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“That’s all we need.”
Charlie turns to Lance. “She doesn’t call in many favors, but her Nana has been doing my taxes for thirty years and saved me a fortune, so you better be worth it.”
“Hope so. Lance Prescott.” Lance extends his hand, and they exchange a shake. Charlie leans in, Lance towering above him.
“Treat her right.”
“I intend to,” Lance says easily as Charlie walks us past a hall of concessions and into the arena.
Once inside, Charlie grins at Lance’s reaction and turns to me. “Doors will lock behind you at the entrance when you’re done.”
I pull Charlie to me and feel the frailty of his frame. When I met him, he had far more life left in his posture. “Thank you, Charlie. We won’t be long.”
“Anytime, sweetheart.”
Once alone, we take the steps to the center of the Garden.
“A lot of the greats fought here,” Lance says, mystified.
“I don’t know if you’re aware, but New York is quite the boxing mecca.”
One side of his mouth lifts as he scans the space, eyes glossed in wonder. “I’m aware.”
“On October twenty-sixth, nineteen fifty-one, Rocky Marciano beat Joe Louis here, knocked him—”
“Through the ropes. It was one of the biggest upsets in boxing history, Joe Louis was dethroned by the underdog.” He lowers his gaze to mine. “How did you know that?”
“I got into boxing back in college, my boyfriend was kind of a badass. He was into Marciano.”
“Yeah? What happened to him?”
“Marciano?” I shrug. “He became one of the greatest fighters that ever lived.”
Lance rolls his eyes.
“Oh, you meant the boyfriend. He became a bigger badass. He’s kind of the king of underdogs. He’s going to win the heavyweight title one day.”
“You think so, huh?” He follows me with his eyes as I begin to walk in a slow circle around him.
I shrug. “I know so. He’s come so far already. And his dreams were so small when I met him. He wanted the NFL. Now? He’s already advanced to professional fighting after two short years in the amateur circuit. He’s about to start fighting for the title.”
Lance shakes his head ironically.
“You think I’m crazy?”
“I think you’re talking crazy.”
“You thought so then too. But what if I’m right?” I’m still circling him as he takes in the whole of the legendary arena. “What if…you’re the next Marciano or even better, Lance Prescott. What if you’re the next great upset?”
“I love your faith in me, but—”
“But what? You think they weren’t just as intimidated? Do you think any of those fighters went into the ring without a trace of fear or self-doubt? I promise you they didn’t.”
“I’m sure they didn’t, but—”
“So why not you? Have a little faith, and picture it. Like you did last time. Picture yourself here or anywhere, fighting for that title. Visualize it. And don’t stop fighting until it becomes a reality. You did it to get this far, you can do it again.”
His hesitation is heartbreaking. “If you say so, Priss.”
