Page 66 of The Baby-whisperer and the Brute
My trainer, Tony, had also texted, and there’d been a missed call from him. His text had read:
-Did you see? Are you okay?
What the hell? I would respond once I’d watched the recorded footage. I assumed Diggs had won the match and probably in spectacular fashion. A first-round knockout maybe?
I settled in to watch, following the action closely. As I always did when preparing to face a challenger, I made mental notes about the other boxer’s form and habits, about the unconscious signals he gave that telegraphed his next move.
Though I’d faced many fighters—some of them more experienced than this twenty-year old phenom—I’d never seen anyone quite so innately powerful—or so vicious.
The fight didn’t end in the first round but went to the fifth, when Diggs had apparently had enough of toying with his opponent, Roy Gray.
He delivered a crisp right uppercut to Gray’s jaw, followed by a hard left to the side of his head. Gray dropped to the mat, unconscious on impact.
Medical personnel rushed into the ring, moved the man onto a stretcher, and rushed him away as Diggs stood looking coldly on.
A shudder worked its way through my body as I listened to the analysts talk about the hit and give updates on Gray’s condition. They announced he’d suffered a seizure before reaching the hospital and had been taken in for emergency brain surgery.
I switched channels to a live sports broadcast for more updated information. I had to wait through some baseball highlights first, but the topic switched to the fight and the latest information on Gray.
The sports anchors said he was currently in intensive care in extremely critical condition—and in a coma. From their word choice and tone, it was clear he wasn’t expected to survive.
Switching off the TV, I sat in the dark home theater. It wasn’t news to me that Travis Diggs was dangerous. I’d never underestimated the young contender, knowing he’d be the best fighter I’d faced in a long time.
The truth was any fight on this level could be a man’s last. When punches were being thrown with an impact of a thousand pounds of pressure per square inch, and a title fight was the equivalent of being in a car crash—each and every round—there was considerable risk.
We all knew it. It was something you accepted then put out of your mind, telling yourself it wouldn’t bethistime,thisfight, convincing yourself you could be invincible one more time.
But tonight’s events were a reminder of how quickly things could change.
Roy Gray had been at the top of his game, young, healthy, and confident about stepping into the ring with Diggs. He hadn’t expected this outcome, just like I never expected to lose.
I’d never been afraid to fight before. It had been a way of life for me since I was thirteen years old and had wandered into Tony’s Gym one night when my mom was out with yet another new guy.
Bored and sick of the cold, lonely apartment, I’d gone out for a walk on the streets of Worcester. The gym door had been open, and I’d stepped inside, attracted by the noise and lights.
Tony had welcomed me and told me to come back anytime. The chance meeting had set my life on a whole new course.
But things were different now. I had alotto lose. I couldn’t allow myself to end up like Gray and leave my little girls alone with Anouk as their only parent.
Which meant I had to focus more and train harder for this fight than I ever had in my life. I could not allow anything or anyone to distract me—not even Angelina.
It was for the best anyway. If she’d didn’t want me, it would be stupid of me to keep on wanting her so much.
Well you said you needed a new source of willpower.Here it was on a silver platter.
I would put a clamp on my feelings for Angelina and redirect all that pent-up frustration and desire toward preparing for what could very well be a fight for my life.
Chapter Twenty-One
A Night Out
Sully
For the next few weeks, Angelina and I barely saw each other. I got up earlier and made my own breakfast, getting down to the gym and training all day without taking a break.
I encouraged her to go out with friends in the evenings after she’d prepared dinner for the girls, telling her I’d handle their bedtime routine alone.
On the nights she stayed home, I went up to the theater alone and studied footage of old fights, looking for any advantage I could use—and preserving my focus and peace of mind.
