“Yes, five percent isn’t an issue at all. How do I pay you back?” he asked. I grabbed a parlay card from a stack on the table and one of the small golf pencils. I scribbled my phone number on the card and gave it to him.
“You call me in two weeks when you have the money.”
“Okay—”
“Two weeks, Joel Barnes. Don’t make me come get it.”
“I won’t. I promise. Thank you.”
Hollis
Twenty-four-years-old | February
What a shitty day.
I glanced out of the floor-to-ceiling windows of the hotel lobby and watched snow fall onto the damp streets of Chicago. I stood in the lobby along with several other TCF fighters and TCF employees. Most of us were in small groups, talking quietly. I stood with everyone from Team Dragon, minus Patrick, and my security team. All of us wore suits and some of us had coats on, ready to brave the elements and face the reality of the day.
I was nervous and kept quiet as I paced a little, keeping my head down. I wanted today to be over. I also wanted Patrick to get down here. Before I came downstairs, he received a phone call from Chase. I hung around making sure everything was okay before I had to be downstairs in the lobby. Patrick had been the one who Chase reached out to the most when he felt like talking. I was so grateful he’d connected with Chase, though I was irate they had something like this in common.
I stopped pacing once I saw Patrick approach our small group. I instantly felt better now that he was here. He carried a newspaper and a cup of coffee. He handed me the paper and stood beside me.
“How’s Chase? What did he want? Is he okay?” I asked.
“He’s okay, relax. He’s getting ready for school and wanted my opinion on something.”
“What? What did he want your opinion on?”
Anything involving Chase, I’d been all ears for.
“He was asking if I thought your parents would get upset if he decided to try out for the soccer team.” I raised my eyebrows, suddenly excited. “He said he feels like he has too much unused energy, and he has a hard time falling asleep. He thought since he used to play soccer that he might like to try it again.”
“And? What did you tell him?” I asked, eager for Patrick’s response.
“I told him that I thought they would support him no matter what sport he wanted to try.”
“Thank you. I’m so glad he’s interested in something again,” I said quietly to him.
“I know. It’s been hard, but I think he’s going in the right direction,” Patrick said as he clasped his hand down on my shoulder.
Relieved that something potentially bad or worrisome wasn’t going on back home, I looked down at the newspaper Patrick had handed me.
“The hotel concierge said they had requested more newspapers and will be delivering them to all of the rooms where TCF employees are staying,” Patrick murmured. I nodded and focused on the front page of the sports section.
Somber Day for Chicago and Sports.
Carlos Agustin, beloved Chicagoan and TCF star will be laid to rest this afternoon. Agustin suffered from a lengthy list of complications stemming from a TCF fight this past summer with the now retired Marcos Silva. Carlos was knocked out in the fight and was rushed to the emergency room. He’d suffered a severe concussion, and though he seemed to recover, complications arose off and on since the summer. In January, Agustin complained to his wife that he felt dizzy and lightheaded. He suffered an intracerebral hemorrhage and never regained consciousness. After a month of being on life support, Agustin’s family decided to take him off the ventilator. Carlos Agustin was thirty-four years of age, and leaves behind a wife and three children. Many community leaders and TCF members are expected to attend the service and funeral today.
I sighedand handed the newspaper to Marty so he could read it and pass it along.
“The front page of the sports section has a big article about his life in TCF. It was a nice article too,” Patrick said.
I nodded. I’d read that part later. Right now, I was focused on the service and funeral. Carlos’ wife had asked Vin to select six TCF fighters to serve as pallbearers, and I was one of those selected. All of the pallbearers would be riding in the same limo, which was what we were waiting for.
I watched as limos pulled under the shelter of the valet section. I saw my security guy, Steve, talking to a handful of other guys that I didn’t recognize. They all dispersed at the same time and went over to different TCF fighters.
“Hollis, you’ll ride in the front limo with the other pallbearers, and everyone else will filter into other cars. There will be plenty of room for everyone. As planned, I’ll ride to the service in our rented SUV with Zed, Jacobi, and Alfonso,” Steve explained.
“Take Patrick with you,” I told him. “You can drop him off at the front.”
