Undisputed (2 page)

“Thank you so much, Doctor Barnes.” Abby smooths her hair with shaking hands and plasters a fake smile on her face.

It doesn’t fool the doctor, and I know that it’s hiding the terror she’s feeling.

“I’m sure Connor will be glad to know we have a plan in place,” she says. “So, when can I tell him that the dialysis treatments will be over? I know he will be ready to start feeling better, and having a finish line will go a long way in helping that.”

I gape at her, getting angry all over again. Is she stupid? Was she even paying attention? Or was she too busy worrying about what she was going to ask the governor tomorrow that she didn’t comprehend what she just heard? I want to grab her by the shoulders and shake her, yell at her to wake the fuck up. Doctor Barnes must be thinking the same thing I am, because he glances over at me, his eyebrows raised. I shrug, just as confused as he is.

“Ms. O’Neil, there isn’t an end date. If we don’t get a donor kidney for Connor, he will be on dialysis permanently. I’ll say this as gently as I can, but I can’t sugarcoat this for you. If Connor doesn’t get a kidney within the next six months, this will unfortunately be fatal.” Doctor Barnes lets the word
fatal
hang in the air and waits to see how she will react to the bomb he’s just dropped.

My stomach rolls. I’m still trying to figure out what she’s thinking, so I continue to look directly at her. Her face pales, and her eyes go wide. She opens her mouth and then clamps it shut so violently that I hear her teeth clack together. I turn my head back towards the painting of that lonely tree. I can’t bear to see my sister so upset, even if this is her fault.

“He won’t be able to survive on one kidney that isn’t functioning,” Doctor Barnes finishes quietly. His fingers flex as he squeezes her shoulder one more time, trying to comfort her.

I stare at it, wondering who will comfort me.

When Abby opens her mouth again, it’s to shriek, “Fatal?
Fatal
?!”

I flinch as my train of thought comes screeching to a halt and stare at her in shock.

She bats the doctor’s hand off her shoulder. “How can you sit here and use the word fatal when talking about my son? You don’t know him. You don’t know how strong he is. How smart and funny and quick-witted Connor can be.” She takes a big gulp of air. “There is no way that this is going to be
fatal.”
She spits the words out like spoiled milk. Snatching her purse from beneath her chair, she shoots me a look demanding I follow her.

Painfully, I turn the corners of my mouth up slightly and give the doctor an apologetic smile. I can’t stand to think of smiling while Connor is sick and dying. There is nothing to smile about, but I do. I throw my hand up in a quick wave before I scramble after Abby.

I catch up to her in the parking lot and grab her arm.

Whirling towards me, she bites out “Fatal? He doesn’t know what he’s talking about. The man is obviously a quack, Sidney. We need to get a second opinion.”

I take a deep breath in before I begin to speak, knowing that I’ll need every ounce of restraint I have to keep from exploding at her. She really has some nerve to question the doctor I handpicked for Connor’s care.

“Abby. That man is the best doctor in the state. He has written countless articles on children born with renal agenesis that have received recognition from around the world. Not that you would remember that, because you aren’t the one who spent hours researching him and then called begging for an appointment every day for three weeks! How dare you call him a quack! And what was that bullshit you spewed about him not ‘knowing’ your son,” I say, throwing up air quotes. “He has been seeing Connor for the last six years! It’s because of him that Connor has done so well up until this point! If we want to talk about someone not knowing your son, then why don’t we talk about you?”

I pause to catch my breath for a moment, but then another thought flies out of my mouth. “Why didn’t you tell me that he wasn’t supposed to be playing sports? How could you sign him up for something that was so dangerous? It’s just like you to think you know better than a fucking specialist!”

So much for staying calm
, I think when my rant ends.

It’s Abby’s turn to stare at me while her mouth opens and closes like a fish out of water. The pain of what I’ve just said flashes across her perfect features, and her shock at my accusations should have softened me towards her. Instead, it just pisses me off further, and suddenly, I can’t stand the sight of her any longer.

I make it two steps toward my car before the gravity of what’s just transpired hits me and my knees buckle. There, in the middle of the sidewalk, the tears I’ve managed to hold at bay spill out of me like waves on the ocean. Once they begin, there’s no hope of stopping them, and I don’t even try. I’ve earned these tears over the last seven years. Every time I had to be the bad guy and tell Connor no. Every time I had to force him to take the medicine that upset his stomach. Every time I had to hold his hand while he was poked with yet another needle. I’ve earned the right to cry in the middle of this busy parking lot.

For what seems like an eternity, I sob while people walk around me, in a hurry to get to wherever they are going. While I’m lost in my sorrow, a pair of feet pause briefly, perhaps a person stopping to offer comfort, but no one can give me that. There is no comfort to be had. Connor is dying.

Abby finally comes over to me and places a hand on my back, but I shove her away. I don’t want her comfort when it’s her fault that this has happened in the first fucking place. It isn’t Abby’s life that’s being cut short.

And that’s when it hits me. It isn’t my life, either.

“Oh, god!” I wail as a fresh wave of tears begin to flow.

How are we going to tell my twelve-year-old nephew that he is dying?

I
’m not even all the way through the front door before some jackass calls me out on my performance tonight.

“KO! Hey, man, I didn’t think you were gonna make it out here tonight. That was a pretty close fight. I can’t believe Mark let you out of his sight.”

