The Hardest Hit (17 page)

The miracle shot Chelsea had given Domenic worked like a charm. Trevor's worries eased as the vomiting subsided and before long his boxer could hold down small sips of water. Comfort settled in his belly knowing Chelsea waited in the wings. Having a doctor onsite was a good call, even if he'd called her out of panic and sheer desperation. Reserving a seat for her beside Shakes served as a subtle reminder of how he thought this night would have been. Only when he imagined it he was the fighter and she would've been the excited girlfriend sitting in the front row. He chuckled under his breath. Now that he thought about it, maybe he'd watched
Rocky
one too many times.

As the hours passed and time edged closer to the start of the fight, Domenic began to look more human. He sat up for longer stretches of time, and color seeped back into his face. Sitting in the locker room, Chelsea routinely monitored Domenic. She timed his pulse, and was quick to chart his temperature each hour.

“I think he'll be okay to fight,” Chelsea said to Trevor once Domenic was out of an earshot. “He's talking and walking again. Two good signs.”

He felt his face tighten. “What do you think will happen if Nash goes for a gut shot?”

A worried look covered Chelsea's face. “There's a good chance we'll see what's left of the poor guy's lunch.”

In that instant, Trevor started cooking up a revised fight plan. He had to protect his guy in a way that Trevor had never been protected in his life. Too much rode on this first fight, for both of them. If they won tonight, both of their futures held endless possibilities. Domenic could go on to fight bigger names, and demand a bigger winner's purse. Trevor could make a serious name for himself as a trainer. They both had to start somewhere.

He knew Domenic had the fortitude to go out into the ring and fight, flu or no flu. Deep down his fighter was a warrior. The real test for Trevor would be in how he kept his guy protected from Nash, and keep him from succumbing to the power shots that could double him over.

In his mind he thought of the boxing ring like a game of chess. There were two players, Trevor and Nash's trainer. Each had the ability to move their fighter, their king, around the ring. And the king who got boxed in and found that there was no way to remove the threat lost. Check. Mate.

His plan had to include keeping Domenic moving, and for him to stay light on his feet. Trevor's goal for tonight was to keep his boxer mobile. That's how they'd win.

Still, they had one more obstacle to overcome: the pre-fight inspection by the boxing commission. Domenic sat just outside the bathroom, washcloth in one hand, a bottle of water in the other.

“We have to keep him cool and hydrated,” Chelsea said. “Once he gets out there under those lights, he'll lose water from the heat alone, not to mention the exertion. It's going to be important that you have extra water bottles in his corner, just to pour over his head when the ref calls time.”

Trevor felt his face squish up. “Because the heat will make him dizzy?”

She placed a hand on her hip. “Damn right it will, and the last thing you need to happen while you're working the corner for your first pro fight is for your guy to pass out in the ring.”

A hum emitted from his throat. “I see your point.”

“You can't overexert him,” she warned.

“So, making him use the full ring to his advantage is probably too much movement,” he said.

“I'd say so. However, you don't want Nash to get too many shots to his body. One or two, Domenic can handle, but as the fight wears on, the more shots to the stomach, the more chance of vomiting.”

Trevor considered her words. Guess he had to scratch the revised plan. No matter how he felt about Chelsea at the moment, having her next to him right now meant the world to him. She was more than a doctor. More than someone rooting for Team Stamina. He trusted her knowledge and advice. He knew she wanted only the best for he and Domenic, and he couldn't imagine standing in the locker room right now with anyone else.

So why couldn't he forgive her? Her being there proved she still cared.

A knock on the door interrupted his thinking. Daniella walked in and observed Domenic firsthand. Then, her eyes widened and she surveyed who else stood in the room.

“Chelsea.” Daniella's smile broadened. “It's so good to see you.”

“I came as soon as Trevor called.”

He didn't miss his trainer's glance toward him, eyebrows raised.

“Domenic was in a bad state. I didn't know who else to call who would take better care of him than she would.”

Daniella shook her head. “I can't think of anyone, either.” His trainer's attention quickly focused on her boxer. “How are you?”

“Better. I can do this. I'll win.” Motivation lined his voice.

“I know you will.” She patted his arm. “You've got the best team behind you to see that you do.”

Daniella walked closer to him and Chelsea, leaving Domenic to rest. “I'm worried that the commission might call the fight based on his condition. At first glance, he doesn't look like he's in any position to fight.”

“He's not,” Chelsea piped up.

And there it was. The reason he couldn't forgive her. She thought Domenic wasn't up to fighting but did she say anything? No. Why? Because she probably didn't want to get blamed for ruining his dreams, too. Knowing her, she'd allow the commission to waltz in the room and be the bad guy.

