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The UFC commissioner keeps stringing me along, promising that “soon,” “super soon,” he’ll allow me a chance to fight for a title so I can enjoy more promotion, benefits, and the much-needed freedom to do the things I want to do. Alas, I’m still fighting mediocre opponents during the pre-shows and using my talents in various underground leagues.
“I’ll do my best to be there Penelope,” I say. “We should get a picture near the rings together for Mom’s sake.”
“I’m ten steps ahead of you.” Her eyes light up, and she grabs a frame of our mother when she competed at the Olympics. “She’s the inspiration behind my costume. I think she’d be proud of me.”
“Iknowshe would be.”
“She’d be disappointed in your career choice, though.”
“Not as much as Dad would be.” I smile, and for the first time in forever, we laugh and share memories of our parents that don’t hurt.
The minutes pass by, stretching into hours, and it's a little after midnight by the time we’re debating who gave our dad the most challenging time as kids.
“Shit!” She gasped. “I have ballet practice in a couple hours. I gotta nap. Love you, Travis.”
“Love you, too, Crown.” I shut my laptop.
Walking into my kitchen, I pick up my phone and see that I’ve missed a call from Tatiana.
Shit.I haven’t seen her in person in months.
Despite talking to her as much as possible and sending gifts occasionally, I haven’t been the best boyfriend.
I’m fucking up with everyone in my life.
Holding back a sigh, I return her call.
It doesn’t ring.
It goes straight to voicemail.
Fuck.
“Hey Tati,” I say after the beep. “I’m sorry I missed you. I’ll try again in a few hours. If I don’t reach you then—” I pause, remembering we both have a hectic upcoming week. “Good luck on your business school placement interview this week, and let me know how it goes.”
I unwrap my hands and mix a protein shake. Then I set up a makeshift weight area in the living room and order a late-night keto box for dinner.
Although the men I’m scheduled to fight this weekend are nowhere near my level, I never underestimate an opponent. I still can’t afford to lose, and I never want to know what that feels like.
Fifty bench presses later, the delivery guy bangs on my door.
“One second!” I say, grabbing a couple of twenties.
“You can keep the change since it’s…” I stop talking when I see Tatiana in the hallway.
With her hair pulled into a curly bun atop her head, she’s dressed in a bright red parka and jeans. Rain is dripping from her coat and onto the hotel’s carpet.
“Hi…”
“Hey.” She blushes, and I notice the small grey suitcase behind her.
“How did you get here?”
“I rented a car after meeting a potential sponsor in New York.” She smiles. “Since you’re the one who tends to randomly come see me and we haven’t seen each other in what feels like forever, I figure I should return the favor.”
I stare at her.
She glances behind me, her expression slowly shifting from happiness to worry. “Am I interrupting your time with someone else?”
