Tate sits on a wooden bench, her foot tapping the floor as she wrings her hands anxiously. Pre-fight jitters. They’re the worst, and will call your fight before you even step foot in the ring.
Reba pulls and tugs on Tate’s blonde hair, braiding it into cornrows along her scalp. It’s protocol to have your hair tightly braided to keep from injury inside the ring. Tate winces, and scratches at her head as Reba continues to jostle her head around. I remember how much those damn things itched and hurt when my hair was considered a hazard. I don’t miss them.
Pulling the door to her locker open I open a gym bag I packed, and pull out an old school Walkman.
Kneeling in front of her, I place an earbud in her left ear and she flinches aggressively, like she didn’t even notice I was in the room.
“Easy.” I pinch my brows together. “You’re too wound up, babe. This will help.” I place the other earbud in her ear.
“A Walkman? You know they have iPods and stuff now.” She eyes the tape player with a smirk on her face.
“I’ve had it since I was a kid, it’s never let me down in getting my head where it needs to be. It’s yours now.” I press play, and hand it to her.
“Eye Of The Tiger” by Survivor echoes through the headphones.
Debs walks in the room, her hands on her hips. “She ready?”
Reba wipes her hands off on a white rag. “I don’t know, she’s really nervous,” Reba exhales on a long breath.
“She will be,” I mutter.
“She better be,” Debs snaps, her tone of voice hitting me wrong.
“Why don’t you back off? This is a lot of pressure for a first fight Debs,” I bark. Reba gives Debs and I an off look and leaves.
“I’m getting a soda, when I get back, she better be more relaxed than that.” Debs points at Tate.
I grab the roll of tape, kneel in between Tate’s knees, and start wrapping it around her wrists and hands.
Her eyes find mine, her face serious, revealing how vulnerable she is right now. I feel more connected to her than ever after telling her everything. I can’t lie though, being here has me on edge. My heartbeat has been rising by the minute, and every time I close my eyes I see Bret lifeless on the ground.
Maybe Tate was right, if I want to lay my demons to rest… I need to take them to where I most fear them. The ring.
A knock sounds at the door that breaks mine and Tate’s connection.
“Dad?” Tate’s face brightens with surprise.
“You didn’t think I’d miss your first fight did you?” Her dad Nicky wraps his arms around her, bringing her in for a big hug.
“Camden got your sister and I last minute tickets.” Tate’s eyes flick to mine in appreciation, and I shrug. Any man would do it. I know how important it is to Tate having her Dad’s approval.
Tate
My eyes fill with unshed tears as I stare at my father, the look of something I haven’t seen in a long time flashing in his eyes.
Pride. He’s proud of me.
He cups my cheeks, making me look him in the eyes.
“This is in your blood, Tate. Do what you were made to do.”
He kisses my forehead, and walks out. A single tear escapes my eye, trailing down my cheek.
I have to win this fight.
Glancing to my right I find Camden smiling at me, knowing how much this moment means to me.
“Thank you,” my voice cracks, and more tears spill from my eyes.
He shrugs, “Anyone would do it.”
I laugh. “No, they wouldn’t.”
That’s how I know I have won already. No man assumes to bring his girlfriend’s family to her first fight. It speaks volumes of the man Camden is.
I sit down on the hard bench and place the earbuds back in one by one. The reality of the situation weighing down on my shoulders once again. I shake my hands out, close my eyes, and inhale a calming breath. Damn I hope this gets easier.
“Tate, it’s time,” Debs announces, poking her head through the door. I pull the earbuds from my ears and stand. My heart is racing, adrenaline making me feel wide awake and ready. I can do this. This is my fight. This is in my blood.
Camden grabs my shoulders and rubs tightly. “Show that bitch whose ring she just stepped into Tate,” he whispers into my ear. My brows furrow, and I nod. He pats my back. “Go knock her ass out.”
I’m escorted back stage where a black curtain hangs. The announcer shouts my name and stats to the cheering crowd, which considering I have no stats, I sound ridiculous. Apprehension and excitement rush through me. This is happening, this is really happening.
“Go!” Debs shoves me, and I push past the curtains, body guards and my team right behind me.
Lights blind me, and fog clouds the floor. The smell of food, sweat, and perfume overwhelming. My walkout song so loud I can barely hear the crowd and announcer. “Bitch Better Have My Money” by Rihanna.
I smile, knowing Camden picked it for me.