“What a dumb bitch.”
“In Xavier’s name!”
“Oh, wow,” I mutter since I didn’t know that.
“He’s making decent money, but it’ll still take years for him to pay that off with the mortgage on their place and all too.”
“No doubt,” I agree. Is that another reason why Xavier doesn’t want to quit his job to fight? Because he doesn’t think he can afford to change careers?
If so, I would gladly loan him the money so he could chase his dreams.
Chapter Six
Xavier
I take a shower and then sit in the locker room at Havoc for ten minutes, spinning my wedding band around my finger, trying to decide if I should just leave or try to talk to Coach Briggs.
What I’m considering is crazy. He’s probably going to laugh at me and then tell me to get my head out of the clouds and back in the law books back in Seattle.
I’m certain it’s a waste of his time. But once I’m dressed, I find myself outside of his office for one reason – later today Cassidy will ask me if I talked to him, and if I don’t, she’ll be disappointed in me.
And letting down Cass feels almost as shitty as letting down my parents.
“Coach?” I ask when I rap my knuckles on his open door.
“Yeah?” he calls out before he looks up and sees me. He blinks at me for several silent seconds. “Holy shit, you look just like your father when he was your age, only bigger and with less scowling!” he says with a grin before he gets up from behind his desk and comes around to shake my hand. “How are you doing, Xavier?”
“I’m good,” I tell him. “How have you been?” My Uncle Jude married Coach’s daughter Sadie, so it’s not uncommon to see him at holiday get-togethers. That means his granddaughters are my cousins, and they are both something else, beautiful and smart with hearts of gold.
“Busier than ever,” he says. “Your generation can’t seem to get enough fights. I have guys up here and down in Cary taking on three or four fights in six months’ time, which is insane, but they love it.”
“Oh really?” I ask, surprised they can be ready for a fight so fast. Back when my dad was the middleweight world champion, he only had maybe one or two fights a year. He got paid about a million each, so I guess that’s why he could afford to take the time off.
“Yeah, MMA is bigger than ever before with the fans,” Coach says. “But anyway, what brings you in? Visiting your folks?”
“My ten-year high school reunion is this weekend, so I’m here for that and to catch up with everyone,” I reply.
Hands braced on his hips, he says, “So, is this just a social visit to catch up, or is there something I can do for you?”
“Well, um, it’s sort of ludicrous, but do you have a few minutes to talk with me?” I ask.
“Sure, sure,” he tells me before going around his desk to sit back down.
I shut his office door before I take a seat in one of the visitor chairs, because I don’t want anyone else to overhear our absurd conversation.
“So, ah, well, I was just wondering…I mean, I know I’m out of my prime years and all…”
“You want to fight,” Coach Briggs says as he leans back in his chair with his arm crossed over his chest.
“I’m wasting my time even considering it, right?” I ask.
“You’re the son of one of the greatest fighters of all time, the nephew of another world champion in not one but two weight classes. If you have even a sliver of the talent your sister has, and I know you do from when you were training here back in high school, then you could come out swinging in your forties and no one would probably blink an eye.”
“So you think I could have a shot at not only getting fights but winning them?”
“If I were a betting man, and you started a rigorous training camp tomorrow, I would put money on you having a championship belt within three years’ time.”
“Now you’re just being facetious,” I tell him.
“I’m being one-hundred percent honest,” Coach says. “Hell, I could make the call right now and have your first fight booked in five minutes,” he adds when he picks up his cell phone.
“No! No way,” I exclaim to stop him. “I’m just kicking around an idea. It’s nothing I want to jump into. I’m a corporate attorney at a prestigious firm in Seattle. That’s not something I can just walk away from.”
“Xavier ‘The Lawyer’ Malone,” Coach says. “It has a certain ring to it, doesn’t it? Not as ferocious as Jackson ‘The Mauler’ Malone, but you don’t have your father’s temper. We could also try ‘The Law Man’ or ‘Laying Down the Law Man’ Malone, but that’s a mouthful.”
“Reel it in, Coach,” I tell him. “I need some time to think about all of this first.”
“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