The Aftermath

by R. J. Prescott

  I leaned in next to her to give her my reply. “First time you come on to me, you’re misinformed. Second time, you’re disrespecting my wife. So how about you fuck off back to your seat before I decide to get offended?”

  The look on her face told me this had never happened to her before. She flew out of the seat with a mumbled “arsehole,” and I finally got back to my music. I let out a heavy sigh. No way was I traveling without Em again.

  * * *

  The warm Las Vegas temperature was a welcome relief from the harsh weather we’d left behind in London. Of course, Danny sucked away all of my appreciation for the climate when he started pointing out that Temple had trained for months in this heat while I’d trained in the cold. Eyeing me up and down as we waited for our luggage like I was twenty stone and not two hundred twenty pounds, he grumbled about the amount of work we had to do. We queued for a taxi after getting through customs and when the driver asked what hotel we were staying at, Danny gave him the name of the gym, and the boys all grumbled.

  “This ain’t a feckin’ free holiday!” Danny yelled at them. “You wanna go and lie on a nice beach? Fuck off to Spain. You wanna stay and see how winning is done, you pull your weight. Heath is gonna be busy with promotion, so Kieran, you’re Con’s sparring partner, and Liam and Tommy, you’ll run circuits with him.”

  To be fair to Temple’s camp, the gym they’d hooked us up with was small but decent. It wasn’t in the best of neighborhoods, but as I shook hands with a few of the local fighters, I had to admit that Southside Gym had the same vibe to it as Driscoll’s. As far as Danny was concerned, jet lag was just a myth, and, giving us ten minutes to change, we were up and working before we’d even learned everyone’s names.

  “Right boys. A lot of shit has gone down in the last week. Tough. This ain’t the time for fucking distractions. For the next six days, you’re all gonna eat, sleep, and dream boxing. When it’s done—you get a day off.”

  That was it. The end of his groundbreaking motivational speech. Kier and I both grinned as we looked at each other. At least until Danny shouted, “That’s it. What the feckin’ hell you still standing around for. Get to work!”

  I went with the same basic routine I followed at home. Only this time, some of the local fighters had in on the action. When I would run, Samuel, their head coach, made me run with a tennis ball. I’d squeeze it and then relax my hand, repeating the exercise for a mile and then swapping hands. I also didn’t run alone anymore, mostly because it was easy to get lost and time was something I had precious little of left. I did ten miles in the morning but Danny replaced the afternoon run with sprints.

  We shared the gym with Samuel’s two bull mastiffs named Leonard and Dempsey. When the guys sprinted, they did too, adding a little extra competition. My days were filled with skipping, circuits, hitting tires with a sledgehammer, and punching sandbags. Unlike punching bags, the harder you hit sandbags the harder they flew back at you. Unless you wanted a smack in the head, you had to hit and learn to duck or dodge, fast. I wasn’t used to training in the heat and my muscles knew it. By the end of every day, I was exhausted but felt like I could actually do this.

  The friends we made at Southside should have been in Temple’s corner. They were American, after all. But poverty and a certain respect for the sport and the old ways unified us, until they felt as much a part of our camp as the rest of the guys.

  Samuel’s wonderful wife, Odell, cooked for us all. She owned the diner across the road from the gym and was used to cooking for boxers. There was no give in the special diet I was on, not this close to a fight. She looked after us in a way a hotel never would. Pretty much the only time we even went back there was to sleep and grab fresh clothes.

  Kieran continued to spar with me, but after a day, Samuel put me together with Leon. He was the nicest, gentlest guy I ever met, until you climbed into the ring with him. He was six feet eight inches and built like an absolute fucking tank. What he lacked in technique and footwork, he made up for in sheer blunt force trauma. Nine times out of ten, he couldn’t get near me, and we could only spar for a few rounds before he’d worn himself out. But if he ever caught me, I felt his punch for hours. If ever there was a lesson in staying fast, it was Leon. Soft fucker was always the first one to stop and help me up when he knocked me down though. Made it kind of hard to hate the guy who hit you when he was so apologetic.

