He patted the sofa in front of him, widening his legs to accommodate her between them.
“That would be great, love,” she smiled, easing down into the cushion.
“Tell me where it hurts.”
He smoothed his hands over her back in circular patterns until he found what gave her relief.
“There,” she told him.
Honing on her lower back, he applied pressure alternately with each hand, and after a few moments, she relaxed.
“That feels fantastic,” she sighed. “Thank you.”
Drago continued to lightly rub her.
“Are you hungry? There is dinner in the kitchen.”
“I'm not really hungry. I'll just grab a drink or something,” she answered, shifting her body to the side.
“Are you warm enough?”
“It's plenty warm in here. Did you light the heater in the kitchen?”
“I just lit it, but I can turn it off if you're too warm.”
“No. Leave it on. The heat feels good.”
She shifted again between his legs.
“I wish that wind would quiet down. It sounds so eerie. It's making me nervous – like it's going to pick up the house and blow us away.”
She shivered as the shrieking grew louder, and rose to pace the floor.
Drago chuckled, “Relax, milovany, the house will stand. Come to me.”
A smile spread on his face.
“It is not often we have days to ourselves like this. Let's not look the gift horse in the mouth.”
A faint smile touched her eyes.
“I will in a minute. I just can't seem to get comfortable. Let me walk a bit.”
Twenty minutes later, she continued to pace, and Drago was becoming rattled.
“Let me stretch your back, žena. Do you think it's a pinched nerve?”
“I don't know what it is. It just aches.”
Her forehead wrinkled in puzzlement.
“Maybe stretching it will help,” she conceded, willing to try anything.
Positioning himself in front of her, Drago bore her weight as she draped over his body, leaning from side to side, easing into each stretch.
“Lie down,” he said gently, helping her to her side.
Slowly, he rotated her hip up and over to effect a deep stretch of her lower back, but the pain was still evident on her face.
“Will you rub it again? That seemed to help the most.”
She turned over and rested in the modified child's pose, a yoga position her instructor had told her may be helpful for backache.
“Okay, žena,” he soothed.
His large palms covered the small of her back, and he pressed the heels of his hands into her, kneading her flesh slowly and intensely.
“How's that?”
“Mmm, that's good. Don't stop.”
The tension faded as her posture relaxed, and Drago was beginning to think Grace had found relief.
“I really don't want to move. I feel so comfortable right now,” she confessed, “But I have to go to the bathroom.”
“I'll continue when you come back,” he laughed. “Let's get you up.”
“I'm almost afraid to move. I hope it doesn't come back.”
Grace had not complained throughout the pregnancy, and the edge to her voice made him uneasy. She sat up, taking his hand, and Drago lifted her to her feet.
“Oh!” she startled. “Oh-Oh!”
“Grace?”
She was staring at herself, a look of disbelief on her face.
“Help me to the bedroom,” she laughed aloud.
At least she's laughing, he thought hopefully. But the laughter died away, and Drago regarded his wife's face, not liking what he saw. She was afraid.
“Drago, either I waited too long to get to the bathroom, or my water just broke.”
In that moment, Drago wanted to hold her and kiss her for being brave enough to joke when she was obviously scared out of her wits. He also wanted to panic.
“Are you certain?” he choked out.
“I'm pretty certain,” she laughed softly. “Look at me!”
Drago dialed Guy, explaining the situation rapidly.
“I cannot even see the drive in front of the house. I do not think it is wise to drive. I would be more likely to drive off the road than to find the hospital.”
“You're right, Drago,” Guy affirmed Drago's assessment. “Call for an ambulance, but know, son, that they may not be able to get to you. A man could be lost a few feet from the house.”
“That's what I'm afraid of,” Drago replied.
“Call me when you know anything, Drago. I'll pray for you both.”
God help us, he thought.
After a few attempts, his call went through to emergency services. They confirmed his fears. Help would not be able to get to them. The dispatcher explained what he would need to do and the items to gather and wished him luck. Disconnected from the line, Drago felt the weight of the situation firmly settle upon his shoulders. He would deliver his own son into the world. Knowing that Grace needed him, he made up his mind to remain calm. They could do this. They didn't have a choice.
Drago returned to the bedroom, finding Grace leaning on the bed. She had changed into a nightshirt, but the laughter was gone from her face. Moving behind her, he resumed the kneading pressure to her back. They worked in tandem for the next hours, changing positions as one after another failed at last to be satisfactory until Drago sensed the time was short. Her breathing came in short pants now during her contractions, and he felt her tense as another approached.
“Try to remain loose, milovany. It will help your pain.”
Unable to speak, she nodded against his chest.
“That's it, Gracie,” he encouraged as she went limp in his arms.
Thankful that they had taken classes to prepare for the birth, Drago used every technique he could recall to keep his wife focused and calm.
“I want to lie down,” she said shakily.
Everything was ready. At least as ready as he could make it. Guiding her to the soft blankets before the fireplace, he helped her gently to the floor as the storm raged violently just outside the sturdy home's walls. He settled behind her, putting her back against his chest, his legs cradling her on either side. He had moved quickly, for her pangs were coming closer together.
