Dylan was doing his best to focus on what George was saying, but it wasn’t easy.
The past few days had been a whirlwind of activity. When Dylan had called George and told him the situation, he had immediately signed on to help. George had spent hours training and sparring with Dylan while Regan made sure he gave his interviews to the papers, made his appearance on the sports segment of the local nightly news, and got to the weigh-in. The interviews were difficult as they all wanted to discuss Max and what his absence would mean for the fight. Of course, Dylan gave the reporters a line of how Max’s condition only made him want to fight harder, but the truth of the matter was that Dylan was still in such a state of shock, he had no idea what would happen in the ring.
In between all that, he spent as much time with Max as he could.
“You looked good on TV last night, Dylan,” Max said, his voice raspy. Again, Dylan was stunned at how fast Max’s health was declining. He looked like he had aged twenty years this past week. His skin was an ashen color, almost matching the white bedding he lay on, and he seemed to be shrinking beneath the covers with every passing day. The nurses assured Dylan that there was still a spark within him based on how he was flirting with them, and Dylan could see that Max still had the twinkle in his grey eyes. “Thanks, Max.”
“Was it Regan’s idea for you to wear a tie?”
Dylan nodded.
“You looked smart. Upper class. Like you really had your shit together.”
Dylan smiled, wishing he did. “Sometimes looks can be deceiving.”
“It don’t matter,” Max said. “All that matters is that son of a bitch you’re fighting thinks you’ve got it together.”
“Dylan, what did I just say?” George said, bringing him back to the present.
“I don’t know, George,” Dylan said studying him. George was in his thirties, stood around six feet tall and had a head full of brown hair and blue eyes. He had a small bruise under his right eye from a hit he’d taken from Dylan two days ago.
“Head in the game, man, head in the game,” George said, lightly bumping him on his cheek.
There was a knock at the door, and the people from the boxing commission came into the room to check Dylan’s wrapping and gloves.
“Sorry to hear about Max,” one of them said. Dylan had met the guy before but couldn’t remember his name to save his life.
“Thanks,” Dylan said.
“How’s he doing?”
“Look, maybe I can give you an update later?” He knew they meant well, but he needed to focus on the fight and try to push thoughts of Max out of the way.
“Of course. Let’s check your gloves.”
After they left, Dylan continued his warm up, and by the time he was called for the fight, he felt loose and as confident as he was going to get. He’d trained hard, watched video of his opponent and studied his style. He’d even gotten a couple of PT sessions in with Regan that hadn’t turned into hot sex. Not that he minded they hadn’t finished most of the sessions, but thanks to her, he put his shoulder at about ninety percent.
The only thing missing right now was Regan; she was at the hospital watching the fight with Max. She hadn’t wanted to do so—she had wanted to stay with him, but in the end, they’d decided it would be best for her to be with Max.
As he walked down the aisle leading to the ring, he let the emotion and energy of the cheering fans seep into him, driving him to win. These people had come to see him, and he would deliver. It was just another reason for him to beat the hell out of this opponent.
He crawled through the ropes and waved at the crowd, which only sent the decibel level higher. Dylan threw his opponent a glare, and then turned to his corner where George stood.
“Box the fuck out of him,” George murmured as he took Dylan’s robe. “Do it for Max.”
“Got it,” Dylan said, his energy soaring to levels he had never felt before.
~~~
The
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