“Don’t worry, sunshine,” Finn says, adding a wink. “I’ll take you to a nice dinner after the match.”
I force what I hope is an encouraging smile, returning my focus to the screen in time to see the winner being interviewed. Good heavens. Even he seems to feel bad about what he did to Conan. He glances over his shoulder as the commentator congratulates him, watching Conan’s camp carry his slumped form out of the octagon.
Angus, Finn’s oldest brother who’s adding more bulk to his belly by ramming another donut in his mouth shakes his head. “If that’s not a career ending injury, I don’t know what is,” he says.
“Angus,” Curran warns, his attention cutting my way.
Angus ignores him, scratching his shaggy dark beard. “I mean, at the very least he’s going to need new teeth.” He shrugs. “He should have retired two years ago. Before his speech got wrecked to shit.”
“Angus,” Curran says again, this time louder.
Angus of course, isn’t listening, reaching for another donut. “After that shot to the skull, he’ll have to stick to coloring books and Candyland for shits and giggles.” He gives it some thought. “Hell, if he can even manage that.”
“Angus, shut up already,” Wren yells as she watches me sink to the couch. “Finn doesn’t need that shit.”
I think she means Finn and Sol, because her eyes are on me. But I’m not alone in how I feel. Everyone appears ill at ease following what went down these past two match-ups.
“Finn’s going to own it,” Killian says, his voice gruff as he watches Finn’s strikes.
“Yup. I’ve got it,” Finn agrees. He spins around, another perfect roundhouse kick finding Killian’s glove. Sofia and Wren sit on either side of me, watching me as I shove the rest of the candy bar in my mouth.
I’ve been fine. Totally and completely fine with Finn being a fighter. In the past, I even caught a few of his fights on T.V. I know he’s tough. I’m confident he’s skilled. I’m positive he’s focused. But I’ve never actually seen him fight in a real bout, especially not as his girlfriend.
The matches I saw on T.V., were hard to watch because I knew of him and thought that he was a nice guy. Now that I well, love him . . . Jesus Christ and three to four disciples, how am I going to get through this?
I turn to Sofia. “How did you do it?” I ask her, keeping my voice low with the hopes Finn doesn’t hear me. “All those times you saw Killian fight, and witnessed everything he had to go through to become a champion, how did you get through it?”
Killian retired after he won the super heavyweight title, walking away from a lot of money, and earning a great deal of criticism due to his young age and the expectation to defend his title. I can understand, to some extent, where the condemnation was coming from. Killian could possibly have held the title for years, become more of a legend, and given his legions of fans more of what they wanted. But he had his reasons for leaving the fighting circuit.
The main one being Sofia.
He wanted the quality of life a lot of fighters don’t have after years spent in the ring getting punched in the skull and pushing their bodies to their breaking point. And he wanted to share that life with Sofia. As much as she never asked him to walk away, he knew it was something she wanted, and recognized how hard it was for her to watch him get hurt.
I wait for her words of wisdom, or some sort of silver lining. Yet it takes a moment for those words to come.
She rubs her hands as if gathering her thoughts. But then I realize she’s not working through what to say, she’s remembering what she saw. “It wasn’t easy,” she admits. “I . . .”
“She almost fainted during one his worst matches,” Wren finishes for her. Unlike Sofia who’s in a pretty dress, and me who didn’t know better and wore a cute top, jeans, and boots, Wren is wearing a form-fitting and very short navy dress that shows off her long legs. “Seriously,” she adds. “Sofe turned as white as my ass and we had to catch her before she fell over.”
Awesome.
I glance back at Sofia, my eyes rounding. “I wish she was joking,” she says. “But I really had a hard time being strong.” She takes my hand in hers, motioning to the T.V... “These fights are brutal. Sometimes the referees don’t stop them in time, but more often the fighters keep going, their desire to win interfering with their logic to stop.”
“Like Conan?” I ask.