“Fuck.” I breathed and threw my towel against the wall.

“Hey, it’s one pound over,” Julian said, grabbing my shoulders. “We can get that off before the weigh-in.”

“Dammit. I’ve been so careful.” I stepped up onto the treadmill and hit the increase button. As I started to run at a good pace, Julian hit the button to increase it some more. “Are you trying to kill me?”

“We have twenty-four hours until weigh-in. This isn’t about leisure.”

“Yes, sir.”

The treadmill was facing a wall with a mirror. There were other fighters running on either side of me. I envisioned we were at a race, and I needed to get ahead. I felt like I needed to run faster, so I hit the button two more times.

“Over-achiever,” Julian said from behind me.

I ignored him and kept my mind focused on the end game.

Throwing a pair of sweats and T-shirt over my blue bikini, I tapped Julian’s fists. “Here’s hoping our scale is the same as theirs.”

“It is. I promise.” He cupped his hand behind my neck and squeezed. “Go out their looking confident. You know you have this in the bag?”

That was how Chuck Anders had taught Julian to present himself when he was starting with AFC. From what Julian told me, Chuck was possibly psychic the way he just knew shit. For the last few days, Julian shared all the things Chuck had taught him. Now that AFC was bigger after a decade of working with amazing fighters, Chuck was not working one-on-one anymore. Julian was lucky to have had his experience with him, and I was lucky to get to hear all about it.

I pushed my shoulders back and held my head up high. Kicking the door open with my foot, I watched the room erupt in cheers, and flashes went off in all directions.

There was an announcer at the front of the room on a stage, several AFC workers, and a scale placed right in the center of the stage. As I walked up, I didn’t let myself think about my clothing choice. I lifted my shirt up over my head and slid my pants down, pulling them off with my feet. I walked to the scale, stepped up, and waited.

“One thirty-four point five.” the AFC official yelled loud enough for the room to hear.

I held my arms up and flexed my muscles. Fuck, I did it.

I stepped back down off the scale and walked over to where Cheyanne was waiting for the photo-op. I was in fight mode as I looked over at my opponent. Holding up our fists, we faced off for the cameras. Then I stepped back, shook her hand, and walked away before she had a chance to say some shit.

As I stepped off the stage, Julian handed me my clothes so I could quickly put them back on. He gave me a slight smile but made no move to touch me. When we reached the locker room and the door was closed, Julian picked me up and spun me around.

“How the hell did I manage to drop a pound?” I said, wrapping my arms around his neck.

“Hey, who the fuck cares,” Julian said and kissed me. “You did it and that’s all that matters.”

Twelve hours before the fight would take place and I get a call from my lawyer. “I can’t do this right now,” I said, pacing the length of the living room.

“I’m sorry to bother you, Ms. Waters,” my mom’s lawyer said. “Your mom was put into hospice care yesterday.”

I sat down on the edge of the couch. “Fuck. I have a fight in twelve hours. Why did you call me today?”

“She is asking for you.”

“Of course she is.” I sighed and stood back up. “How long did the doctors give her?”

“They said her one kidney is shut down. So it will happen in stages more than likely.”

Mom had apparently been squirreling food away, basically making it look like she was eating. She collapsed two days ago and now was in hospice care. Her body was shutting down, and she wanted to say goodbye to me.

I didn’t need this before a fight.

“Thanks.” I knew he was just doing his job. “I will get over there as soon as I can. I can’t promise anything.”

“I understand. Have a good fight.”

I threw my phone on the other end of the couch. Throwing my hands over my face, I muffled out my screams. A light touch on my shoulder startled me, and I glanced around to see who was there. The room was empty.

“Dad.” I sat back down on the couch. “I have tried to hate her, but I can’t.”

I knew I was talking to myself or if you believe…my dad’s ghost.

“She doesn’t deserve to die alone and without family. It’s not how you raised me.”

There was a brush across my cheek. I reached up and touched the side of my face.

“Let me focus on this fight, and then I will take care of Mom. I promise.”

The back door was open, but only the desert heat was showing love today. Suddenly a gust of window blew my hair in a few different directions.

I smiled and blew a kiss toward the door. People would think I was crazy if I ever told them this story. I was just thankful to have my dad still by my side.

“Who was that?” Julian walked in from the backyard.

“The lawyer.”

He turned his head to the side. “You look…what?”

“Sad.”

“What is it?” He wrapped his arms around my waist.

“Mom.”

First the fight. Then family.

I felt like I had my priorities ass-backwards.