“How much time?” he asks. “The sooner you start training, the better. Don’t you think you’ve wasted enough time avoiding your destiny?”
“My destiny?” I repeat with a chuckle. “Laying it on a little thick, aren’t you?”
“You’re afraid of the pressure the press will put on you, and I’m not going to lie, everyone is going to expect greatness. But you can’t get there without making one helluva effort. I’m talking five or six hours a day in the gym, maybe more to get you ready for your first fight in, say, six months or so. Is it going to be an uphill battle? Fuck, yes,” he says. “Will it be worth the blood, sweat and tears? You bet your ass it will be when the ref raises your arm as the winner with the world watching, proving to them you’re your own man, even if you are your father’s prodigy.”
“Wow,” I say as I scrub my palms up and down my face. “Honestly? I thought I would come in here and you would laugh and tell me I was out of my mind to give up practicing law to throw punches at twenty-eight.”
“You’re a natural, kid,” Coach says. “I have guys who would kill to have even an ounce of your raw talent. Letting it all go to waste while you sit around in some office is a tragedy.”
When I don’t respond, Coach Briggs eventually says, “Take a little time to think about it, but not too much. My palms are itching just thinking about making the call to say you’re ready to finally make your big debut in the IFC.”
“Could you not mention any of this to my parents or Uncle Jude?” I ask. “At least not until I make a decision. I don’t want them to get their hopes up or influence my decision.”
“Understood,” Coach agrees. “I’ll keep it to myself until you say the word. But I have to be honest. You’ve already got my hopes up. The idea of you possibly stepping into the MMA spotlight is one of the most exciting things to happen around here in a long, damn time.”
“Thanks, Coach,” I tell him before I get up and walk out before I end up doing something insane, like signing a contract for a fight without thinking all this through.
Chapter Seven
Cassidy
When I hear a car pulling up outside, I hurry over to unlock the front door, opening it in a rush…only to find my mother on the other side.
I’m a horrible daughter for being disappointed that she’s not Xavier.
“Mom. Hi. I didn’t know you were coming over,” I say with a smile plastered on my face.
“I just heard from Christine who talked to Darla who said her son saw Xavier Malone at the gym today. Since he’s back in town, I thought I would come check on you and see how you’re doing,” she tells me with a concerned frown on her face.
“I’m fine,” I say. “And Xavier is staying with me this week. I thought I told you,” I blatantly lie to my mother’s face. She never would have approved, so I didn’t bring it up.
“He’s staying here! What will everyone at church think?” she gasps, dramatically clutching her hand to her chest. “And isn’t he,” she starts before silently mouthing the word, “married?”
“Divorced now actually,” I happily inform her. Caving, since she doesn’t seem intent on leaving just yet, I step back so she can come inside the house.
“Are you and he finally…you know?” she asks when she turns to me in the foyer.
“Are we what, Mom?”
“Bumping uglies,” she whispers.
“Oh, my god,” I mutter, shutting the door and scurrying away from her and into the kitchen to pour myself a big glass of white wine to help me get through this conversation.
“I’ll take a glass too,” my mother says when she catches up to me at the kitchen island and tosses her perfectly styled blonde hair.
I guzzle up every drop before responding to her. “No, you’re driving,” I tell her since it’s true, and because I think I may need the whole bottle to get through this conversation.
“Ugh, fine,” she grumbles. Glancing around the kitchen, she says, “So where is that big hunky man you’re sinning with?”
“God, Mom. We’re not sinning! And can’t you just call him Xavier?” I ask, pouring myself another glass and throwing it back like a shot so I barely taste it. Right now, I just need the alcohol to soak into my bloodstream fast to make this discussion disappear from my memory.
“Well? Where is he?”
“He was going to visit his parents after he left the gym,” I tell her. I wonder if he’s having as much fun as I am with my mother.
“How long is he in town for?” she asks.
“Just until Sunday after our reunion on Saturday.”
“Oh, well, that’s a shame. I know how much you miss him…”
“Mom,” I start.
“I’m just worried about you is all,” she says. “I don’t want you clinging to him like you did in high school before he flies off and leaves you heartbroken again.”
“I just miss him. It’s completely normal to miss your friends when they live on the other side of the country,” I point out.
“Aww, honey,” she says, patting the top of my hand with hers. “We both know it’s a little more than that. Just remember that your flower is special and worth saving for marriage. But you’re not getting any younger. Soon your eggs will all be shriveled up…”
My mother has deluded herself into thinking that I’m still a twenty-eight-year-old virgin. Can’t say I really blame her. Growing up, I had few friends, like one, and no boyfriends at all. I’ll never admit to her that I’m currently dating and sleeping with two men.
I no longer bother responding to the getting too old for marriage and kids spiel.
After I guzzle my third glass of wine, I ask, “Was there anything else you came to talk about? Or are you just being nosy while
