“What are you fighting for?” Aug asked, his voice a low rasp.
The answer was simple.
“The belt and the title.”
That was it.
Cut and dry.
Plain and simple.
But saying it out loud left a hollow space in his chest.
Aug’s mobile pinged, and he peered at the screen. “Briggs is here. Time’s up. We need to go.”
“Another weigh-in,” his granny said, gifting him with a smile but concern brewed in her eyes.
The doors opened, and Briggs entered the room, scanned the space, then made a beeline their way. Sebastian caught sight of the man, waved goodbye to Oscar, and joined the agent.
“It’s time,” Briggs said. “I’ll follow behind you and Augie, and we’ve got cars coming in the next twenty minutes to collect Finola, Madelyn, Callista, Calliope, and Sebastian,” he added with a nod to his granny and the nanny matchmaker.
“Can I ride with you and Aug, Dad? I have something for you,” Sebastian said, then procured a rather large box from beneath the table. The thing was nearly half as big as he was.
“Yeah, I think that would be grand,” Augie answered.
Raz nodded. “Absolutely, son, I’d really like that.”
And he meant it.
He usually spent the time before the weigh-in alone. Even when Mere was still with them, he chose to do this part of the pre-fight song and dance on his own. Aug was close by backstage, Briggs too, but no one entered his dressing room. He used the time to psych himself up and put on the mask to play the role of the cocky boxer and become…the beefcake.
Beefcake.
He took in his son, and the boy beamed.
Maybe Aug was right. Perhaps it was time for some new rituals.
With his granny and Madelyn promising to finish up with the fruit, he and Sebastian left the gym, walking side by side. As they passed through the doors, he took another look at the framed photo, and a sense of calm washed over him. It was like Meredith was there. Like her light and love had returned. He’d focused so much on the pain of losing her that he hadn’t allowed himself the comfort and joy of her memory.
In a daze, he climbed into the back of Aug’s SUV with his son.
“Here, Dad,” Sebastian said, passing him the large box as Augie started the car, and they made their way toward the event center.
He shook the box gently. “Sounds a bit clunky.”
“I made it for you.”
“Did you now?” he answered. He lifted the lid and stared at the circle. And it wasn’t just any circle.
“It’s a stool. It was my camp project,” Sebastian announced. “I cut and sanded the wood, then I put the legs on it, using real nails, and then I painted it. Take it out and look.”
Raz complied, studying his son’s gift.
There were names painted on the seat.
Many names.
Aug, Luanne, Briggs, his bloody prick chat group friends and their fiancées and children, Granny Fin, Callista, Calliope, Madelyn, Harper, Maud, Bob, Plum, and Beefcake.
In the center, Sebastian had painted two donkeys with a boxing glove between them. He added Meredith, Mibby, Sebastian, and Erasmus in white paint over the red glove.
“Granny Fin showed me pictures from when you were starting out in boxing,” Sebastian began. “You had two stools in your corner, one for Aug and one for Mum. But now, you’ve got everyone, right there, on one stool. I added the donkeys because they love you, too.”
He ran his fingertips over the names. “This might be the most thoughtful gift anyone’s ever given me, lad. Thank you.”
“Turn it over. I painted a rock stack on the backside the same color you and Mibby like. The color that’s everywhere when we’re together.”
He stared at his son. “You’ve seen it?”
“Yeah, it’s a little shimmer in the air. Don’t you see it, too?”
The breath caught in his throat. “I do. I did.”
“Take a look,” Sebastian nudged.
Raz did as the boy asked and studied the backside of the circle.
“They’re indigo-colored stones. That’s the color. I had to mix purple and blue to make it. My art teacher at camp said that when two colors come together, they can make something new and beautiful.”
“That they do,” he said softly. He stared at the painted rocks—rocks whose purpose was to illuminate the right path.
“Do you like it?” Sebastian asked.
His heart melted in his chest. “I love it, son. It’s perfect.”
“We’re here, lads,” Aug said, pulling up at the event center.
Raz looked out the window as a woman wearing a headset with a clipboard in her hands walked up to the vehicle and opened the back door.
“Mr. Cress, your dressing room is this way.”
“Briggs and I will find your room and knock when it’s time,” Aug said, trading places with the valet as Briggs pulled up behind them.
“Can I stay with you, Dad?”
He ruffled the boy’s ash brown hair. “I need someone to carry my new corner stool, right?”
“Righto!” the boy chimed as they followed the production assistant into the building.
She led them down a back hallway. Workers carrying lighting equipment shuttled past them. “That’s the ring,” she said, pointing as the hallway opened, and they could see into the massive space below.
“How many people can fit in there?” Sebastian asked.
“Eighteen thousand and seven,” she answered, gifting the boy with a grin.
“That’s a huge number!” Sebastian exclaimed. “Eighteen thousand and seven people are going to watch you fight, Dad.”
“More like eighteen thousand and seven and hundreds of millions more on Pay-Per-View,” the staffer replied.
“Gosh, my friend Phoebe once said she was so hungry she wanted to eat a hundred million hot dogs. But I don’t think she could do that, at least not in one day. Now, if she had two, I bet she could,” the boy mused.
Raz chuckled, but goose bumps peppered his skin. This was his make-or-break fight, and the pressure had set in.
“The weigh-in will take place on the temporary stage,” the woman continued, pointing it out. “Silas Scott will weigh in first, and then it’ll be your turn.”
“Look at the lights. There are so many,” Sebastian chimed, awe coating his observation.
Hundreds, possibly thousands of lights, pointed toward a stage lined with Union Jack flags for him and the green, white, and orange Irish flags for Silas.
“And look at the cameras,” Sebastian said, eyes as wide as saucers.
The woman glanced at her watch. “We’re starting a bit earlier. You’ve got fifteen minutes until we’ll need you on stage.”
Fifteen minutes.
The clock was ticking.
“Here’s your room,” the woman said, opening a door. “Silas Scott and his entourage are on the other side of the building. There’s a phone on the table. Let us know if you need anything.”
He thanked the event staffer, and they entered the swanky room. Sebastian set the stool on the ground, then ran to the table where several pairs of trunks were fanned out across the top.
“Why so many colors for your boxing shorts?” the lad asked, running his fingertips across the collection of trunks.