Vassili
“Karo, Karo, Karo!” the crowd screams my name. Like I’ve done since we first reconnected, I search for Zariah’s spot. My muscles ache and an ice bath is flashing before my eyes. Where is she? I swear I’ve found their exact spot. My fat-ass cousin should be beside Zariah; there’s no missing him. Arms raised, shouting my victory at the top of my lungs, I glare at their empty spaces.
“Hey, where the fuck is she?” I shout down to my corner.
“Bol’nitsa, Bol’nitsa,” Vadim mouths hospital and I’ve jumped from the top of the cage to the canvas. Internally, my teeth grit from the pain.
The announcer shoves a camera into my face. I speak first, “I’ve got to get to the hospital.”
“You were a little worse for wear this time, Karo—”
“No! My wife is in labor.” I’m already scoping out how to get off this stage and through the massive crowd.
“Oh, congratulations,” he turns off the microphone, but pushes something into his ear. I’m already scrambling toward the octagon door.
“Karo,” the announcer speaks up, I glance back. “Exit through the south entrance. We have a police escort for you.”
“Thanks,” I nod and shout over to my crew. “Nestor, did you bring your chopper?”
“Fuck yeah!” He nods. In his personal time, Nestor restores old motorcycles. He added the modifications to my Harley. And when we’re traveling, at times, he prefers to ride one of his motorcycles.
As Nestor navigates the beginning of the crowd with me, I shout, “Give me your keys and shoes.”
“What? They have an escort.”
“Those cruisers won’t be able to get past all the traffic. I need to get to Zariah, now!”
He fumbles and tosses the keys toward me as I hurry along, shouting about the parking location of the chopper. Instead of bombarding me for pictures and autographs, the fans are now chatting, “Go, Go, Go!”
That mudak Cordova almost bested me today. With every muscle scorching, and on the heaviest legs, I hurry through the exit as the double doors are held open for me.
“Karo!” Two police in uniform call out to me. “We have a cruiser, Karo.”
“I have a chopper.”
They nod, knowing the parking lot is jam packed.
About twenty minutes later, I notice Nestor’s chopper. In a sea of other stock or custom motorcycles, The Black Widow shines. Touches of red and webbing are accented throughout.
“Shit,” I growl, pushing my left leg over. I almost tapped out in submission, and now my tendons are screaming. Yet, it’s much easier navigating to the exits with this. So I concentrate on my promise to be there for Zariah, and not the meat grinder beating I just survived. I shift gears while picking up speed to about 35 mph to jump a sidewalk, and then my right foot presses the concrete
Mouth tensed, I twist around a tight curve.
As soon as I rev this bitch up, to accelerate on the street, the aches in my bones amplify due to the volcanic heat of June.
Loud whirling sounds cause my frown to set harder. Fucking cops. But, instead of signaling me to slow down, a cruiser and a motorcycle speed up in front of me. Both driver’s eagerly wave their arm.
Soon I see a crowd of people, and a blue cross sign. We pull over in front of the Emergency room entrance.
With not a minute to spare, I’m off the bike.
“Congratulations, Karo,” I hear as I rush through the sliding glass doors.
“My wife is in labor,” I try to scale down my loud, urgent voice. The nurse glances at my appearance, then my hands which are still weighted down. “Zariah Resnov, please tell me she didn’t give birth yet.”
“Um,” she glances at the rooster, “Mrs. Resnov’s in room—”
“Hurry,” Yuri shouts, from down the hall. “I’m traumatized!”
I rush down, hearing a doctor order for Zariah to push. Silently I thank God, and the next second I cuss Yuri for not stopping the match.
“Zariah threatened …”
I pop him in the mouth. “Shut the fuck up.”
“I'll go get you a clean pair of clothing, because that's what a manager would do, but don't hit me again, Vassili.” He mumbles stomping off.
My entire demeanor softens, cooling to the brink as I enter the room.
“You made it,” Zariah’s eyes are wet. Her beautiful brown skin is aglow with perspiration.
“And you are?” The doctor offers a peculiar look, who is sitting on a rolling stool between the stirrup contraption holding Zariah’s feet. There’s another two nurses at her sides.
“Her husband.” I offer the faintest smile while heading toward my wife.
“You must be the reason she won't open her legs and push,” one of the nurses quips.
“Zariah, we need you to push hard,” the doctor focuses.
I stand beside her. Zariah takes my arm and she squeezes the blood from my fingers, with that innocent mahogany gaze.
“Push, baby,” I coach.
###
There’s yellow ducky wallpaper all around. Zariah is sound asleep, she'd asked about my match after our baby was taken to be cleaned. The moment I assured her that I won, Zariah couldn't get to sleep fast enough. I rub my hands together, ready for our daughter to return. Yuri peeks his head into the room.
The idiot slinks into the room, navy suit crinkled.
“Did you see my wife’s…” I gesture.
He shakes his head.
“You sure?” My eyes narrow.
“I’m her kazen now, Vassili!”
“No cussing. Look.” I hold my hands out as the sleeping baby is brought into the room in clear hospital bassinet.
“She’s beautiful,” Yuri says. “Can I hold her?”
“Fuck no, stupid.” I mouth the words.
The nurse whispers that Natasha will be hungry when she awakens, and that she’d refused the bottle. I must've asked her a hundred questions about my baby going hungry because Yuri clears his throats and the nurse hits the road.
I step over to the beautiful child I've made with my loving wife. Natasha is so tiny. Damn, I'm afraid for the first time in my life. How do I pick her up? I’ve played with a thousand babies, and held just as many newborns. But this one belongs to me.
“You have to support her head, Vassili. Igor has a bunch of kids, I know these things.”
“Okay,” I growl. Her skin is the color of the sweetest butterscotch. I carefully place my hand along her back.
“Aw look, she has a Mohawk like her pop,” Yuri says.
Indeed her dark hair has slicked at the sides. In the front, one curly cue sticks up. With fighter hands, I cradle her up onto my shoulder.
“Get the diaper cloth. Use the diaper cloth,” Yuri quietly reprimands.
“Okay, okay.” He's right.
Perceptive of my fear of crushing her. Yuri places the white hospital clothe over my shoulder as I hold Natasha out before me. I then nudge my nose against her. She smells weird. But her skin is the softest silk I’ve ever touched. God, I will do right by this gift.
In this moment, MMA no longer exists. Love consumes me.