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“Focus, King.” He squeezes my shoulders. “Focus on tomorrow. You can fight that pencil-dicked shit any time you want. Fuck.” He looks up to the ceiling. “I’ll even let him back in Crucible, if that’s what you want, just so you can kick his undiscipline, lazy ass all over my mats. I’ll fucking do it myself if you don’t want to. But we’re not worrying about him right now. We’re focusing on McGuire. We’re focusing on tomorrow. We’re focusing on the win.”
When I grind my teeth and refuse to answer him, he asks again, “We good?”
“Yeah, Saint. We’re good.”
Neither of us believe it.
But it’ll have to do for now.
I’ll be better when I can work it out in the cage tomorrow.
* * *
Maddie
How were weigh-ins?
Hudson
204 pounds of solid muscle.
Maddie
Maybe you should add a little yoga into your workout routine. Sounds like you’re getting kinda chunky, King.
Hudson
Did you just call me fat, woman?
Maddie
I did no such thing.
Hudson
Be careful, Mads. No bruising my fragile ego the day before a fight.
Maddie
Pretty sure your fragile ego is rock solid and intact.
Hudson
It might need a little help, sunshine.
Maddie
Okay. How about this. Wanna know a secret?
Hudson
Did Daphne finally figure out that Maximus likes dressing up in women’s clothes?
Maddie
You’re terrible, and he does not.
Hudson
