Chapter Nine
Braxton
I spent the next couple days in a fog of happiness. I allowed myself to sleep in on Thursday morning, and when I awoke at around eight am, Winston lay asleep in his cushion in a patch of newly minted sunlight. I threw on a faded t-shirt and a pair of track shorts and glided into the kitchen, where I made myself a breakfast of maple-glazed bacon and baby pancakes with chocolate chips and pecans.
As I ate, it was hard to contain my excitement. My hands were unsteady, and my legs banged against the underside of the table, rattling my plate. It was a feeling akin to being in love for the first time, when the sight of the other person makes you feel warm and funny and nervous all at the same time.
For once, it seemed nothing could dampen my good spirits. I stopped at the mini-mart on the way to the gym to buy a bag of Bugles and an orange Izze, but my card was denied due to insufficient funds. “You sure about that?” I asked the cashier. “Could we maybe try it again?”
We tried it three more times, but my card was denied each time. Feeling disappointed and hungry, I thanked the cashier quietly and left the store.
When I reached the gym, all the showers were full. Resigned to waiting, I sat down on a bench at the back of the locker room.
“I don’t know what’s gotten into you lately,” said Nick, who had his locker open and was combing his hair in front of a mirror. “You seem—I wouldn’t say calmer—but happier. Like you’ve stopped trying to wage war against the whole world.”
“Well, it feels like the world has stopped trying to grind me into submission. For a while, I was just drifting aimlessly along, not really sure where I was headed. It was very frustrating.”
“I’m sure it was. I dropped out of school for about a year in high school to become a burglar-alarm mechanic in Philly. It was the worst mistake I ever made, and I spent the whole year feeling like the world owed me something—fame or success or just recognition of my innate gifts. I’m lucky it didn’t break me. I think where a lot of men break is when they get to that point.”
“I can believe it.” I tore off my cap and ran my fingers through my thick hair. When I hadn’t showered in more than twelve hours, I began to feel filthy and stressed, and the other fighters were taking forever this morning. “I’m hoping today is the day we’ll hear back from Carruthers.”
“You still haven’t heard from him?”
“No, unless he called Coach last night. He said he was going to let me know within two or three days and it’s already been two days since the fight. I’d like to know what I’ll be doing over the weekend, so I can go ahead and prepare.”
“Well, I’m sure he and Coach have been talking. We can’t always know what’s being negotiated behind the scenes, but I wouldn’t worry too much about it.”
“Oh, I’m not worried. Just antsy.”
Nick nodded. “Yeah, I can tell. You look jittery, like a man who just ate a whole package of Pixy Stix. Your leg won’t stop shaking, and you’ve been checking the clock on your phone every thirty seconds since you came in.”
Embarrassed, I slid my phone back into my shorts pocket. The air was thick with the smell of damp tiles and body spray, and over the roar of the showers, I could hear Bruce belting one of the songs from Moana.
One of the canvas curtains opened, and Bruce stepped out with a dingy white towel wrapped around his waist. When he saw me, he raised his eyebrows in a look of mild surprise. “Coach has been looking for you. He told me to tell you if I saw you that he would be in his office.”
I turned to Nick, heart racing, wondering what this meant.
“Well, best of luck to you,” he said with a laconic shrug. “Maybe now you can stop being antsy.”
I was halfway to the door when Bruce spoke again.
“Sorry, when I said ‘you,’ I meant both you guys. Coach wanted to see you and Nick.”
This time it was Nick’s turn to look at me in bewilderment. “Any idea what for?”
A momentary look of fear flashed across Bruce’s eyes. “I’m not allowed to talk about it yet.”
This was the most mysterious thing he had said so far. With a nervous feeling, I grabbed my duffel bag and left the locker room, Nick following close behind.
We found Coach seated in his office watching an equestrian event on ESPN and greedily munching on a large jar of cashews. He muted the sound when we came in, though from time to time his eyes drifted lazily back to the TV.
“So I’ve been on the phone for the past couple nights with Carruthers,” he said, “and I think we’ve finally come to a decision.”
“Oh, yeah?” I managed to say. “What’s that?”
“We’ve decided that you and Nick are both traveling with us to Vegas this weekend. Of course, if that’s alright with you guys.”
“Yeah, of course!” I shouted without a second’s hesitation. Nick nodded eagerly, and we exchanged surprised glances, giddily grinning. This wasn’t quite what I had expected, but it was poetic, in a way, that we had both been accepted.
But my elation turned to confusion a moment later when Coach added, “The two of you will be helping Bruce prep for his big fight that night.”
Nick paused in the act of high-fiving me. “Pardon?”
“Pardon?” I said.
“I don’t think I stuttered,” said Coach, unscrewing the lid on a water bottle. “He went back and forth over the last couple days, but in the end, he was so impressed with that final fight that he asked for both you and Bruce.”
I motioned to my chest.
Coach nodded. “I almost couldn’t get him off the phone because he was so taken with you and wanted to talk about you. He was like a kid in junior high raving about his first crush.”
“That’s good, right?”
“Sure.” Coach untwisted the lid on a water bottle. “Anyway, so Bruce is on the card for this weekend in Vegas, and you’re up next week. Fight’s on Saturday, but we’ll be flying in the day before and getting back on Sunday night. That ought to give you some time to prepare.”
“And where do I fit into all this?” asked Nick.
“I’m giving you and Braxton a day or so to help Bruce prep for this upcoming fight. Then that’ll give you the whole rest of next week to prep Braxton, and I hope to God you’ll use it. I don’t want to see you screwing around, not when you’ve got an opportunity like this.”
“I won’t,” I said earnestly. “Promise.”
“Good. And in the meantime, be thinking about what you want to order when we get there. This steakhouse we’ll be eating at in Vegas, I’ve been there a couple times—they have the most amazing bacon-wrapped matzo balls you could ask for.”
“That sounds great, Coach.” At the moment I would have been fine eating anywhere. Even the cashews tasted extraordinary.
By the time we left the gym that morning, it was drizzling again. Nick suggested that we hit up the Steak Shack a few blocks up the highway, so we followed a grimy trail past thrift stores and half-empty parking lots with loose shopping carts. Overhead, crows gathered in rows on the powerlines, stark against the gray sky.
“I suppose it’s nice for you,” he said after a brief silence, kicking up a pale of damp oak leaves. “You’ve been wanting this forever.”
Sensing the disappointment in his voice, I said, “I’m sure your day will come. It’s like that teacher told me in high school: the wheel of fortune is always spinning.”
“It helps that I’ve never had the same ambitions as you.” He walked with his hands in his pockets, head bent low to the ground. “Imagine being cursed with dreams that exceeded your skills. I think that would just about the most crushing thing that could ever happen.”
“See, the lesson is to never dream.”
He reached over and gave me a warm, if slightly awkward, pat on the shoulder. “I think it works out for some people, sometimes.” But he couldn’t quite conceal the hurt in his voice.