Faking It(35)

But not forever. There is no sport where time is as unforgiving as in fighting. Father Time is still undefeated and always will be.

“College wasn’t for me, Mason. You know that.”

“You ever thought about setting down with a nice girl? They say that a good woman can calm a man’s soul.”

I laughed inside. When he said nice girl, he was thinking of someone like his daughter, I knew it. But if I told him I was with his precious little Alyssa, he would blow a gasket. Oh man, though, her body...I don’t think she had any idea how good she looked, and that was a rarity in the women who approached me. I don’t like hypocrisy, but I’m one of the few people brave enough to admit that I can be a hypocrite. In that way, I think I might have been ahead of Mason.

“Who says that? Who’s they?”

He touched his nose and smiled, a sensation that he didn’t look comfortable with, like he had read an article about smiling and decided to test it out. “You just trust me. You lost your touch before. Don’t think it can’t happen again. You and me want the same thing, don’t you forget that.” He stepped forward and poked me in the chest. “For you to be happy and get that belt.”

I believed him. He really wanted those things for us both. “You got the order wrong, boss. And I am happy.” Even as I said it, I wondered it if was true. What was happiness anyway? I had moments of contentment now and then, but I knew that I would never know what it actually felt like to be satisfied. Maybe that’s what happiness was. Deep, pressureless satisfaction, with no further expectations from anyone, including yourself.

“No I didn’t, and no, no you’re not. It’s time to focus. No more bullshit for now, you got it? Enjoy tonight. Tomorrow we’re back at it.” With that, Mason went outside. I knew he’d be waiting for me until I came out. The man was like a father to me, no matter what I said, wanted, thought, or thought I wanted.

I was lucky to have him. No matter what.

I finished cleaning up. I would focus, all right. Mason wasn’t wrong about me and that year, but I had never felt as untouchable as I did in that moment. Or infuriated. There was no reason for me to be angry at Mason about, but I was still mad. That’s what I didn’t like about myself. It worked wonders in the octagon, but damn there were times when I just wanted to be able to relax. There were periods of agitation that I couldn’t outpace, outwork, outthink, or outspend.

Losing my touch.

I’d show him. I’d show them all. I went into the hall where Mason was talking to the schoolgirl with the podcast. Alyssa with the green dress, the long legs, the incredible hair, and the annoying questions and expectations. Maybe my agent had actually scheduled the interview, but who schedules something like that around a fight? You’re always out of your mind after a fight, whether it goes your way or not. Good Lord, the drama never ended. Still, she was Mason’s daughter. Maybe I could do something nice for her. Give her a few answers. A few more listeners for her show. Or...maybe I could do something fun for myself. Yeah, that sounded way better.

Mason nodded at me and then left, guiding her down the hall. She didn’t see me. Daddy’s little girl.

I went back out into the arena where legions of fans were waiting for me to tell them where we were going to party that night. Bright lights, big city, me, me, me. The options were limitless. It felt like the world was mine. Was that really so bad? Was it really my fault? Should I have tried harder to resist? When people treat you like a God, can they really blame you when you start to believe it?

People swarmed around me. Women draped themselves all over any part of me that they could reach. And I knew that this crowd was also full of sponsors who would, this very night, offer me money to endorse whatever it was they were selling. What was I supposed to do? Tell them all no? Send them all away because I had to do the honorable thing and go sit in a room alone and ponder the mysteries of the universe instead of cashing in on a huge victory?

We’ll see who’s losing his touch.



Chapter 3



Dad walked me out to the car and held the door open for me. Always the gentleman, a stark contrast to my experience with Braden. Dad always had a hard time watching his guys fight. It was kind of cute. Sometimes he wouldn’t even make it into the arena. He would walk up to the door, fully intending to go in, then freeze up and sit in his car listening to it in an earpiece. He was like a relic in a museum. Behold the man who cares too much! His job was to prepare them, and the fighters understood when he said sometimes he loved them too much to go in and watch.

The thought of him spending so much time with Braden was interesting. I wondered what they talked about, or if they discussed anything besides fighting.

“How’d we do?” he said after he got in. I thought he was talking to me. Then I saw that one of the cut men had appeared on the driver’s side and dad had rolled down the window.

“Good Mason, real good. Kid’s a damn hothead, though.”

My dad nodded. “Let’s get you home, honey.” He reached over and patted my cheek, a gesture I had come to love. Dad was always affectionate with me in his words, but touch was not something he did well. I knew the effort it took for him and always appreciated the effort.

I leaned my seat back. Even though I hadn’t been in the octagon, I always crashed after the events. The adrenaline rush was something that couldn’t really be described, it just had to be experienced. I hadn’t been the only one on the edge of my seat, and the thought that a few thousand people were now recovering from a fight they hadn’t even been in made me smile. The things that we do to entertain ourselves.