Jag
“Sit the hell down and hold still.” Boss jerks me down and continues wrapping my hands.
My legs bounce up and down. The energy and adrenaline of the impending fight of my life is making me drunk at the moment. I’m the underdog, just the way I like it. It’s time for Jag the Punisher to rattle up Vegas and its money.
I pull the gold chain out from my Diablo’s t-shirt and kiss the Saint Christopher pendant Sunni gave me on our wedding night. I kiss the center of it and squeeze my eyes closed. I’ve always had a hard time believing in God. I’d go along with the majority of society, never having a strong belief one way or the other.
That all changed the day I held Sunni broken and beaten in a state hospital bed knowing a little life was growing inside her because of our love. As the days drifted by and I watched her heal into the woman she is today, my resolve cracked. I no longer wonder if there is a God or not.
I see Him every morning, feel Him with every tender kiss from Sunni, and am wrapped in His arms when my family surrounds me.
My family. My Legacy. My sweet, sweet honey pot. I’m one blessed good-lookin’ son of a bitch.
***
Sunni
“I’m going to grab a corndog. Do you want anything, Layla?” I stand from the uncomfortable as hell chair, stretching out my back.
“I’m good.”
“I’ll get it.” Riot stands.
“No, I need to stretch out a bit.” I wave him off.
“I’ll get it. You’re not leaving this seat alone.” Riot strides off.
“Get two,” I holler.
He waves his hand over his head, acknowledging my request. I remain standing, arching my back and rolling my eyes.
“Get used to it, Momma.” Layla pats my belly and then kisses it. “The overbearing, protective caveman act will get worse when the boys come.”
“Great.” I sit back down. “Want to know a secret? Jag will lose his shit.”
“Give me. Give me. Give me,” Layla begs.
“We have baby names.” I squeeze and shrug my shoulders.
“Oh my God!” She grabs my shoulders. “Spill.”
“You can’t tell Jag I told you. However, when he’s about to announce it, you can blurt them out. Payback and all.”
“Go! Get on with it now,” she says.
“Dexter and Felix.”
Layla snaps her mouth shut. Tears well up in her eyes. She doesn’t even try to stop them from spilling over. We are naming the babies after Boss and Cruz. Dexter is Boss’ real name, and Felix is Cruz’s last name.
“It’s perfect.” She wipes away her tears and then bends down, talking to her nephews using their first names.
Riot returns with my corndogs, a Diet Coke, and a boat of ketchup, mustard, and mayo. I use the corndog to swirl all the condiments together. Layla turns up her nose, showing her disgust.
“Is it weird I’m not nervous?” I ask before taking my first bite.
Layla shrugs. “You know I was thinking the same thing. I don’t think it’s weird but more foreign for us. We are in the middle of a perfect storm, and we are just adjusting to it.”
I couldn’t agree more. The fights begin. The excitement in the stadium escalates, as does mine. They’re fighting by weight class. Jag is before Trick. Goosebumps glide along my skin when Jag’s opponent is announced. He’s a mean, mean-looking guy with tattoos creeping up the side of his face. He’s missing more teeth than he has and is undefeated.
The song he walks out to scares the shit out of me. Bex the Underground Hellion isn’t a joke.
“Out of Vancouver, Washington, home of the Diablo’s Throne, with a mixed martial arts record of ten knockouts and two submissions, this motherfucker means business. Jaaaaaag the Punisher!”
I leap up on my seat, jumping and screaming with all I have. Riot’s hands grab my hips, keeping me steady. Jag’s intro song blares. Everyone sings along. He may be the underdog, but he’s the crowd favorite.
His face is down with his black hoodie shielding his face. Jag’s stride is powerful and determined. He picks up his pace, bouncing from toe to toe as he walks. When the music screeches and changes up, he takes off sprinting, tearing off his hoodie before making it to the ring.
He leaps in the middle of the octagon, beating his chest with his head raised to Heaven, roaring out a battle cry.
“I lied,” I yell over to Layla. “I’m fucking nervous now.”
“Me too,” she screams back.
We stay standing on our seats as the official checks both fighters. I don’t take my gaze off Jag as Boss pumps him up for the fight.
“Hey, fatass bitch, sit down.”
I turn slightly to see a pissed off and more than likely drunk guy pointing at me. I flip him the bird. Riot grabs him by the collar and signals for security. Before he lets him go, he uppercuts the man’s beer belly. Yeah, these overprotective men aren’t half bad.
I don’t hold my hands over my chest or mouth but keep them firmly planted over our future. The bell dings, and Jag does his dance. He’s as graceful in the ring as he is on the dance floor and between the sheets.
He gets punch drunk on two severe jabs to the jaw. Bex is known for his deadly uppercut that drops fighters in the blink of an eye. Jag is playing with fire and loving every second of it. It’s just like him to push and toy with the limits.
The sports analysts predicted a knockout in round one by Bex. It fueled Jag’s training. He listened to each knockdown and took them to heart, dead set on proving them wrong. He won’t go for a tap out. Only a knockout will do.
“Move. Move. Move,” Layla screams next to me.
I remain silent, studying the determination in Jag’s eyes. His hands are up, shielding his face as he dances around. Bex drops his left hand, and Jag reacts, taking a swing, connecting with Bex’s temple, and sending him stumbling backward. Jag advances, swinging both arms and connecting with his opponent's face and ribs.
He has him pushed up against the octagon. Jag winds up one more time. It happens in slow motion as his fist connects one final time with Bex’s temple. He crumbles to the mat. The official hops between the fighters. What happens next shows me the man Jag truly is.
He drops to his knees, placing his head on the mat and slapping his hands on the mat. His ego is left back in the locker room. His corner leaps out into the ring. It’s Boss who helps Jag up to his feet. The official raises Jag’s hand in victory. Jag grabs Boss’ and does the same thing. The two men who met so many years ago on a sidewalk have truly come full circle.
Jag’s chest falls and rises with his wracking sobs. He can barely get out any words when the microphone is placed in front of him.
“A win of a lifetime, Jag. What’s going on in that head of yours?”
Jag pounds his chest several times before any words come out. “Heart, fire, and desire.”
He grabs Boss’ hand again and raises it above their heads. “All of this is because of this man right here. I owe him everything.”
Jag turns in Boss’ arms and hugs him. They walk out of the octagon still embraced.
I drop my head, staring at my belly. “He did it. Your daddy is a champion.”
The crowd noise around me intensifies. When I look up, Jag is jogging toward me with victory tears still rolling down his face, mixing with blood and sweat. That smile, though, makes everything worth it.
He drops to his knees and kisses my belly and peers up at me.
“Ten minutes, baby girl, ten minutes.” He stands up and kisses my lips.
“I can’t wait ten minutes,” I mumble into his lips.
He grabs my hand, and we race to the locker room and future. He captured my heart the day we ran down the sidewalk. I’ll be forever running with this man.