  Tommy brought the famous soundtrack with him, and the Southside guys mocked us, but after a couple of days, even they were skipping to the rhythm of the same tunes that kept us pumped. Danny still made me do a criminal number of push-ups and hanging sit-ups. They weren’t as much fun without Em to do the counting but she gave me something to think about as I worked through the pain.

  Like most fighters, I led with my right hand. My right hook was famous, and Danny always let me lead with it. But he was learning as much as I was. Between him and Samuel, they decided to tie my right hand behind my back before putting me in the ring with Leon. Talk about a crash course in learning to lead with your left. I moved faster and harder between four ropes than I ever had before. Tying my hand was a risk. It fucked with my balance, and there was no need to read me. There was no question of which way I’d be punching, only where. In five hard fucking days, I learned to lead with both arms, and the first time I spared with Kier after that, I was all over him. He’d spent his whole life learning how to read me as a fighter. He knew my form, my technique. Shit, he knew how I’d fight depending on what mood I was in. Now he had no clue where I was coming from, and I knew then why they’d done it.

  As I helped Kier up off his arse, we both smiled. Everyone did. There was electricity in the air, like something special was coming. Right now I was the underdog. The one statistically most likely to lose. But that also made me most likely to surprise people. I didn’t need people to love me or believe me. I only needed it from those I loved. Because of Em and these guys, there was absolutely nothing that I couldn’t do.

  The only thing missing in all this was my wife. She would have loved meeting Samuel and Leon, and I could almost picture her perched by the ring cuddling and petting Leonard and Dempsey. No matter what I was doing, I called her every night before I went to bed. So far she said the exams were going well. I knew in Em’s code it meant she was fucking acing ’em. She had a gift for math like I’d never seen before. It wasn’t so much that she found it easy, it’s that she could see a beauty in the numbers where other people couldn’t. Maybe it’s why she understood my sport so well. Those of us who loved boxing saw a beauty in the art of the sport, where others only saw violence.

  Every day the hole in my heart from missing her grew bigger. By Friday, the tension between wanting more time to train and missing her badly became meaningless. The fight was tomorrow whether I was I ready for it or not.

  Chapter 26

  Rest day was still spent at Southside. I’d have gone crazy just sitting in the hotel room, but the gym kept me centered and calm. Samuel taped fights almost religiously, and so we all spent most the day holed up in a tiny little room at the back of the gym watching Temple fight. I only hoped he hadn’t switched it up like I was going to.

  “How are you feeling?” Em asked me that night. It was the last time I’d speak to her before the fight.

  “Good,” I told her honestly. “Confident. There’s kind of a buzz like there is back home. You’d like it here.”

  “You probably won’t want to work out after the fight but maybe I could come with you to see the place and meet a few of the guys?” she suggested.

  Just the thought of having her there made me smile. “I’d like that.” I said.

  How did today’s exam go?” I asked, and I could see her grin as she replied, “Good, I think. There were a couple of questions that I was nervous about but I worked through them when I got home, and I’m happier now with my answers.”

  “You all set for tomorrow?” I asked about her morning flight.

  “Are you kiddin
g? My bag’s been packed for nearly a week. There’s no way that I’m not going to be on that plane, I promise.”

  “Don’t say that. Anything could happen to stop you getting here. Look at all the shit with the weather.”

  “Baby,” she said, and I could hear the laughter in her voice, “how many times today have you checked that my flight is still listed?”

  I didn’t want to answer her because I knew she’d laugh. I mumbled into the phone.

  “Cormac,” she pressed. Which kind of shocked me because she never called me that.

  “Fine. Fourteen!” I admitted. She did actually laugh at me. I needed to hear that sound in person.

  “I will be on that flight, O’Connell, I promise. The snow is almost completely gone here.”

  “How are you getting to Heathrow?” I asked, worrying about her even now.

  “Albie offered to drive me to the airport,” she said.

