Page 16 of The Baby-whisperer and the Brute
“Thanks, man. I don’t know. That life just wasn’t for me, you know? I loved the game, but I always dreamed of being a Frogman. I wanted to serve my country.”
“That’s awesome. Well, I’m glad you decided to get into security after that. How soon do you think your guys could start installing the systems?”
Just then my phone rang. I looked at the screen and held up a finger to Wilder. “Excuse me. Gotta take this. I’ll be right back.”
Taking a few steps away, I answered. “Hey Frank. What’s up?”
As if I even needed to ask. There was only one thing fight promoter Frank Balletto would be calling about—the same thing he’d been calling about for months now.
“Hey Sul. Listen, buddy, I can’t put the Diggs camp off any longer. We gotta set a date. They’re making noise about talking to the boxing commission, asking them to vacate your title and take back your belt.”
“What?” I practically yelled. “They can’t do that.”
“I’m afraid they can. With his nineteen knockouts and undefeated record, he’s earned the right to demand a title fight.”
“That pipsqueak is only twenty years old.”
“That ‘pipsqueak’ is six-foot-three and two-hundred-sixty pounds of solid muscle. And he’s thesame ageyou were when you took the boxing world by storm. He’s the new ‘you.’ You gotta fight him, Sully. Come on, give me the green light and let me get this thing in motion. Couldn’t you use a few hundred million more in your pocket? I know I could.”
My take from each pay-per-view fight was eighty percent. At a hundred dollars a head and with a viewing audience of about twenty million people, it was a hefty fee.
I thought about it. There was no denying the money I’d earned boxing had changed my life completely, elevating me from the worst neighborhood in Worcester, Massachusetts to the ritziest street in Eastport Bay, Rhode Island, America’s very first playground of the rich and famous.
It had taken me from hungry and dressed in thrift store clothing that never fit quite right to eating in the finest restaurants and wearing designer clothes that cost more than a year’s rent on my mom’s shitty old apartment.
It had meant going from walking everywhere I went to driving a fleet of expensive sports cars.
Most importantly, if I’d never become rich, Anouk would never have married me, and I wouldn’t have my two girls.
But those girlsneededme right now.
Preparing for a title fight would be no joke. Normally, I trained for at least three months—hard—before each fight. This one might need more. It was an all-day thing, requiring my full concentration and effort.
With this new custody situation taking place at the beginning of summer break, my daughters needed care and supervision all day long.
How could I be there for them and train at the same time?
“I don’t know, Frank. You know it’s not really about the money anymore.”
“What about your legacy? What about going forty and O?” the promoter asked, knowing exactly where to jab me. “You once told me that was what you wanted most in life. You’re only a few fights away. The Sullivan Reece I know is no quitter.”
“Yeah, you’re right. I still want it. More than anything. It’s just such a bad time for me. Listen, I’ve gotta get off the phone but I’ll think about it, okay?”
“Don’t think about it too long. The boxing commission is eager for a title bout, and every day you wait, Diggs’ position grows stronger… and his taunts that you’re scared of him gain more credibility.”
“Okay, okay, I hear you. I’ll give you a call tomorrow.”
When I hung up, Wilder gave me an alert glance. “Everything okay?”
I blew out a breath. “Yeah. I don’t know. Travis Diggs is making some noise about getting my title vacated if I don’t give him his shot—and soon.”
“You going to fight him?”
“I don’t really have a choice. He’s the top contender. He’s earned the shot.”
“You’re undefeated right? How many wins—thirty-five?” Wilder asked.
“Thirty-six. My goal was always forty.”