Sticking my middle finger up in his general direction, I bite back, “Fuck you, man. Watkins never had a chance against me.” I tap my temple. “I was just letting him
think
he had a shot in hell at my belt.”

Turning away, I begin wading through the people and head to the kitchen. This house party is just the first stop of the night, and I’m wasting valuable drinking time listening to his crap.

I act like he doesn’t know what the hell he’s talking about, but the truth is the fight was a lot closer than I would have liked it to be. But that’s what I get for not having followed the game plan from the beginning. I should have listened to my corner when they told me to keep my arms up. Before the doubt can show on my face, I slip my mask back into place and wink at a sloshed brunette holding herself up with the doorjamb.

“Whatever, dude,” the jackass calls behind me. “He had you in a rear naked for, like, the whole third round. What about all that shit you were talking about how you were going to knock his ass out in the first round because of his weak chin? His chin looked pretty good to me. Actually, his whole face looks a hell of a lot better than yours right now.”

I stop walking and turn to face him, vaguely recognizing him as Smith, a guy I have sparred with in the past. I haven’t seen him since he changed camps a while ago. Last I heard, he was fighting out of California.

“Aw, come on and give me a fucking break, Smith. You know how hard it is to cut weight before a fight. No matter how good my conditioning is, I still get a little gassed during a title fight. I mean, that’s five goddamn rounds of going balls to the wall. The only reason that douche had me in a choke in the third round was because I needed a little rest.” I smirk condescendingly. “Now, fuck off. I’m not here to talk about what I did wrong tonight. Besides, what are you doing in town?” I ask, hoping to change the subject.

I’m the fucking champ. I can’t afford for anyone to see any weakness in me. And I came here to party, not to discuss my fight and the stupid mistakes I made in what should have been an easy win.

Watkins was talking about getting my belt for several years, and while I knew he was hungry for it, I also knew that he was nowhere close to being in my league as a fighter. I outclass him on every level. But, considering I’ve held the title for the last three years, I’m better than everyone in my weight class. There’s a reason I’m the champ. No one has even come close to taking the title from me.

However, I may have underestimated him. But fuck if I am going to give
my
belt to anyone any time soon.

Disappointment in my performance washes over me. It’s not a feeling I’m used to—unless you ask my parents. Then I’m nothing
but
a disappointment.
Fuck them.

Jumping onto a chair, I shout, “And
still
the light heavyweight champion of the world!” I stretch my arms in victory, slowly turning in a circle as everyone in the house gives me their full attention. Just like I fucking deserve.

A chant begins in the back of the room, and I fill my lungs as my nickname fills the air.

The longer I stand there, the louder the roar becomes.

“KO! KO! KO!” The crowd goes absolutely bonkers.

Hopping down from my perch, I notice another smokin’-hot brunette staring at me. I run a hand through my short, blond hair and raise my chin at her.

Her gaze travels up my six-foot-five frame, pausing at my groin before she seductively licks her lips. I wink at her, and her lips turn up in a wicked smile.

Yeah, I’ll be seein’ her later.

The room is still chanting my name, so I allow myself another minute to take it all in. This is why I do this. These chants and cheers from complete strangers worshipping me are what fuel me go to the gym every morning at five and stay until well past nightfall.

Plastering on the biggest shit-eating grin I can muster with a black eye and busted lip, I again turn a full 360 degrees so my fans can get an eyeful of all that is me. It’s the least I can do.

When the cheers finally quiet and the blaring music is all but turned off, I shout, “What a fucking fight, am I right?”

They start raising hell all over again.

Satisfied with the response, I tell them, “Now, I came here tonight to have a good time. Who’s ready to party their fucking ass off?”

As the crowd cheers for me one final time, I throw my arm around a buddy’s shoulder and head toward the back deck. People pat my back and offer congratulatory shouts and praise as I pass by, and the self-doubt I experienced when I walked in vanishes. I remind myself that I’m the best there is in this sport and shove the nagging feeling of inadequacy to the back of my mind.

The music begins to blast again, and people go back to dancing and laughing. Women lounge around a giant infinity pool in what can barely be classified as bikinis. Several guys milling around the poolside bar see me coming and start calling my name.

It absolutely never gets old. I actually thought at one time that I would get sick of this, but I don’t. And, deep down, I know I never will. I spent a lot of my life trying to conform to who my family wanted me to be, but the truth is I’m just an arrogant, cocky son of a bitch who likes the attention. No, I love it. I crave it. I mean, what is there not to like about the notoriety and the special treatment that I get whenever I go just about anywhere.

More than that, what I love the most are the women. They practically throw themselves at me all the time, and I am all too happy to catch—at least for a night.

A very chesty, scantily dressed blonde and her equally busty brunette friend meander up and begin spewing bullshit at me. “KO! We have been waiting all night for you to get here.”
Blah. Blah. Blah.
“You were amazing tonight.”
Blah. Blah. Blah.
“I never doubted for a second that you were gonna beat that guy.”

I swear to God it’s like they share a script. I can almost guarantee they didn’t even watch the fight. And, if they did, they were probably lost the entire time.

As the blonde runs a perfectly manicured nail across my broad chest and down my rock-hard abs, I realize I don’t care. The only thing that matters right now is where I’m going to end the night. And, if I have any luck left on my side, then it’s going to be in a bed, between the thighs of one, but more than likely both, of these women.