“Why would you say that?” he asked, but Chelsea didn't respond. “Are you trying to ruin him, too?”

She threw up her hands innocently. “Hey, I'm just here to chart temperatures and keep him hydrated.”

He would've kicked her out if he didn't need her so damn much. He wasn't going to let his emotions and his temper get in the way of his boxer getting the treatment he needed.

“Let's all take a breath,” Daniella encouraged. “It's a bit tense in here.”

Trevor caught Daniella's eye. “I think he can pull it off. Yeah, he's sick as a dog, but the kid's got a lot of heart and a shit-ton of determination.”

Before she could respond, a knock sounded at the door.

Everyone turned, and a man entered the room flashing a badge; the laminated tag identified him with the Nevada Boxing Commission.

Trevor sprang into action. “So, you're with the commission. Pre-fight inspection, I suppose.”

“Yeah,” the man answered. “I need to get a good look at your guy, and inspect his taped hands.”

Trevor nodded. “He's over here.”

Both men walked toward Domenic. The inspector stood back and observed the fighter.

“Is he okay?” the inspector asked.

Trevor's stomach dropped to his shoes. “He's okay. It's nothing serious. He's fine.”

The inspector turned toward Chelsea. He must've noticed her white coat because he asked, “Is that your opinion, too, Doc?”

Trevor glared at her and braced himself for her to leave the decision up to the inspector.

Chelsea wet her lips. “He started showing signs of the flu this morning, and has suffered from vomiting and water loss. I've done the best I can to rehydrate him, and I administered a shot to stop the nausea. Is he sick? Yes. Should he fight? Probably not. However, this is Vegas, and I'm willing to roll the dice and vouch for him in the ring. This trainer is a good, knowledgeable man and his boxer is strong. They can handle themselves, and I believe the fight should go on.”

Had she said what he thought she said?

The inspector paused, considering her words. Trevor's gut tightened, while Chelsea looked like the cool, confident professional she was.

“Well,” the inspector said after a beat, “let's get the show on the road.”

Voices hummed inside the arena. Nearly every chair was filled. Chelsea surveyed the people still searching for their seats. This was it. Fight nght. Her first. And, she really didn't know what to expect. She'd heard the crowds could get loud, and sometimes rowdy. Luckily Trevor wasn't too far away.

She moved her knees to the side, allowing Shakes to pass in front of her and take the seat to her right. She smiled as the old man sat down.

“Didn't expect to see you here.” He grinned.

“Didn't expect to be here,” she said.

He crossed his hands over his round stomach. “I saw Daniella. She told me the kid is as green as a twenty-dollar bill. You don't think he'll blow groceries in the ring, do you?”

She shrugged. “He might. The medication I gave him should hold. But if he gets hit the wrong way, who knows?”

He shot her a sideways glance. “And, Trevor, how's he doing?”

She let out a huff. “He probably wants to kill me. Again.”

“How so?” Shakes scratched his chin.

“I told the inspector Domenic probably wasn't fit to fight, but I vouched for him anyway.”

Shakes's face pulled down. “I don't see that you said anything that wasn't true.”

“I know,” Chelsea said, “But I told the inspector he probably shouldn't fight.”

Shakes shrugged. “He probably shouldn't.”

“So you don't think Trevor will be mad at me?” she asked.

“For what? Telling the truth?” A rush of air blew through his nostrils. “If that boy gets upset at you for stating what we all know, tell him to come see me.”

She smiled. “Deal.”

Shakes pointed. “Look, here they come now.”

Chelsea glimpsed the corner of Trevor's shoulder, and then his body came into full view. He stood beside Domenic in the hallway waiting for the announcer to introduce them. A few seconds later the arena darkened, and a handsome man wearing a tuxedo stood in the middle of the ring, full spotlight, holding a microphone.

“Ladies and gentlemen.” The fans cheered. “Let's get ready to rummmmbbbbbble.”

Noise erupted from the arena.

“From Las Vegas's own Stamina gym and trained by the formidable Trevor Redding, weighing in at one hundred eighty-five pounds. In the blue corner, Domenic Raccio.” The spotlight shown on Domenic, followed by Trevor. Both men made their way to the ring as the fans clapped.

The applause sounded promising for Domenic until Dion Nash was announced to the ring. After the announcer said Nash's name, the noise level hurt Chelsea's ears. Uneasiness passed through her. Maybe the heat, the emotion, and the fans' clear preference for Nash would be too much for Domenic and Trevor to handle.