“Take a sip of ginger ale,” he prompted, more to keep her occupied on something besides waiting for the next pain to begin.
“I don't want anything, love.”
Her voice was tired, but she held up. Another contraction began its torturous onset, wracking her body. Her muscles shook with exhaustion, and a whimper escaped her throat. Drago gripped her thighs, holding her as she rode the wave, more intense than any before it.
“Help me!” she pleaded in a pitiful cry.
“It's all right, žena. You're all right,” he assured her, desperate to believe it himself.
He could not cave in to panic, but watching her suffer was tearing him apart. Wiping her forehead with a cool cloth, he moved her nightgown out of the way. Again the pain seized her, tearing a low sound from deep within her before she became eerily quiet. Her legs fell to the sides as she bore down, and time slowed as Drago understood that their child was about to enter the world.
God, please let Grace and the baby make it through this safe and healthy, he begged in his mind.
She released her breath with a cry only to draw in another and begin anew. He marveled at her strength and courage.
“I can see him! Keep going, žena; he's coming.”
Nothing had prepared him for the emotion that flooded him as he watched his child being born. Reaching down, he took hold of his son as he emerged into their lives. He lifted the tiny boy to Grace's chest, covering him with the towels warmed from the heat of the fireplace. The little, wrinkled face peered up at them with large, murky, newborn eyes a moment, blinking slowly before scrunching into a grimace and letting loose a lusty wail. His wif
e cooed softly at the bundle in her arms, relaxing against his chest, wrapped within his embrace.
“Dali ste mi syna, You have given me a son,” he husked, voice full of tenderness. “He's beautiful.”
Grace sighed contentedly.
“Yes, he is,” she murmured. “But you ruined my surprise,” she teased softly.
“When did I do such a thing, moja žena?”
“When you claimed you could see him,” she enlightened.
Remembering his words – words of anxious excitement – he conceded the point.
“So I did, Gracie. Will you forgive me? I was beside myself.”
His low chuckle drew a long stare from the infant.
“See, he knows my voice already,” he pointed out proudly.
“So he does...and yes, love, you are forgiven.”
“I cannot believe you remember what I was saying,” he whispered next to her ear. “You were amazing.”
Drago resettled his wife and son in the bedroom, lighting the second heater to ensure the room was warm enough. Once he had taken care to fill the other and checked the house, he returned to them. Facing one another, their son swaddled between them, Drago and Grace gazed lovingly at him, and at one another.
“Oh! I almost forgot,” Grace sighed, tired but eager to question. “What is our son's name?”
He smiled at her shining face.
“Antoline Mihovil Zadrovec. After our fathers, Grace.”
His voice broke at speaking his son's name aloud, at speaking the name of his long deceased father, and he and his wife shed bittersweet tears knowing that Mihovil and Sarai Zadrovec would not meet their grandson in this life.
* * *
By mid-morning the next day, the blizzard had lost its biting force, and the process of digging out began in earnest. Guy and Drago plowed the Antolini drive, buried beneath twenty-seven inches of snow and added inches of ice. Grace telephoned Dr. Haviland from her father's phone, and he promised to get there as soon as he was able. The roads were not yet cleared, and Grace informed him that the baby was doing fine and that they would go to the hospital as soon as the roads were passable. For now, she relished the peace of the cocoon of home about her and her son, thankful that he had arrived healthy and safe amid the tumultuous circumstances of his birth.
* * *
Antoline Zadrovec was introduced to the world of family and friends on Orthodox Christmas. After worshiping together, the Zadrovecs, Khalers, and Guy returned to the brick colonial in high spirits. One by one, the First Strike members drifted in, arms piled with presents for the little ones.
“Where is the little man?” St. Clair interrogated Drago as soon as introductions were made and coats had been hung. “I sure hope he takes after Gracie!”
Drago grinned.
“He looks like a newborn, St. Clair,” Drago said wryly, leading the boxing trainer and his latest love interest to the living room.
“Moja žena, show off my son,” he stated proudly.
Grace laughed, rolling her eyes.
“I'm glad you made it Saint!”
She stood and kissed him on the cheek.
“I'd like you to meet Lita,” St. Clair introduced his date.
“Merry Christmas,” Grace acknowledged the woman warmly. “It's nice to meet you. I'm Grace, and this...,” she beamed, offering her son to St. Clair, “...is Antoline.”
St. Clair gently gathered the bundle into his arms.
“Gracie, he's a fine looking boy!”
“Oh, Saint! Don't go on too much. I'd like my husband to be able to fit his head through the doorways.”
Grace laughed amiably, inviting the couple to sit down. Grace couldn't remember a happier time in her life, and she committed the day, its emotions and images, to her memory to recall them during the days ahead. Her husband would be training at a consuming pace in preparation for his rematch with Elian Souva, and the countdown to the fight also marked the countdown to their return to Slovakia. Grace decided not to think of that now. She wanted to live each moment where she was.
After dinner, the conversation slipped into familiar territory around the dining room table.
“Souva will face Dean Murdoch in a few weeks, and I'm telling you – that Brazilian is going to come away with the belt,” Ike said confidently.