  “I made sure there’s a car service at the airport to meet your flight. Earnshaw told me they’ll hold up one of those signs with your name on it. Show them your ID when you get here and they’ll bring you straight to the guys, okay?” Shit, I sounded so fucking nervous.

  “O’Connell” she said to me.

  “Yeah,” I answered huskily.

  “You’ve got this. When you get in that ring tomorrow, know that I’m on my way to you that very minute, and I want you to fight like I’m right in front of you. You’ve been training for this, so show me what my husband is made of.”

  Just like that, all the nerves and bullshit fell away, and I knew this fucking fight was mine. Now it was time to show the rest of the world that too.

  * * *

  Fight day, like every morning here, was bright and clear, and I itched to go for a run. Kieran and the rest of the guys were in Odell’s diner, stuffing down the American version of a full English fried breakfast. When I got back, I knew I was gonna sweet talk Kieran’s ma into cooking me up a full Irish breakfast, soda bread and all.

  Tommy questioned why I wasn’t going along. They all knew I couldn’t eat with them but guessed I’d want the company. Kieran knew better. He tossed me his headphones and iPod on the way out and left me watching Leon and his boys sparring. The music drowned out everything, and I let my head get where it needed to be. To a place it most definitely hadn’t been during the exhibition match. Temple’s cocky scowl was burned into my brain, and I knew, based on my last performance and the shit he’d been saying about me lately, he thought had this in the bag.

  As I looked around Southside, I realized just how different Temple and I were. Sure, we were from opposite sides of the world, but both of us came from poor families and boxing had elevated us. What made us different was what we did when we got to the top. Temple surrounded himself with his “crew” as he liked to call them.

  As far as I could tell, they were yes-men who changed from week to week. Sure he had a longtime trainer, like I had Danny, but the rest of them came and went. He was renowned in his downtime for attending clubs, celebrity parties, and high-profile events, his friendship with a few notorious rappers making him as infamous as the boxing did. There were always at least two models hanging off his arms. Shit, even at the weigh-in, he had half his entourage around him.

  I listened to all of them, him included, talk shit about what I was bringing to the table. It was a time-honored boxing tradition to try and break each other mentally before a fight. My temper was usually on a hair trigger, but I’d perfected the art of looking bored shitless at weigh-ins, which usually succeeded in riling up my opponent. I think I might I have even thrown a yawn in midway through Temple’s rant.

  I didn’t want any of that shit. Sure, I wanted to be successful to give my girl a better life, so that I could take care of her. But I was the lucky son of a bitch who got to do that by doing what I loved. And I fucking loved the fight. Temple boxed with his head. He was what Danny called a “technical” fighter. His technique was flawless. Combine that with his size and fitness and the guy was a machine.

  I ran my fingertips over the tattoo across my chest. “A champion is someone who gets up when they can’t.—Jack Dempsey.” I wasn’t a technical fighter. I was a wild card, always would be. When I got knocked down, when my ribs were bruised and every single part of my body felt fucking broken, I got back up. When the fight was over and all hope of victory was lost, I got back up. Heart is what got me a shot at the world heavyweight title, not fear or anger, but heart. In the end, it’s why I would win. Because when his head told Temple it was all over, my heart would still be telling me to get back up. Losing was done when you listened to your head; winning was done when you listened to your heart.

  The longer I watched Leon work his way through sparring partners, the more I imagined in my head how the fight was going to go down. I was fucking hungry for this. Temple had no idea what I was capable of, but he was about to find out. I was ready to hurt and keep hurting until Temple went down and stayed down. Whatever happened tonight, I was coming home with that title, not for Em, not for Danny or any of the boys, but for me.

  * * *

  “You ready, son?” Danny asked as he sat down on the bench next to me. He lit up a cigarette and inhaled deeply. Southside, like most gyms, was nonsmoking. Apparently that rule didn’t apply to Danny on either side of the Atlantic.

