed? My eyes slowly blink open. I can’t hear or feel much, which can’t be good.
“Kid, kid, kid!” The roars fill my ears as I stare up in a daze, the whole room spinning.
What happened? Did I speak? I don’t know, but my father’s blurry, concerned face is above me.
“Don’t close your eyes, okay? Stay with me. Help is on the way. Don’t you fucking leave me.”
“Not a chance,” I slur, or at least I think I do before everything goes black.