Going the Distance (No Excuses Book 1) (12 page)

Two months went by, during which Sam was busy writing more articles and interviewing more people than she’d ever thought possible. Her boss insisted on putting her on any important assignment coming their way, saying that she knew how to get it done and didn’t take No for an answer from anyone. Sam groaned each time he gave her a thumbs up.

Staying busy at work helped keep her sane at home, which she needed. She’d taken the plunge a few more times and called her parents, each time talking to them for several minutes before needing some distance again. They were taking excruciatingly slow baby steps, which was perfectly fine with her. It did put her on edge though each time she decided to pick up the phone and dial their number. That feeling she had in the pit of her stomach never seemed to go away. Each time, she was nervous about hearing their voices again and noticing if they sounded like normal people or like their former, old selves. So far, so good.

Other than focusing on work and rebuilding her relationship with her parents, she didn’t allow herself to give other matters much thought, namely the matter of a certain athlete. She hadn’t spoken to Trent in months and was disappointed about the way everything had turned out.

Despite that, she couldn’t help but order his Pay-Per-View fight on TV that Saturday night and settle deep into her couch cushions with a glass of wine and a bowl of popcorn. Her nerves were on edge as though she was the one about to step into the ring, not Trent.

When the announcement had been made that he’d be fighting that night, she’d been floored. It had only been a couple of months since his loss, yet he was back in the ring again. Was he ready?

That was a stupid question. Obviously he thought he was. But could he actually pull it off? Could he win again or would he suffer another loss? What if he got knocked out this time?

Her stomach was in knots and she poured herself a second glass of wine before the fighters even stepped into the ring.

Her doorbell rang and she got up to answer it.

“Who is it?”

“Us,” Clare and Danielle’s voices responded.

She opened the door and looked at them surprised. “What are you doing here?”

Danielle held up a bottle of merlot and grinned. “What? You thought you’d get to watch your favorite boxer all by yourself tonight?”

Sam gave her a tight-lipped smile and let them enter. When they got to the living room, Danielle set down the bottle of wine on the coffee table.

“Looks like you got the party started without us,” she remarked, looking at the opened wine bottle.

“Yeah, I need it,” Sam said, sighing. “I don’t know how athletes can go out there and perform in front of all those people. I’m a nervous wreck, and I’m here in my living room.”

Clare threw her jacket on a nearby chair and plopped on the couch. “They’re trained to do that, Sam. Besides, it’s not like this is their first fight.”

No, it wasn’t Trent’s first fight, but it was his first one coming back after the only loss in his career. In a way, this was kind of like his first fight.

Danielle came back from the kitchen with two more wine glasses and poured herself and Clare some wine.

“Did we miss anything?” she asked, handing Clare the glass, then taking a sip from her own.

Sam shook her head. “The fighters are about to walk out now.”

The Rocky theme-song came on and Trent’s opponent, Mike Orson, walked out with this team. He didn’t seem too big or small, had a frown on his face that Sam didn’t find intimidating one bit, and held one glove up as he walked, as though he was already celebrating his victory. When he entered the ring, he took his sparkly robe off and started throwing punches to warm up.

The camera panned over to Trent’s corner and he walked out with his team to no music at all.

“That’s interesting,” Danielle said, drinking her wine.

“Not all fighters pick a song for their entrance,” Sam explained, settling into the dent she’d made on the couch and hugging her knees to herself.

Trent looked good. At least in decent enough shape from what she could see in the dim lighting shining all around him. When the camera zoomed in on his face, she swallowed, feeling suddenly like she was being reconnected with a long lost friend, except he wasn’t lost, nor was he a friend.

She squelched the gnawing feeling in her stomach and stuffed a bunch of popcorn in her mouth. Clare and Danielle made occasional comments, but Sam wasn’t paying attention. Her eyes and ears were glued to the TV.

Once Trent entered the ring, the national anthem was sung by a woman in a long, pink gown that seemed more appropriate for an award show than a boxing match, but that didn’t really matter. All the extra people left the ring and the referee laid out the rules for the fight. Both fighters nodded in acknowledgment and touched gloves, then the bell announced the beginning of the first round.

