I look at him and ask, “You sure you’re going to be ready? You’ve been away from the ring a while.”
He waves me off and starts walking again. “You don’t worry about me, all right? It’s what’s in here,” he says, pointing to his head. “And here.” He points to his heart. “Me and Joe got your back. You’re going to beat Carey Valentine. And you’re going to retire like a fucking champ.” He holds his fist up and I hit it with mine.
“Lucy’s not going to like it.”
“She agreed that you would finish out your contract, right?”
“Yeah, before Las Vegas. Now she thinks I’m going to be punch-drunk before the baby even gets here.”
“Well,” he says, “after that fight, can you blame her?”
“No. I guess not.”
“Look, I just got a new heart. I plan on being around a long time, and I plan on my best friend being around with me. I don’t want to see you punch-drunk either.” He looks over at me and holds his hand up to his chin. “Drool all coming out of your mouth, rambling on about the weather.” He laughs and so do I. “I’m not going to let that happen. You tell Lucy that. You’re going to be ready for Carey Valentine. You’re going to beat him, and you’re going to do it the right way, the way Joe would’ve wanted you to. Without getting punched in the head too much, understand?”
“Yeah.”
“You’ll start training tomorrow.”
“Okay.”
We walk a little farther, until we get to a bench where Tristan can sit down, and I sit down next to him.
“It’s fucking beautiful, isn’t it?” he says, looking at the lake and the green trees reflecting on its surface like a mirror. The tall buildings in the distance frame the view.
“Yeah. A lot different than where we grew up.”
“Now look at us.” He grins at me. “Kings.”
I huff and ask, “Of what castle?”
“Dude, you need something to cheer you up. You want to go get a tattoo or something?”
“Today?”
“Yeah, why not?”
I look at my blank forearm, a stark contrast to the sleeve on my other arm. “I’ve been thinking about getting a new one, but I haven’t made an appointment with Pete yet.”
“You’re Sam Cole, you don’t need an appointment.”
“I’m glad you think so, but Pete Masters is the best tattoo artist in the city. He’s always booked solid.”
“You’re Sam Cole,” he says again. “One of the best boxers of all time. I think he’ll fit you in.”
* * *
I lie back in the black leather chair in Pete’s studio with my eyes closed, listening to the buzz of the tattoo gun as he carefully paints Lucy’s face on my forearm.
“Holy shit,” Tristan says, and I open my eyes. “That’s incredible.”
Pete stays focused on his work, oblivious to Tristan standing over him as he layers shades of gray ink on my arm, replicating a picture of Lucy that I showed him. I took it one morning when she wasn’t looking. Her face is turned to the side and her blue eyes are lit by the morning sun coming in our bedroom. Her blond hair is falling around her face in loose waves, and her full lips are parted slightly. It’s my favorite picture of her.
“I thought Lucy was the best artist I knew, but”—he shakes his head—“Pete’s giving her a run for her money.”
“So how does it look?” I ask, pointing at Tristan’s chest.
He pulls up his shirt and shows me the initials he had tattooed over his heart, next to the long scar that now runs down the middle of his chest. JPM.
“Joseph Patrick Maloney.”
“The one and only,” he says, lowering his shirt. “Hope he’s smiling about it, wherever he is.”
“It’s Joe we’re talking about. You know where he is.”
He pulls up a chair, sits down beside me, and watches Pete work. “You think he’s with his parents?”
I nod, ignoring the sting of the tattoo needle scraping across my skin. “Yeah, I do. I think he’s in a good place.”
“Me too.”
Chapter 19
Lucy
I watch the familiar New York City skyline come into view as we descend through the clouds and approach JFK airport. I recall the last trip I made to the city to watch Sam fight Mario Sanchez at Madison Square Garden. I put my hand on my stomach and gaze out at the buildings and skyscrapers that fill the horizon, reflecting on how much my life has changed since then.
“Ladies and gentlemen, we’re beginning our decent into John F. Kennedy International Airport,” the pilot says over the speaker. “We should be on the ground in just a few minutes, but until then, please stay seated with your seat belt on. Thank you.”
“It’s weird, isn’t it?” Sebastian says, leaning over my shoulder to look out of the window.
“What?”
“Everything that’s happened since the last time we were in New York.”
I give him a suspicious look. How is he always inside my head?
“Who knew that the Cole-Sanchez fight would change my life,” he muses, and I laugh. “I don’t think anyone in the world could have convinced me that less than a year later, you’d be pregnant with Sam Cole’s baby.” He sighs and rests his chin in his hand.
“Me neither.” I shake my head and frown. “Or that we’d also be fighting.”
“You’re not fighting. You’re taking a mutual break.”
“That’s what people do before they get divorced. And we’re not even married yet.”
“People get divorced because they don’t know when to take a break. It was the right thing to do. You’ll see.”
“Bas and I took a break before we got married,” Paul says, joining the conversation.
“What? You did? You never told me that,” I say to Bas.
“It was a long time ago. Paul wanted to move to Florida, and I wanted to stay in Atlanta.”
“So what happened?”
“I went to Florida,” Paul says. “For a little bit anyway. And then I realized that no matter how much I missed my family and wanted to be near them, it wasn’t worth losing the most important person in my life.” He wraps his hand around Sebastian’s, and it tugs at my heart.
“He also realized that the music scene was bigger in Atlanta than Orlando,” Bas adds with a smirk.
“I should have asked Sam to come. It feels wrong going to the Aurelia Snow exhibit without him.”
“It’s probably for the best, Lucy.” Paul shrugs. “He’s taken a lot of crap from the media since the Crawford fight. Being in New York would only exacerbate it.”
“Hey, Lucy?” Sebastian says with wide eyes. “Guess what!”
I give him an apprehensive look. “What?”
“We’re going to an Aurelia Snow exhibit.” He grabs my hand and bites his lip. “Which is featuring your painting!”
I laugh. “I know.” I squeal quietly and pull my hand to my mouth, which Sebastian promptly pulls away from my face.