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On the night I lost to Juarez, a team of medics rushed inside the octagon and carried me to a waiting ambulance. Within four minutes, I was driven from the arena to a private room at Grace Hospital while the members of my then-entourage crowded the waiting room downstairs.
I lashed out at whoever came to visit, hurling a variation of “Get the fuck out,” or “Go away,” because I was still in denial about the fight.
Although I didn’t regret losing the leeching members of my entourage, the way I’d treated one of the nurses during my stay still bothered me.
Making sure the lily bouquet was secure, I parked in the visitors' lot and shut off the engine. I double-checked to ensure I had the correct name and carried the flowers to the trauma unit.
“Visiting hours end in about thirty minutes, sir,” the receptionist looked down at a clipboard. “Sign your name and hand over your ID so I can make you a temporary badge.”
“I called a couple hours ago about needing to speak to Nurse Hachette.”
She looked up and groaned. “So, that wasn’t a prank after all.”
“I told you it wasn’t.”
“Well, I doubt that Nurse Hachette wants to see you again. She despises you.”
“Rightfully so,” I said. “I would still like the chance to apologize.”
She crossed her arms and stared at me as if she were done speaking, and she wouldn’t do anything else.
Another nurse walked inside the cubicle and gasped. “Travis Carter? I mean, what the hell is this bastard doing here?”
I set the flowers on their counter. “Can I get your supervisor, please?”
“Nurse Hachetteisthe supervisor,” they said in unison.
Before I could beg them to get her, someone tapped my shoulder from behind.
“Are you looking for me, sir?”
I turned around, and she stepped back, the look in her eyes still as hurt and angry as she was on the night she felt my wrath.
“Look,” I said, “I know you don’t have any reason to believe me, and I’m sure you’re calling security within the next thirty seconds—”
“Tenseconds,” she interrupted.
“I’m sorry for how I acted during my stay here,” I said.
“Which part?” She crossed her arms. “You blatantly doing the opposite of what I told you to do or all the times you lashed out at me for no reason?”
“All of it. You didn’t deserve to be treated that way.” I pulled a small envelope from my pocket. “You mentioned not being paid enough to deal with ‘assholes’ and I completely agree.”
“Let me guess,” she said, taking it, “Front row tickets to your next fight?”
“No.” I raised an eyebrow. “Would you prefer that over five years’ salary?”
She ripped open the envelope and stared at the check for several seconds.
“I know it doesn’t change anything, but I really am sorry.”
“You’re still an asshole.” She was smiling. “But I appreciate this gesture. It’ll help me and my family more than you know.”
“Do you forgive me?”
“Yes…But if it’s not too much to ask, I would love an autograph.”
“Of course.” I picked up a pen from the counter. “What do you want me to sign?”