“I see it playing out that way, too,” St. Clair agreed. “Souva will run a clinic on Murdoch.”
Heads bobbed in unison at the statement.
“Submission in the first round,” the Friar placed his wager.
“I call a knockout in the second,” Ike cast his lot.
“Either way the Brazilian ends it, Drago will be fighting for the belt come May,” St. Clair reminded. “We're going to have crazy cardio days to juice up for this fight. Five rounds, baby!”
Guy broke into the discussion.
“Stephen DuFois called me the other day. He wants to put together a “Fight For Autism” on the card. I was going to bring it up at Tuesday's meeting, but since we're all here, I'll lay it out now. He wants the AMMAO to donate ten percent of ticket sales to the Foundation for Autism Research, and he's asking the fighters to donate a percentage of their payout as well to the DuFois Fund.”
Lita, who had been sitting quietly for most of the evening, asked, “What's the DuFois Fund?”
“It helps families of autistic children connect with resources in their communities and offers financial support for those in need,” Grace explained. “Both Stephen and Beth DuFois are devoted to this cause.”
“What kind of percentage are we talking about?” Ike questioned.
“DuFois said he'd leave that up to us – if we were interested. He's contacted Souva's camp as well. Sleep on it. We can talk numbers on Tuesday if we decide we're in.”
Guy Antolini leaned back in his chair at the head of the table.
“Which brings me to another point of business. We have, after speaking at length with my son-in-law, decided to officially merge Anto-Engage with Spar-Slava. We've all been in this game for many years together, and I'd appreciate your support before I go public. It's a strategic move to gain ground in the WOMA. Right now, the AMMAO is on top, but it's good business sense to establish ourselves firmly in both organizations, gentlemen. Who knows what tomorrow will bring?”
“Drago has built a strong team and profitable business within the WOMA. His connections could promote our gym, help us establish a team within the WOMA, and feed our team in the AMMAO. I think it's a wise move,” the Friar stated.
He had known of the men's plan and had endorsed the decision wholeheartedly.
“You have my support, Anto, Drago,” Ike volunteered, nodding his head toward one, then the other.
St. Clair parroted his answer.
“Welcome to team Anto-Engage-Global,” Guy gestured, and the men shook hands around the table.
“Carson,” Guy continued, “shake with us. For you will continue with Yves for sparring work, but you're the new cardio trainer at First Strike. St. Clair has too many irons in the fire, and I need him to work full time teaching boxing. You're ready for this position.”
“I am, Anto,” Carson replied. “Thank you.”
The group chatted on, sharing stories of the gym and prospecting on the future.
“Well, I wish you all a Merry Christmas. It is time Grace and I took Antoline home,” Drago said at last, pushing from the table.
Goodbyes were long and many before the couple could depart for the peace of home. Grace settled the baby in his crib, then stole away to soak in a hot bath before bed. Adjusting to motherhood hadn't been too difficult in the month since little Anto's birth, but she valued the hours of her sleep like precious jewels.
“There you are, milovany.”
Drago lit up upon finding her and settled beside the bath.
“Will you be much longer?”
“No, not much. Why?”
“Just wondering,” he lied, knowing Grace knew it as well. “See you when you come out.�
��
She leaned back in the tub, but curiosity and excitement won out quickly, urging her to abandon the bathwater and seek her husband. She found him relaxing in their bed.
“Are you ready for bed, love?” she played along, waiting for him to reveal his hand.
“Actually, žena, I have a gift for you,” he confessed, sliding a long, slender box from under his pillow. “Merry Christmas.”
Grace opened the velvety, black case to find a silver charm bracelet with two shining circles dangling from its dainty chain. Each disk bore an inscription on either side. The first was inscribed ~ 20 October ~ and on the reverse ~ moja nevesta, my bride ~ and the second ~ 17 December ~ and on the back ~ Dakujem, thank you. The simple words, their marriage date and the day of their son's birth, together on the beautiful bracelet moved Grace to tears.
“It's lovely, Drago.”
Her eyes shone brightly, her tears of happiness sparkling in the dim lamplight of the room.
“Clasp it for me, please,” she said, eager to wear the charms he had gifted her.
He affixed it around her slender wrist, and encircled her with his arms. Grace molded to his body, savoring his love and strength about her for precious moments before she moved.
“I have something for you as well. But my gift isn't nearly as good as yours. You've bested me, love.”
He laughed softly in her ear.
“That would be a first, milovany.”
Reaching under the bed, Grace drew out a medium sized box wrapped in golden foil paper.
“Open it,” she encouraged.
Inside was a pair of compression fight shorts.
“I hope you like them. They are the first piece of gear I designed with the new Anto-Engage-Global logo.”
“You designed these?” he asked in surprise. “I never suspected a thing!”
“You spend a great deal of time at the gym, love. It wasn't terribly difficult.”
“Grace, these are very good,” he admired, holding them up.
The flags were split, half American, half Slovakian on the right, front hip. The left rear bore a globe covered with the national flags of all the team's fighters. A white band around the waist had the name Anto-Engage-Global printed around it, front and back, and on the right rear the new slogan – Engage The Globe – rested above a newly designed icon.
Claiming The Prize Page 23