Page 116 of Falcon

I’m much closer to the walkway that he will take this time. I see him round the corner, flanked by both of his trainers and Joe. He’s focused on the space ahead of him. His face is stoic and unassuming, but so beautiful.

Just as he passes the area I’m occupying, he glances my way. Our eyes connect, but he doesn’t smile. He doesn’t do much of anything except acknowledge I’m sitting here before his focus returns to the task at hand: getting into the Octagon.

He steps into the caged area and one of his trainers, the younger one, helps secure his fingerless fighting gloves onto his wrapped hands.

I can see him flex his fingers; testing them as he does every time, then he opens his mouth so his can insert his mouth guard.

I bring my hands up to my face, resting them against my mouth like I’m praying, and maybe I am. Maybe I’m praying for whomever is looking out for this man right now to keep him safe, because I’m not sure what’s in the air right now, but something doesn’t feel right.

“Does he seem off to you?” I ask Courtney, as the music dies down for the fight to begin.

“What do you mean?”

“He’s normally more animated than this, isn’t he? I mean, from every fight I’ve seen online and how he was in Texas, this just seems different.”

She turns her eyes toward the men in the center of the Octagon as they meet in the middle, connecting gloves before they are signaled to fight.

She doesn’t answer my question; she doesn’t have to. I can tell by her face she agrees with me.

The referee steps back, telling them he expects a good clean fight…and announces loudly, “Come out fighting.”

Fuck…Here we go.

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