Page 231 of The Nanny and the Beefcake
He stared at his son. “You’ve seen it?”
“Yeah, it’s a little shimmer in the air. Don’t you see it, too?”
The breath caught in his throat. “I do. I did.”
“Take a look,” Sebastian nudged.
Raz did as the boy asked and studied the backside of the circle.
“They’re indigo-colored stones. That’s the color. I had to mix purple and blue to make it. My art teacher at camp said that when two colors come together, they can make something new and beautiful.”
“That they do,” he said softly. He stared at the painted rocks—rocks whose purpose was to illuminate the right path.
“Do you like it?” Sebastian asked.
His heart melted in his chest. “I love it, son. It’s perfect.”
“We’re here, lads,” Aug said, pulling up at the event center.
Raz looked out the window as a woman wearing a headset with a clipboard in her hands walked up to the vehicle and opened the back door.
“Mr. Cress, your dressing room is this way.”
“Briggs and I will find your room and knock when it’s time,” Aug said, trading places with the valet as Briggs pulled up behind them.
“Can I stay with you, Dad?”
He ruffled the boy’s ash brown hair. “I need someone to carry my new corner stool, right?”
“Righto!” the boy chimed as they followed the production assistant into the building.
She led them down a back hallway. Workers carrying lighting equipment shuttled past them. “That’s the ring,” she said, pointing as the hallway opened, and they could see into the massive space below.
“How many people can fit in there?” Sebastian asked.
“Eighteen thousand and seven,” she answered, gifting the boy with a grin.
“That’s a huge number!” Sebastian exclaimed. “Eighteen thousand and seven people are going to watch you fight, Dad.”
“More like eighteen thousand and seven and hundreds of millions more on Pay-Per-View,” the staffer replied.
“Gosh, my friend Phoebe once said she was so hungry she wanted to eat a hundred million hot dogs. But I don’t think she could do that, at least not in one day. Now, if she had two, I bet she could,” the boy mused.
Raz chuckled, but goose bumps peppered his skin. This was his make-or-break fight, and the pressure had set in.
“The weigh-in will take place on the temporary stage,” the woman continued, pointing it out. “Silas Scott will weigh in first, and then it’ll be your turn.”
“Look at the lights. There are so many,” Sebastian chimed, awe coating his observation.
Hundreds, possibly thousands of lights, pointed toward a stage lined with Union Jack flags for him and the green, white, and orange Irish flags for Silas.
“And look at the cameras,” Sebastian said, eyes as wide as saucers.
The woman glanced at her watch. “We’re starting a bit earlier. You’ve got fifteen minutes until we’ll need you on stage.”
Fifteen minutes.
The clock was ticking.
