My flight home is booked for Monday, giving me a day to recover from my fight. Cap is good with letting me take a week or so off to be with my mom. She’s not giving details of her cancer or her plan of attack. Every time we talk, she distracts me with a memory from my childhood or asking about my friends and family-by-choice here in Vegas.
We even talk about Reese, a topic she is all too fond of.
Moms always know.
Even if I didn’t allow myself to hope for more with Reese, I guess Mom always saw the way I talk about her.
“Tell me how she makes you feel, Cam,” Mom asked two days ago.
She never calls me Rowdy. That nickname came from my dad and my ability to get in trouble.
He said I’d find trouble in an empty room with no windows or doors.
The thought is disturbing, locked in a room with no exit, but I get what he meant now. As a kid, I thought he was weird as fuck and totally unrelatable.
“Like a man.” It may sound corny, but it’s true. I feel like an adult, like a guy who finally grew into himself and could be the man Reese needs if she’d let me.
I don’t mention she also makes me rock hard with the desire to drill her to the floor.
Some things a mother doesn’t need to know.
“That’s good. Means she respects you, looks up to you. It’s a great start, honey.”
Yeah, my mom also calls me honey. It’s a southern thing.
“But there are things in her past… Her dad… He…”
Hell, I don’t even know for sure what he did, but I suspect it’s not just physical and emotional abuse but sexual abuse as well.
I have no business sharing her secrets. “It’s complicated.”
“I’m sure it is.” She sounds so tired.
I’m second-guessing my decision to wait to fly home.
I could fly out tonight.
Should I leave now? Skip my fight?
“Most things worthwhile are quite complicated, baby.”
Mom calls me baby too. Essentially, any term of endearment you can think of, my mom has probably called me it at one time or another, including sugarplum and pumpkin pie. Not very manly, but it’s the way she shows her love, one sugar-laden nickname at a time, packed with love and adoration.
That’s my mom in a nutshell.
She loves hard and deep with no qualms of showing you just how much.
“What most women need is a safe place, Cameron. Make her feel secure and believe there’s nothing she can’t tell you, lay at your feet, that you won’t still love her through. That’s all we need. Men think we’re all complicated. We’re not that hard to understand. We want to be loved as we are, where we are, and with what gifts God gave us or chose not to give us. Make her feel respected, cherished, and seen every day, and that right there will be a woman who will fight the devil himself for your soul.”
My mom, the philosopher, soothsayer, great advice-giver, breaks it down into manageable chunks.
There’s no one else like her.
“I love you, Mom.”
“Ah, honey. I love you too. You’ve always been the light of my life. You remember that when things seem dark. I know you got that Shadow chasing you, but when you need to, you turn round and shine the love I put in your heart and chase that demon out. Plain banish it with the tender heart God gave you. He gives us light and dark, baby. All of us have it in us. You just have to find your balance. Maybe Reese can be your Wendy, staple that Shadow to your feet, where it belongs, under your control.”
Damn, my chest aches and warms with the idea that Reese could be my Wendy, my dark-Shadow whisperer.
“You can’t have rainbows without a little rain.”
Mom’s voice trails in my head as I stare at my phone minutes before my fight, calls to my mom unanswered and my text unread.
I talked to her last night. She was fine.
A tug on my gut drew me to reach out again.
It’s stupid, really. She’s never been one to keep her phone in hand or even at her side. It’s usually on her desk or in the kitchen until she needs it.
“You ready?” Cap clasps my shoulder.
I tuck my phone in my bag and don my Beats. “Ready.”
Coach and Jonah mill around in the corner, talking. Walker and Jess are at the door, taking inventory, which is code for looking for girls.
“Concentrate on your fight. Put your worry and frustration into the ring. Make that motherfucker yours.” Cap gives me another squeeze before sauntering out the door, heading for the arena and his front row seat.
I invited Reese. I doubt she’ll show. Crowds are not her favorite, and it’s not her MO to come to the fights. Gabriel’s championship fight was the last one she attended, as far as I know.
Instead of letting the sinking feeling in my gut take hold, I choose to believe Reese is here fighting her fear to support me. But I won’t hold it against her if she’s not.
Grumbling under my breath, I hit play and get lost in “Wolf Totem” by The Hu, bouncing on my feet, closing my eyes and staring into the deep blue ones I hope to see shortly.
Agitation is a close friend, keeping me company more times than not.
Not a good friend, but always close by like a nosey neighbor.
My leg bounces, keeping time with a beat I can’t hear. I stop it, only for the other leg to take up the cause.
I scan the arena, watching the throng of people mulling about acting like fools, hyped up for the main event.
My thumbs run endlessly around my fingertips, feeling for rough nails or hard cuticles and, if they find any, continuing to rub until either that finger or thumb is sore. It’s a nervous habit. I try to keep my nails short, well-manicured to avoid such things from happening. Thankfully, I’m all good, but it doesn’t stop my thumbs from searching.
“You need a beer.” Landry leans in, his gaze darting to my legs and hands.
My skin tingles.
He’s going to touch me.
Please don’t.
“I need a Xanax,” I mutter.
He laughs, and his brows hit his hair line. “You have one?”
“No.” I don’t take meds, but I know from my mom, they make social situations more bearable.
“A beer would ease your nerves,” he offers. He’s sweet to sit here with me.
“Weed would work too,” Jess offers from my other side.
I’m in a Jess and Landry sandwich.
My gaze swings to Jess. “You smoke weed?” I can’t imagine Cap would be okay with that.
“Nah.” He bumps my shoulder with his. “I wish.”
I suck in air, my vision closing in. I grip my legs.
It’s okay. It’s okay. It’s okay.
“Oh, shit.” Jess shoots to his feet to give me space, his hands raking his hair. “Fuck, Reese, I’m so sorry.”
“Fuck, man,” Landry chastises. “We had one fucking job tonight, and you go and fuck it up.”
Eyes screwed shut again, I nod incessantly. “It’s okay. It’s okay. It’s okay.” The buzzing in my head starts to fade.
“I’ll grab us some beers.” The wind from Jess’ departure wafts my hair off my neck for a second before settling along my back.
“You alright?” Landry’s timbre is edged with worry.
“Yeah, I just need a sec.” When the panic wanes to a manageable level, I open my eyes on a long exhale.