Sam was chewing on her thumb. Clare and Danielle were for once quiet, and the sudden silence filled Sam with even more dread.

Trent and Orson circled each other, giving Sam the opportunity to compare them side by side. They were about the same height and weight, but Trent looked like he’d been hitting the gym hard. His muscles were defined like he had something to prove, which of course, he did.

Sam had thought his body had been stellar before, but now he looked even more…solid. She hoped that definition would come in handy at least.

Orson threw a few jabs and Trent dodged them, then they circled each other in the middle of the ring again, feeling each other out. Trent threw a couple of combination shots, which landed on Orson’s midsection and jaw. They separated again and continued their cat and mouse game. Before Sam had the chance to take another sip of wine, the first round was over.

“That was fast,” Clare said, reaching for the popcorn.

“At least he’s still in the game,” Danielle remarked with a smile.

Sam’s brows furrowed and she downed her drink. “That’s not funny.”

If Trent lost, especially early in the rounds, it would be devastating. To him of course, but for some reason, to her too. She was rooting for him even though she’d declared that she didn’t want anything to do with him anymore.

The bell rang and the second round started. The fighters went back to the same position as before, moving back and forth in the center of the ring. Sam remembered that Trent’s last opponent had been a few years younger, as was Orson. She wondered if that made a difference in the ring. Younger fighters usually had more stamina, speed and strength, but older fighters had more experience. They were more tactical and remained level-headed throughout their strategy. Younger guys sometimes got impatient and started brawling, which opened up the opportunity for a knockout.

Would that be the case tonight? If Trent could only get that lucky.

He traded a few jabs with Orson and cornered him against the ropes, where he got to work on his body. The crowd cheered, but Orson quickly moved back to the center of the ring and they were back to jabbing. More moves like that could get Trent more points on the scorecards, Sam thought.

“Anybody up for more wine?” Danielle asked, grabbing the unopened bottle from the table.

“Definitely,” Clare said, finishing her glass.

Sam nodded absent-minded and set her empty glass on the table. The bell rang again and the second round was over. She breathed a sigh of relief. Trent was still standing, thank God.

“So? Are you gonna survive this?” Danielle joked, walking back with the opened bottle of wine.

“This is more nerve-racking than…actually, I can’t think of anything more intense,” Sam said, giving the girls a smile. “Thanks for being here.”

“Anytime, lady,” Danielle replied and refilled everyone’s glasses. “Just don’t get your hopes up, Sam. It can go either way. He can lose, you know.”

Completely unnecessary words, Sam thought grudgingly. She was only too aware of what could go wrong. Didn’t they notice she was a hot mess? She was hoping Trent would win, but honestly, she had her doubts. Not many people could come back after their first career loss and pick up as if everything was fine. And knowing Trent, he was a complicated guy with a big ego. Did he have it in him to put the past aside and focus on what was happening now? She hoped so.

The next round began and they all turned to the TV again. Trent threw punches, Orson threw jabs, they both connected and both dodged plenty of them. This went on for three more rounds, at which point Sam was starting to feel less anxious. As long as they continued this pace, all would be well. Trent wouldn’t get knocked out and they would go to the scorecards for the decision. Obviously she wanted him to win, but she cared more about him not getting knocked out.

Just as that thought crossed her mind, he ducked, threw a right uppercut and connected with Orson’s jaw. The guy seemed to wobble in slow motion, his knees buckling and his eyes rolling in the back of his head before he lost his balance and fell down hard. The crowd went wild.

The referee was down on his knees, counting off on his fingers, but Orson wasn’t moving. When the referee got to the number eight, Orson finally seemed to shake his head as if to clear it and attempted to stand up, but his body wasn’t cooperating. He was done. The referee counted to ten, then declared the fight over.

Trent’s team rushed into the ring to celebrate with him and Sam swallowed the lump in her throat.

“Wow, that was awesome,” Clare said, looking amazed.

