Yet, beneath the surface, there’s always been something darker lurking—a need to feel powerful, to be more than just the perpetually happy one who never let anyone down.
I craved attention and validation that I never received after she left and my brothers and dad went their separate ways, tending to their losses without me. I sought a way to prove that I mattered beyond the jokes I told, the happiness I could bring to any situation and that my darkness and sadness were significant too.
I’d just never found an outlet to tap into that until now.
When I was six years old and my brothers were sixteen and seventeen, I vividly remember them wrestling on the floor of Cameron Ranch. They’d go blow for blow, putting each other in headlocks while I tried to join in. In a matter of seconds, Wylie had me in a headlock, and Nash had my little leg pinned behind my back as I screamed in pain.
Of course, my mom walked in at that moment, and my brothers ended up in so much trouble that they swore they’d never touch me again. And they stayed true to that until we were much older.
But fighting in that underground facility in San Angelo marked a turning point for me. My mom was gone, and Ihatednot having her protection, but I loved the taste of blood in my mouth, reminding me that I was strong, capable, and still alive.
I hoped she was looking down and feeling proud of me too.
My training with Dallas was going well, that was, until a few weeks later when Savannah noticed my eye and realized I’d been lying about getting injured working on the ranch.
I’ll never forget her warning me to stop my foolishness before I got seriously hurt, rather than embracing the part of me that craved something physical, new and a bit dangerous, something I couldn’t quite describe but was finally my own.
I had complied, staying away from that seedy facility in San Angelo until six months later, the week after her car accident.
I’d been at her hospital bed day and night, not even going home to shower. Her parents had left to rest, and I’d taken the opportunity to walk down the hallway for coffee from the hospital vending machine and stretch my legs before hunkering down for another long night holding her hand and praying.
Savannah and I had been talking about marriage for years, but we both felt it wasn’t the right time yet. Despite having known each other since our teenage years, we felt young and uncertain about the future. She was just getting into her gig at the co-op, hosting cooking classes for the community and recording videos to advertise it online and I was still figuring out my future working at Cameron and Ashwood ranches.
When I walked back into her room after a long walk around the hospital, I was taken aback to find a man on crutches, his leg in a cast, standing by Savannah’s bed.
As soon as I knocked, his head turned toward the door, and I recognized him as the driver from the night of the accident. Though I didn’t know his name, the look of anguish in his eyes was unmistakable. I didn’t know who he was, but I knew immediately who Savannah was tohim.
He’d spoken words that I could never forget: he was sorry, and Savannah had always loved me, despite the two-year relationship they’d been engaged in that I’d been completely oblivious to.
In my rage and betrayal, I’d hit him, knocking him out cold. The only thing that kept me from facing felony charges was his decision not to press them. He had no idea I was in the darkabout their affair—Savannah had told him just that week that she had ended things with me.
After that day, something shifted within me permanently. The fight that I’d buried at Savannah’s request began to resurface. I returned to the ring with renewed intensity, training harder with Dallas—who, after making me promise never to assault someone on crutches in a hospital again—pushed me to my limits as punishment.
I mapped out a new path, eventually stepping away from managing Ashwood ranch and knocking on the door of Chief Hollister and his fire department. It was a transition into a world of fighting, training, and protection, a gateway to the ring and a new chapter in my life. The balance between saving lives while at work and fighting after, kept me grounded and helped me rebuild and reclaim my new identity.
“Who are ya’ fighting today?” Dallas asks as soon as I arrive at the underground facility.
I kick off my shoes and stretch my toes. It feels good to have them out of my worn cowboy boots, even if the alternative is feeling the familiar, damp, stained carpet of the facility underneath my feet.
“Billy the GOAT,” I respond.
Dallas chuckles, “I heard he’s a mean mother fucker from around here, but it should be a good fight.”
“When are you getting in the ring again, old man?” I shoot back. Dallas is only two years younger than my brother Nash, but in better shape than any twenty-year-olds I’d ever seen. I liked to think that his time spent training me is keeping him that way, but the guy never sits still whenever Dove is on tour.
He shakes his head, “Dove doesn’t want me fighting for sport, and I don’t have the fire in me that’s needed to do this type of grappling. Typically, the crazy guys like you have some sort of deep-rooted anger that’s licking inside you and desperate tocome out through your fists. My life is too good for that. I’ve settled my demons. Might be something for you to consider someday,” he chuckles at me knowingly and though we’d never gotten into all of the details of my past, he knows that I’m fighting mine every time I enter the ring.
“Clay, you’re up!” a voice calls from outside of the door where I’m getting ready.
I slide on my rash guard and strap on my gloves, pounding the knuckles together to warm the material.
“Hey, don’t forget to have fun too,” he says. “I didn’t get you into this to chase after a death wish. It’s about feeling the pain as much as it is about releasing it and enjoying yourself along the way.”
I nod, but his words barely register. My mind is clouded with pain, regret, and a mountain of anger most days. I thrive on feeling that pain, perhaps too much. In the ring, though, there isn’t much room for introspection—just the raw, immediate sensation of every blow you absorb and every move you make. It’s something I dream now about and what I look forward to every week...
Chapter 5 – Clay
I step into the ring, touching gloves with my opponent for the night—Billy the GOAT. The grating clatter of a cowbell signals the start, and we begin round one, launching into the familiar, brutal rhythm of our fight.
