Patrick and I were flying home this weekend to have dinner with my parents, grandparents, and brothers. I told them I wasn’t leaving home until we all decided and planned a vacation for us to go on right after the fight.
Nate
Twelve-years-old | February
Ipulled the smoke-stained curtains away from the window to look outside. It was almost eight in the morning, and Hollis said the driver would be here at eight. When I saw a black SUV pull into the parking lot, I let go of the curtain, grabbed my Team Dragon backpack and gym bag, and then glanced at Dad. He was still passed out on the couch, a sea of beer cans on the floor and coffee table. I had written a note reminding him that I’d be at the gym today. I just hoped he wouldn’t wake up before I left. The last time Dad was awake when the driver came, he really embarrassed me.
I hurried outside so the driver wouldn’t have to wait very long. I shoved the key to the apartment in my pocket after I locked the door and then jogged to the SUV. Alfonso got out of the SUV as I reached for the door to the back seat.
“Hey, Alfonso,” I said. I let my backpack slide off my shoulders.
“Nate The Great, how are you doing this morning?” he asked.
“I’m good.”
I climbed into the back seat and quickly closed the door and put my seat belt on.Come on, let’s go. I kept my eye on the front door as Alfonso pulled away from the curb. When we left the parking lot and got out onto the main street, I relaxed.
“Okay, just like last time, I’ll wait over in the seats,” Alfonso said as we walked near the gym’s entrance. It wasn’t the TCF gym, but a public one that Hollis said they used a lot for their junior team. When I got inside, I saw the jiu-jitsu coach, Fletcher.
“Hey, Nate!” he said. I smiled and jogged over with my bags. I was ready for the day.
“It’s The Protégé,” Marty, the boxing coach, said. Marty always teased me and called me The Protégé. I knew he was kidding, though, because Hollis hadn’t selected a protégé yet. Besides, I was still too young to be one.
Hollis was set to retire this summer on account of wanting to remain healthy and to enjoy being able to travel. After he retires, he planned to select one member from his junior team to take on as his protégé. The junior team would remain, but one team member would go on to have more one-on-one time with Hollis. It would be so cool to be his protégé, but the timing wasn’t right for me yet because of my age.
I had been the youngest accepted into the Junior Team Dragon program, which was a combination of sheer luck and the fact that my karate skills were top-notch. There were six other guys in high school that I trained along with. One of them would be Hollis’ protégé. I did the same workouts they did, but when it came time for sparring, I either worked with Fletcher or Marty. I was still a lot smaller than the high school kids, and a lot of them underestimated me already. But it didn’t matter, either way. I was just happy to be here, and eventually my time would come to be Hollis’ protégé.
* * *
July
My eyes stungand burned from all the smoke in the air in the sportsbook. I wished I didn’t have to be here with Dad, but it was my only way to watch Hollis’ last fight before he retired. I wasn’t going to miss it for the world.
I proudly wore my Team Dragon T-shirt and cheered Hollis on with the rest of the people in the sportsbook. Hollis’ opponent looked wobbly from the first round on, but he was hanging in there. Finally, seven seconds into the fifth round, Hollis leveled Juan Jauques with his signature upper cut.
“Yeah!” I yelled and jumped up and down with my dad.
I waited off to the side while Dad waited in the massive lines to collect the winnings. Nearly every time Dad won money, he had to pay this guy he borrowed money from. I wished he’d stop gambling because I was so tired of us moving around all the time.
Dad promised we’d go to the buffet again—he always promised. In all the years though, we’d never been. Dad hadn’t even made it back to where I stood before that guy appeared. I watched in disgust and anger as Dad handed him all the money. Tears stung my eyes because I knew Dad was counting on the money for the rent. We’d already received the thirty-day notice weeks ago, and we had through the weekend to come up with the rent. I could see Dad trying to reason with him, but this guy was a fucking asshole. He walked away from Dad with a few other guys, obviously not caring.
As Dad started to walk this way, I took a deep breath and pressed my T-shirt against my eyes to soak up any stray tears. I stopped trying to make a big deal out of this and his addiction because he’d usually get mad and hit me. So if he was fine with living in an old car, then fine. I didn’t care anymore either.
Marcos
June
I’d spent years since my forced retirement trying to find young fighters to train to become elite TCF fighters. I’d sent several fighters into the cage that I thought were good and strong enough to oust Hollis Ward and his new team of young fighters. Sadly, none of the idiots I’d found had been worth it. All the fighters I trained and sent into the cage to go directly against Ward had succumbed to him. Which pissed me off more than I liked to admit. Since Hollis had retired, the only way I could get to him was by sending my young fighters to fight his young fighters.
The only problem so far had been my young fighters hadn’t been much of a match for his. And this wasn’t acceptable. Headlines still topped the papers stating “Marcos Silva’s team doesn’t come close to Hollis Ward’s team.”
I seemed to draw the attention of young fighters who appeared to be hungry to win, until they got into the cage. Then they'd fall apart. One loss, and they were gone. I’d give them housing, food, and training. And I was hard pressed to even get them to last more than a year. There were good fighters out there. I just needed to find them before Hollis did. I had a full training staff including recruiters who scoured gyms looking for possibly the next TCF fighter and one that was worthy enough of wearing a Team Marcos Silva label.
My only gem so far was Diego Bragga all the way from Rio de Janeiro. He was twenty-years-old and cut from the same cloth as I was. We both grew up dirt poor and having to fight for survival. Diego would definitely become the main fighter for Team Silva, but I needed more to compete with Ward. I was on my way to one of the gyms we used, when one of my trainers called me.
“Yeah?” I said when I answered.
“Marcos, man you need to get to the gym,” Max, one of my trainers and personal assistant, said as I gazed out the window.
