This is on me and me alone.
In between the searching, there’s training.
Malone doesn’t let up, even though he can tell something’s wrong. If anything, he continues pushing harder, probably hoping the physical exhaustion will snap me out of whatever funk I’m in.
He’s got me sparring with anybody who’ll step in the ring,running drills ’til my lungs burn, and hitting the punching bag ’til it’s breaking off the chain.
It doesn’t work. Nothing works.
“You’re distracted, Kill,” Malone grunts two days before the big fight. “Your footwork’s sloppy and your timing’s off. Don’t get me started on how you’re telegraphing every punch like you’re sending a fucking postcard.”
I wipe the sweat from my face and glare at him. “I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine. You’re a mess.” He crosses his arms, his grizzled face set in a disapproving grimace. “Besides, you’ll need to be a hell of a lot more than fine to beat Sharapova. The fight’s in two days, and you’re nowhere close to being where you need to be.”
“I don’t give a fuck,” I growl moodily.
“Youshouldgive a fuck. This is the championship. Everything you’ve worked for. You go in there like this, Sharapova’s gonna eat you alive.”
I know he’s right.
But I still can’t bring myself to give a damn. All I can think about is Jhene.
Where is she? Is she safe? Is Fedorov punishing her for failing to deliver what he wanted? Is she locked in one of those cages she told me about?
Most troubling of all, how the fuck do I find her?
The night of the fight arrives regardless of how ready for it I am.
My gym bag’s packed and sitting by the door, stuffed with everything I need for Madison Square Garden.
Tape, gloves, mouthguard, the robe Dez had custom-made with my name stitched across the back in silver thread.
It’s all there, waiting for me to pick it up and walk out thedoor and go do the thing I’ve spent my entire career building toward.
…yet I can’t make myself move.
I’m sitting on the edge of the bed with my face in my hands and my mind a thousand miles away from the fight.
It’s becoming harder to function. To carry on when Jhene’s out there, and I don’t know if she’s alright.
Anything could be happening to her. She could be hurt or injured.
…she could already be dead.
It would be my fucking fault. I was so caught up in my outrage I refused to hear her out. I didn’t give her a chance to explain as she begged me to understand.
Instead, I turned her away like the asshole I am.
My phone buzzes and I glance down to see a text from Dez.
Already at the stadium
You on your way yet?
Car should already be there
Time to go.
