“I decide which color I want to wear the day of the weigh-in.”
From reds to golds to blues and black, the trunks shimmered under the lights. He took in the array of hues, then turned to his son. “Why don’t you pick.”
“Me?” he whispered, awestruck.
“Yeah, have a go.”
Sebastian zeroed in on a pair. “That’s easy! The bluish-purple indigo trunks. You can match the rock stack. Then you know you’re on the right path to victory.”
Victory.
The word floated in the air, triggering Aug’s question.
What are you fighting for?
He chewed on the question, running on autopilot as he changed his clothes, slipping on the indigo trunks. He’d never worn this color before. He’d stuck to bold reds, but that didn’t suit him now. Checking his appearance in the mirror, he stared at his reflection.
Who was the British Beast?
Who was the Lion?
A sharp knock on the door pulled him from the questions swirling around in his head. “It’s time,” Aug called.
“Will Mibby be here? She’s one of your trainers, too. I hope she didn’t get lost,” Sebastian said, worry creasing his brow.
Mibby.
He should have been ready for this question.
“She’s not coming, lad, not for the weigh-in.”
He could see the wheels turning in his son’s head.
“Did you make her mad? Did you act like a…” Sebastian asked, then tapped his foot two times.
“Is that Phoebe’s foot tap trick?”
“Yeah, but when Phoebe taps twice, it means butthole,” the boy explained, whispering the naughty word. “But when I tapped, I meant beefcake.”
“You know about Libby calling me beefcake?”
“Phoebe showed me a training video where Libby was throwing mini-torpedoes at you. And then the astronauts did the same training.”
Viral bloody videos.
But he couldn’t deny that the kid had boiled it down to its very essence. “Yeah, I was a pretty big…” He tapped his foot twice. “And I hurt her feelings.”
He braced himself, waiting for the boy to cry or yell, but he didn’t. He nodded, taking on Granny Finola’s sage quality. “Don’t worry, Dad,” Sebastian replied as a smile spread across his lips. “I made an intention and put my energy into keeping Mibby and the donkeys with us.”
“It might not be that easy to do,” he bit out, hating having to even utter the words.
“I’m already one for one on my first intention,” the boy proclaimed, puffing up.
“And what was that one about?”
“I wanted us to be happy and spend time together.”
How did he get such an amazing kid?
Emotion welled in his chest.
“Mibby says the universe is mysterious,” Sebastian continued. “And you never know exactly what will happen, but it will always be what’s supposed to happen.” The boy scratched his head. “She talks like that a lot, and I’m not sure what it means, but it makes me feel like everything will be okay.”
He patted his son’s shoulder. “She’s good at that.”
“Champ, we need to move,” Briggs called from the hall.
“I’ll carry the stool,” Sebastian chimed, the little helper.
Raz steadied himself. This was it. This was how it started. He opened the door as the murmur of pounding music drifted down the hall.
“You ready, boyo?” Aug asked, looking him over. “I see you’ve chosen a different color than usual.”
Sebastian lifted his chin. “I chose indigo, Aug.”
“Did you, lad?” the man said, and Raz could hear the hint of approval in his trainer’s reply.
Briggs came to his side as the music got louder. “Silas is already on the stage. He made weight. Your family and friends are in the crowd. They’re close to the stage. You’ll be able to see them when you get out there. Stick to the script. Give them a little snarl. You know the drill, champ.”
“Is she here?” he asked, lowering his voice.
Briggs shook his head. “No, I thought that had ended. I took you leaving Rickety Rock with Aug to mean the partnership had run its course. I gave Aug the press release for you to sign.”
“I haven’t gotten to that,” he mumbled, his emotions on a bloody roller coaster.
He let out a heavy breath. Perhaps it was for the best. He could focus solely on bringing his A game and worry about making amends after the fight. But his thoughts weren’t on laying into Silas Scott or which combinations could knock the Snake into next week. His mind drifted to thoughts of two remarkable women and lightning striking twice two times.
“This is where we leave you, Raz,” Aug said as they approached the ramp leading to the stage.
Another person with a headset waved him forward. “They’re about to announce you, Mr. Cress,” she said as an event staffer escorted Briggs, Aug, and his son to their seats.
Alone, he closed his eyes and jogged in place. This is the moment he’d work himself up and become the beast, the roaring lion. He’d pound his chest and gnash his teeth, getting into character, but it felt wrong. He wasn’t the Lion anymore. He patted the items in his pocket, then reached inside and removed the stone and pocket watch—his past and his present. But what did the future hold?
The music stopped, and the announcer nodded to him.
“The British Beast, the London Lion, Erasmus Cress!”
The music blasted, and the vibrations thrummed through the floor. He jogged onto the stage. Light coming at him from every angle. He knew this song and dance, but this weigh-in was different. He shook off the ominous feeling.
Just go with it. You know what they want.
He unzipped his hoodie, allowing the cameras to capture his ripped, muscled torso. He stood, basking in the glow, allowing the media to consume him.
“How ya doing, Erasmus? How’s the eye?” Silas cooed, his Irish lilt syrupy sweet.
Raz ignored the man and focused on his friends and family, but his heart ached for the two people who weren’t there. The two women who’d made him a better man.
How many times does lightning have to strike twice?
“Step onto the scale, please,” the announcer instructed.
The refs and judges sat at a table, recording the information.
“Gentlemen,” the announcer boomed, inviting the men to the center of the stage.
Nose to nose, the boxers stared each other down. This is the part where he’d usually go full-on beefcake. With adrenaline pumping, he’d slap a twisted smirk to his lips. He’d taunt his opponent, letting loose with the trash talk and playing the part of the beefcake. Instead, he closed his eyes.
Picture a time when you were truly happy. Hold the feeling inside your chest, close to your heart.
A lightness expanded inside him as his chi evened out. Like a key unlocking a door, his chakras came into alignment. With a cosmic click, a wave of images and warmth washed over him. He saw Mere’s face on their wedding day. He could feel the tears on his cheeks when he held his son for the first time. And then he was in Denver, standing on the sidewalk the night Rowen had dragged him and the other guys to help move Penny’s things into his place. That’s where he’d first seen the raven-haired Libby Lamb. The memory lingered as the sound of the ocean and the gentle lullaby of Moloka’i came back to him. Pure joy radiated through his body, recalling the feeling of holding Libby in his arms.