“Thank God he knocked the guy out,” Danielle added, letting out an exaggerated breath.

Sam only nodded, not sure what to say. She watched Trent celebrate with his team and hold up his new championship belt. Reporters and photographers were all around him, trying to get a piece of him. She was amazed that many people could fit inside the ring.

The medical team checked on Orson, who was up on his feet again by now, and he responded well to the various tests they were doing on him. Sam was glad the guy wasn’t seriously hurt.

The announcer grabbed the microphone and spoke loudly to the crowd, saying that Trent was the new light heavyweight champion. The crowd cheered again and Trent grinned from ear to ear.

And then he did the unthinkable. He stood rooted to the spot while the sports announcer walked up to him for an interview. Trent “The Punisher” Page was giving an interview!
Unbelievable
.

“Congratulations, Trent, on a fantastic win,” the reporter said.

Trent wiped sweat off his forehead and smiled. “Thanks, Jim.”

“What was your strategy for tonight’s fight?”

“Well, just come out and kick some ass,” Trent joked, then turned serious. “Nah, we worked real hard in the gym on getting my speed back up, and throwing those jabs again, which I didn’t do in my last fight. We knew that Mike is a defensive fighter, so we worked on breaking down his barriers and finding opportunities to connect with him.”

“Here’s a replay of the knockout, Trent. Take us through your thoughts at that moment.”

The knockout was shown in slow motion on the screen and Sam saw Trent’s glove connecting with Orson’s face. Ouch.

“My thoughts were to just find a good angle to throw that uppercut, which I obviously did,” Trent answered, wiping more sweat from his face. One of his team members handed him a towel and he used that to wipe his face.

“For all the boxing fans out there, this is a rare pleasure to have you stick around and actually give an interview after your fight. Why the change of heart now?” the reporter asked.

Sam could have sworn the entire place got quiet. Maybe it was just her imagination.

“After my last fight, I was in a bad place for a while and didn’t want to talk to anybody. But as everyone found out, I did an interview for a newspaper with Sam Wellington, and she’s the reason I’m standing here talking to you today.”

Clare and Danielle turned to stare at Sam wide-eyed. Sam’s hand stopped midair, her wine totally forgotten.

“Can you elaborate on that?” the reporter continued.

“Yeah,” Trent said, smiling. “She pretty much told me to pull my head out of my ass and give the fans what they want.”

The crowd went wild and he grinned at the reporter, who smiled back at him.

“Sounds like we all owe Ms. Wellington a big thank you,” the reporter remarked, looking first at Trent, then at the camera.

Sam felt heat rush through her. She licked her dry lips and set down the wine glass.

“That is—”

“Shhh,” she interrupted Danielle. They all turned to the TV once more.

“I owe her more than that,” Trent said, looking into the camera right at Sam.

“Congratulations one more time on your comeback, Trent,” the reporter said, shaking Trent’s hand, and in the next second, Trent was gone and the reporter started asking Orson questions.

Sam picked up her glass again and downed the wine in one big gulp.

“Well, that was unexpected,” Danielle said and Clare nodded in agreement.

Sam stared into her empty glass, not sure what to think. She hadn’t talked to Trent in so long, and now suddenly, he was thanking her in his first ever interview on TV. It boggled her mind.

“What are you gonna do now?” Clare asked.

Sam looked up and shook her head to clear it. “I have no idea. Am I supposed to do something?”

Clare shrugged and Danielle mimicked her.

“There’s nothing for me to do,” Sam declared, not sounding as sure as she’d intended. Was a phone call to Trent appropriate as a follow-up to the interview she’d just watched? Was she supposed to thank him for mentioning her? She had no idea.

She was glad that he’d won and actually given the reporter a couple of minutes of his time after the fight. That’s all that mattered. He’d looked really happy, but that was to be expected after winning. And yet, there’d been something else she couldn’t quite put her finger on, something in his face that made him seem more relaxed and at ease. Maybe her imagination was playing tricks on her.

“Either way, he won and that’s what matters, right?” Danielle asked, reaching for the popcorn.