Hollis lived for this sport.
Out of all of his TCF fights so far, this upcoming title fight with Marcos Silva was the only one I dreaded. Each night leading up to the fight, I gripped my Worry Wart and said a silent prayer for Hollis to be safe. Up until now, I never worried about his safety. The threat of how badly he could be hurt was very real. Marcos Silva wanted to put Hollis in the hospital.
I knew Hollis would do everything he could in the cage. But Marcos Silva was as psycho as they came.
A day before the fight, Vin Hasselbeck imposed a series of fines against Marcos and his team for taking part in a rally with his fans. The papers and news showed signs and posters with drawings of a decapitated cartoon dragon and phrases like “Kill the rich boy,” “Cripple The Dragon,” and “The Dragon bites the dust.” None of the signs were supporting Marcos but instead were bringing Hollis down. Rallies that I’d seen before always were positive in nature and were meant to encourage their fighter. These were just meant to humiliate Marcos’ opponent. What was worse, the news and the papers all had pictures of Marcos at the rally hoisting up signs and wearing a shirt that read “I drink dragon’s blood.”
Vin commented about it on the news saying it was one of the poorest and most appalling displays of sportsmanship TCF had seen. Hollis’ parents, grandparents, and brothers called frequently to check in on him to make sure he was doing okay. I promised his parents that I would keep a close eye on him and would alert them of anything. Hollis never showed signs of being rattled by anything Marcos said or did.
“He’s just making noise and trying to distract me. I’m mostly annoyed with the way he’s using our fight to promote this kind of behavior. No one will bring their kid to a fight where one fighter is promoting decapitating his opponent or threatening to put them in the hospital.”
I applauded Hollis for seemingly being calm about this. But I was worried.
* * *
My heart racedas we waited backstage. Hollis was flanked by his coaches and trainers. All of them were shouting encouraging words and reminders that he had this. I felt sick inside. I didn’t know what shape he’d be in after five rounds… assuming he’d last five rounds. My hand itched to touch his and tell him that I loved him.
That wouldn’t be very thoughtful of me, though.
It would be more for my benefit than his.
It would be a distraction to him.
But what if Marcos put him in a coma and he never woke up?
Moments before he was announced, I desperately moved my hand to touch the fingertips exposed from his gloves. He turned his head to look at me, and I opened my mouth, but nothing I wanted to say came out.
“You’ve got this, Hollis,” I said and smiled at him. I curled my hand into a fist and bumped his hand.
He smiled and nodded at me.
“I do,” he said confidently.
Seconds later, Hollis was announced. The arena dazzled with green lights as Hollis proudly led his team down the walkway to the cage. There were plenty Team Dragon fans cheering him on. But as many cheers as there were, there were also boos from Marcos Silva’s fans.
Don’t listen to the boos, Hollis.
You’ve got this.
Don’t die.
My stomach ached as I grabbed my seat in the front with Corey. Hollis’ family always flew out to Vegas for all of his fights and sat in the second row. Charles tapped me on the shoulder, and I turned to look at him. His mom looked at me with nervous and hopeful eyes.
“How is he? Is he nervous?” he asked.
“Is he scared he’s going to get decapitated?” Chase asked. I glanced at Chase’s wrist and smiled when I saw he had on one of the famous green Team Dragon rope bracelets that Hollis gave out to kids.
“Chasion,” Charles said and tapped his knee.
“He was in really good spirits and told me he’s got this.”
Marcos Silva entered the cage and arrogantly strutted around, encouraging fans to make more noise. I watched as Marty yelled to try to communicate with Hollis, but Hollis couldn’t hear him. Fletch had to sharply whistle to get Hollis’ attention. Hollis looked over, and Marty pointed at his head to remind him to use his best weapon—his mind. Hollis was indeed the underdog according to the sports books.
Marcos was mouthing off to Hollis as the ref stood between them. I closed my eyes and said a quick prayer for Hollis’ safety. At the sound of the bell, my eyes popped open.
Marcos took a quick swing at Hollis’ head, but Hollis blocked it and made the first effective strike to Marcos’ face. Hollis’ fans erupted. Marcos was fucking pissed. Stunned, Marcos took a step back and tilted his head to the left and right as if trying to shake it off.
“Yeah! Come on, Hollis!” I yelled. I thought it was encouraging that Hollis’ first move made contact with Marcos.
