I didn’t want to answer her because I knew she’d laugh. I mumbled into the phone.
“Cormac,” she pressed. Which kind of shocked me because she never called me that.
“Fine. Fourteen!” I admitted. She did actually laugh at me. I needed to hear that sound in person.
“I will be on that flight, O’Connell, I promise. The snow is almost completely gone here.”
“How are you getting to Heathrow?” I asked, worrying about her even now.
“Albie offered to drive me to the airport,” she said.
“I made sure there’s a car service at the airport to meet your flight. Earnshaw told me they’ll hold up one of those signs with your name on it. Show them your ID when you get here and they’ll bring you straight to the guys, okay?” Shit, I sounded so fucking nervous.
“O’Connell” she said to me.
“Yeah,” I answered huskily.
“You’ve got this. When you get in that ring tomorrow, know that I’m on my way to you that very minute, and I want you to fight like I’m right in front of you. You’ve been training for this, so show me what my husband is made of.”
Just like that, all the nerves and bullshit fell away, and I knew this fucking fight was mine. Now it was time to show the rest of the world that too.
*
Fight day, like every morning here, was bright and clear, and I itched to go for a run. Kieran and the rest of the guys were in Odell’s diner, stuffing down the American version of a full English fried breakfast. When I got back, I knew I was gonna sweet talk Kieran’s ma into cooking me up a full Irish breakfast, soda bread and all.
Tommy questioned why I wasn’t going along. They all knew I couldn’t eat with them but guessed I’d want the company. Kieran knew better. He tossed me his headphones and iPod on the way out and left me watching Leon and his boys sparring. The music drowned out everything, and I let my head get where it needed to be. To a place it most definitely hadn’t been during the exhibition match. Temple’s cocky scowl was burned into my brain, and I knew, based on my last performance and the shit he’d been saying about me lately, he thought had this in the bag.
As I looked around Southside, I realized just how different Temple and I were. Sure, we were from opposite sides of the world, but both of us came from poor families and boxing had elevated us. What made us different was what we did when we got to the top. Temple surrounded himself with his “crew” as he liked to call them.
As far as I could tell, they were yes-men who changed from week to week. Sure he had a longtime trainer, like I had Danny, but the rest of them came and went. He was renowned in his downtime for attending clubs, celebrity parties, and high-profile events, his friendship with a few notorious rappers making him as infamous as the boxing did. There were always at least two models hanging off his arms. Shit, even at the weigh-in, he had half his entourage around him.
I listened to all of them, him included, talk shit about what I was bringing to the table. It was a time-honored boxing tradition to try and break each other mentally before a fight. My temper was usually on a hair trigger, but I’d perfected the art of looking bored shitless at weigh-ins, which usually succeeded in riling up my opponent. I think I might I have even thrown a yawn in midway through Temple’s rant.
I didn’t want any of that shit. Sure, I wanted to be successful to give my girl a better life, so that I could take care of her. But I was the lucky son of a bitch who got to do that by doing what I loved. And I fucking loved the fight. Temple boxed with his head. He was what Danny called a “technical” fighter. His technique was flawless. Combine that with his size and fitness and the guy was a machine.
I ran my fingertips over the tattoo across my chest. “A champion is someone who gets up when they can’t.—Jack Dempsey.” I wasn’t a technical fighter. I was a wild card, always would be. When I got knocked down, when my ribs were bruised and every single part of my body felt fucking broken, I got back up. When the fight was over and all hope of victory was lost, I got back up. Heart is what got me a shot at the world heavyweight title, not fear or anger, but heart. In the end, it’s why I would win. Because when his head told Temple it was all over, my heart would still be telling me to get back up. Losing was done when you listened to your head; winning was done when you listened to your heart.
The longer I watched Leon work his way through sparring partners, the more I imagined in my head how the fight was going to go down. I was fucking hungry for this. Temple had no idea what I was capable of, but he was about to find out. I was ready to hurt and keep hurting until Temple went down and stayed down. Whatever happened tonight, I was coming home with that title, not for Em, not for Danny or any of the boys, but for me.
*