Legend (Real Book 6)

Maverick

It’s a half hour to the match and Oz won’t open the door to his room. “Oz!” I bang the door. I jerk on the doorknob and bang harder, resisting the urge to crash through with my shoulder.

Three minutes later, I come back with a member of the hotel staff, who unlocks the door.

He’s in the small sitting area of his room, bottles all over the place.

“Oz, Jesus.” I grab the bottles and start tossing them away, then I go and stand before him. He won’t even look me in the eye, his bloodshot eyes staring past my shoulder.

“Oz, we have a shot tonight.” I grab a glass of water and bring it over. He won’t take it. Sighing, I set it aside, drop to my haunches, and level my nose with his. “I’m fighting tonight, and I need you in my corner.”

“What do you need me for?” he scoffs.

“I need you in my corner, Oz.”

“Get out.”

“We have a shot, Oz.”

“We?”

“We. Look, you want to prove something? Here’s your chance.”

Oz doesn’t get up. He shifts forward and stares at the floor. “Men like us, Maverick, we don’t get the good stuff.”

“How do you know if you don’t make a grab for it?”

“Because I’ve lived longer, that’s why. I tried shooting for it plenty of times.”

“Oz. Look—”

“Don’t sermon me, Maverick! You and the Tates. You and your girl. You’re not an unwanted anymore. Like me,” he growls, frowning.

“Oz. Fuck, man. I found this girl. And she’s lovely. And she gets me. And I get her. And I want to be with her. I’m crazy about her in a way I never thought I’d be. I’ve been training like mad for tonight. Just one night, Oz.”

“You’ve been taking me for granted, Maverick.”

I stand and curl my fists at my sides. I lower my voice. “I don’t take anything for granted. I know better.”

“You don’t need me anymore. You got me because no one good enough would take you on. Now you got something better. You got Tate as a mentor.”

“Except I’ll never forget you were the one on my team when nobody else wanted in.”

“Your best buddy Tate’s got an in now,” he says resentfully. “You can get anyone you want at this point.”

“Then fucking realize it’s me who’s standing right here asking you to be in my corner.”

He shakes his head and wipes his face, then folds his arms, and he starts crying.

I groan and drop back to my haunches. “Don’t do this to me, Oz.”

“Just fucking go.”

“Not without you.”

He grabs the nearest bottle and tries to drink.

I stop it midair, yanking it away from him and setting it aside, my voice low. “So that’s how this goes. You want to sabotage us, Oz? Do you?” I’m mad now. I’m so fucking mad I can’t see straight.

I plant my hand on the back of his seat and lean forward. “Be fucking man enough to fight the fight we set out to fight.”

His eyes shoot daggers at me. “Go, Cage. This isn’t my fight anymore,” he says, glaring at me.

I curl my hands into fists, go slam my palm into the wall, then I come back and drop down before him.

“Why are you still here?”

“’Cause you’re still here.”

He glowers.

I glower back. Then I lean in my seat and stare at the room. “Good rooms compared to where we started, huh.”

“Pretty damn fine,” he grumbles.

I sigh and drag my hand down my face. “Oz. Talk to me.”

He glances down at his empty hands. “I try leaving it but I can’t. . . .” He exhales and looks away. “Seventy-eight fighters I’ve trained in the past decade as coach. Fighters I’d nurse to health. Fighters I’d wake up at three a.m. to get them ready by four to train. Fighters I helped cook for, helped dress, hell, I even helped some stay sober. They all leave. Every rung up the ladder of success, every match I helped win, was just one more rung to the top where they’d say goodbye to me. I gave everything up for so many of them. Didn’t have kids—my champs were my kids. Gave up time with the wife. They all leave. And so will you, Maverick.”

I lean forward, looking at him. “Whether this is the end of something great or the beginning . . . win or lose tonight . . . I want you in my corner always, Oz. Always.”

He frowns and clamps his lips tight, his eyes red. “Even like this?!” he cries, disbelieving.

“Hey.” I lean forward even more, nodding somberly. “I’m going to support you. You can get through this and you don’t need to do it alone. Just because you’ve lost this fight before doesn’t mean you’ll lose it forever. I won’t let you. I’m going to support you to win yours like you’ve been supporting me to win mine. If you need me right now, I’m here.”

He exhales through his nostrils, then sets the bottle aside. “Fine. I’ll take the damn twelve steps.”

“Good. I’m proud.”

He glowers. “You really want to fight tonight or are you turning into a pussy?”

“My dick’s just fine tonight, Oz, and so are my fists, but I want you to be there.”

“Well. Guess I will just take one step first. ’Cause if my champ needs me and it’s not out of pity, then he’s got me.”

“Good. ’Cause if my coach wants me, he’s got me.” We share a look of understanding as we both stand, and I glance at the clock. The seconds have never ticked faster.

We have seven minutes to get to the Underground.

Once outside, it’s five minutes and counting. I take a look at the hotel cab line and swear.

Half a dozen people in line and no cabs pulling in.

“All right, Oz. Let’s get you a much-needed workout.” I trot to the sidewalk and check to make sure that he follows, and he groans and tries to catch up as I start running like hell to the Underground.