  “I’m ready, Danny. I can’t explain why. A few weeks ago, Frank was all I could think about. Now it just feels like this is my time. Like everything that’s happened has made me who I need to be to win this fight.”

  “That’s good,” he said. “Winning ain’t about who deserves it, it’s about who fights harder for it. So when you get in that ring tonight, you just remember that we’re right behind you, and you keep fighting until it’s done.” I smiled at him, and he scowled back.

  “This fight is mine, Danny. I’ll make you proud of me. I promise.”

  “Kid,” he said, standing up and taking another drag of his cigarette, “I’ve always been proud of you. Title or no title, that ain’t gonna change.” He patted me on the back and walked away.

  There was a lump in my throat as I thought over what he’d said. When I was a kid and Danny had made us go to church, I couldn’t help feeling resentful that God had given me a shitty mother. It never occurred to me until now that he’d actually blessed me with a pretty amazing father. One who never held me back or pushed me too hard, but one who also never lost faith in me and showed me the way. It was because of him I knew what kind of dad I wanted to be someday.

  * * *

  There were so many people around that it was like being backstage at a concert. Everyone I passed seemed to want my autograph. When we finally made it to my dressing room, Kieran shut the door behind us, and no fucker was allowed in.

  “Shit. This is a bit fancy, ain’t it?” Tommy commented. Tom and Liam enjoyed the TV and leather sofa but the rest of us weren’t interested. They turned the volume on the TV off as they settled in, and I appreciated it. Half the preparation in any fight was getting into the zone. I warmed up, stretched, and shadowboxed.

  It was only once Danny started taping up my knuckles that he gave me the pep talk. “This ain’t no exhibition anymore, son, and this guy ain’t going down without a fight. Now you and me, we’ve come a long way this last year, but that don’t change who we are or where we’ve come from. He’s tough, but you’re tougher. He’s got the weight of the world on his shoulders and nowhere to go but down. Well, you’re gonna help him get there real quick.

  “This fight ain’t gonna be pretty. But when you’re done, you’ll be the kid from the streets who came from nowhere to become the greatest heavyweight fighter in the world. So you ready to make history, Con?”

  “Yes sir,” I replied in all seriousness. I was done with watching Temple keep my title belt warm. This was my time and fuck Temple for not realizing that. When Danny was done with the tape, I stood up and shook out my legs as Kier got the pads ready for me to warm up. I was surprised wh
en the television went off. Tommy and Liam looked restless and more nervous that I was.

  “You okay?” I asked them.

  “Shit, Con,” Liam answered, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. “You’re about to fight for the World Heavyweight title and you’re asking me if I’m okay?”

  “Yeah,” I answered, making them chuckle.

  “We’re nervous. You tell me you ain’t?” Tommy asked.

  I thought about it for a second as I cricked my neck from side to side. “No. I’m not nervous. I don’t think about the title or who’s watching. Once the bell goes, there’s just him and me anyway.”

  Tommy rolled his eyes and went back to pacing. A sharp knock sounded at the door, pissing Kieran off. “What do you want?” he said, yanking it open.

  “Well, is that any way to talk to a man of God?” an Irish voice replied.

  “What are you doing here?” Kieran asked, as he let Farther Pat in the door.

  “Didn’t seem right letting you fight without following tradition,” he told us as he gave me a quick hug.

  “You flew halfway around the world for confession? What’s the real reason?” I asked with a smile.

  “The congregation and I bet five hundred pounds on you, so I’m here protecting our investment,” he answered.

  “Very Christian,” Danny chuckled.

  Another knock sounded at the door, and one of the managers put his head around it. “Ten minutes, Mr. O’Connell,” he said.

  “Well then. We don’t have time for a full confession, but how about a quick prayer?” Father Pat asked, and Danny nodded his permission. We gathered around in a circle, even Danny, and bent our heads.

  “Dear Lord, we ask you not for victory, for somehow that seems wrong. But only for Con’s protection and the courage for him to be strong. Strength not to conquer, but just that he fights well. And proves himself a sportsman at the ring of the final bell.”