Then, Team Stamina walked in front of her on their way to the ring. First Domenic, then Trevor followed him, rubbing his fighter's shoulders and yelling things to him like, “This is your night. You've got this.” She loved how excited Trevor got about boxing. His eyes brightened. Color in his cheeks shown pink. She wasn't sure she'd ever seen him like this. So excited. So alive.

Then, a memory pulsed into her brain. She had seen him like this before. The first time they slept together he looked exactly the same way as he did now. He wore a look on his face that night as if being with her was the most exciting thing in the world to him. Just like boxing.

Domenic climbed into the ring and Trevor followed. The fighter bounced on his toes, looking, not like the ill patient she'd left in the locker room, but a true contender. Domenic shrugged off his robe as his opponent entered the ring.

After the referee announced the rules of the fight, both men were told that at the bell they could come out swinging. And they did. It was truly the most exciting display Chelsea had ever seen. Domenic met Nash in the center of the ring. He led with a quick shot to the body, and then followed up with a jab to Nash's chin.

The crowd roared.

To her, the more thrilling person to watch was Trevor. He stood just outside the ring in Domenic's corner. Through the entire fight, he yelled instructions. “Go for the body, D. Don't drop your form on that right hand.”

From what she knew about boxing, Domenic did as Trevor instructed, and he looked good, too. Despite his being under the weather, he held up well. Both boxers continued to trade punches. The assault on each other heightened.

At the end of the first round, the bell rang. Trevor entered the ring. He placed a stool underneath Domenic, and once his fighter sat, looked him in the eye. Every now and then, Trevor slapped Domenic's cheek as if to keep him awake or to keep him from puking. She wasn't sure which. Seeing him squirt water over his head eased some of her concern. With where she sat, the lights from the ring and the thousands of bodies in the arena created such heat that she couldn't imagine how Domenic must've felt.

As he talked, Shakes got up and joined them. Being the cut man, he was allowed in the ring, but he mostly observed. Didn't say much. As the end of the break, Shakes returned to his seat.

“Everything okay?” she asked. “Things over there looked a bit tense.”

“Trevor's changing up strategies. If everything goes to plan, we should knock out Nash in the second round,” Shakes said.

Not knowing how to respond, Chelsea said the first thing that popped into her mind. “Gave him a few pointers, did you?”

“No. Trevor's got this all by himself. He doesn't need me. The guy was born to be a trainer.”

Damn if Shakes wasn't right. By the second round, Domenic appeared as if he wasn't sick at all. He threw a jab to Nash's chin, and his opponent stumbled. Once Nash got off balance, Domenic landed his body shots deep to the inside, working Nash's core. The crowd sucked in a collective gasp as Dion Nash showed signs of fatigue.

“Get him,” Chelsea yelled, overcome by the sport. Then she turned her attention to Trevor. He paced just outside the ring, yelling at Domenic, “Dig in. Keep up the pressure.” His dark eyes, fixed and determined, told her that he knew how to win the fight, if Domenic did what he instructed.

Support built for Domenic. More people started yelling out for him, the underdog. But it was the man behind him who was the real powerhouse. No one knew more than Trevor how to beat Nash. Domenic ramped up his assault, and the fair-weather boxing fans started cheering for him. In Vegas everybody loved a winner.

Domenic landed shot after shot, and once Nash reached the point of exhaustion, he crumpled to his knees. The referee split the boxers apart, making sure Nash could stand. He did, and with a swing of Domenic's right hook, found himself facefirst on the mat. Out cold.

“Hot damn,” Shakes screamed. “We won!”

Chelsea's heart leaped into her chest. Most of the crowd, erupting in applause, stood and cheered for Domenic and Trevor. Team Stamina. The bell rang out in three distinct strikes, indicating the end of the fight, and the referee lifted Domenic's hand in the air, declaring him the winner.

But the fighter didn't take all the glory. He grabbed Trevor's hand and raised it. Chelsea's eyes filled with tears. This was his night, too. Her heart swelled knowing this was his first professional win as a trainer. His career would be on the fast track of up-and-coming Vegas trainers. He'd always had Daniella's and Shakes's support, but now, he'd have the respect of other boxing gyms, and the commission as well.

The entire arena cheered for them, and Chelsea couldn't be more proud. She got up from her seat and made her way to Domenic's corner. As he and Trevor climbed out from between the ropes, fans and media swarmed them. Chelsea pushed her way through the crowd, her gaze set on Trevor.

When she reached him, she wrapped her arms around him and squeezed. “Congratulations.”

He hugged her tight. “We couldn't have won tonight without you.”

Her heart filled with every emotion she had for Trevor. Love. Longing. Remorse. Feeling each strong sensation, she knew what she had to do. She had to ask for forgiveness. True forgiveness. But how?