The Strongest Hit.

Chapter 10: Women Weaken Legs

Kennedy's POV:

It had been three weeks since I woke up from what felt like a dream.
I was grateful to evade the nightmares during my waking hours, but I longed for the moments I'd get with him when my eyes closed.
Sweet dreams mixed in a nightmare.
It was worth it.
To hear him. To see him. To touch him.
Three weeks felt like a lifetime and I wondered if he was gone for good.
My Dad said he had stopped in to say goodbye, but didn't wake me up.
I pressed and pressed my Dad for anything he might have overheard when Justin had been in my room with me...that night...three weeks ago.
But Charlie was oblivious or holding out.
And I was suspicious that it was more on the holding out side.
For some reason, I knew Justin had been there that night.
I could hear his faded voice, even in a deep sleep that night.
But deciphering his words had me stuck.
It didn't matter anyway, because he never called.
Or should I say, never called me.
Oh...he called Charlie...multiple times.
The two of them gossiping about my mental and physical health like to nosy school girls.
But never included me in the conversation.
I would only get the post gossip cliff notes.

"Justin called.
Asked how you were doing.
I told him your starting to train at the gym.
He thought that was funny for some reason. 
He's almost done with training camp.
He says it's been a long 3 weeks."

How am I doing?
What a generalized question!
Ummm...well Justin...it depends on the hour and minutes.
Sometimes I'm numb.
Sometimes I'm angry.
Sometimes I'm scared.
Sometimes I'm determined.
And sometimes I'm nothing.
But I'm never really happy.
I'm never really at peace.
Not unless I'm dreaming of you.
So...yeah...that's how I'm doing Justin.
And why is me training at the gym funny to you?
Because my left hook is lethal...pretty boy.

I could imagine him laughing, and my slight irritation with him evaporated.
If he were here he would probably tease me relentlessly about my clumsy footwork.
But he's not here.
He's at training camp.
A place where one needs to zone everything not related to the fight out.
I understood it.
But it still made me sad and lonely.
I just wanted to talk to him.
See him.
I didn't even know him that well, but I couldn't help what I wanted.

I tried my best to remain unaffected by my Dad's updates from Justin.

"That's nice....taking the time out of training camp to check in on me.
Tell him my left hook is waiting to find out what's so funny.
Tell him good luck with the fight."

Dad was constantly mentioning "The Fight".
How somebody had backed out of the next UFC match...and Justin's debut had gotten moved up.
It was this upcoming weekend in Vegas.
Justin would be fighting an established opponent, DeMarcus Cole.
I acted like it was no big deal to me.
But when I was alone in my 3rd floor room at night...I googled everything on Cole.
He was 2 inches taller than Justin's 5'11 frame.
They had similar body types, but Justin had a longer arm reach.
They were both sitting around 165lbs.
Typical welterweight matchup.
Except Justin was unpredictable and unknown in the UFC.
Cole had the advantage of experience and a killer right hook.
It wouldn't matter because Justin had speed and would take Cole to the mat before he could swing on him.
I may have also Googled all of Justin's filmed fights.
Can you blame me?
He was a phenomenal boxer...and I wondered why he went the UFC route instead of boxing.
Watching him on video gave me the motivation to get back into boxing myself.

Late at night when the gym was closed, I'd turn up the music and hit the bag.
Boxing was the only thing keeping me afloat, well that and my dreams of pretty boy.

Everyday that got closer to the fight, I became more and more restless.
I was hitting the bag multiple times a day, and my Dad was in his glory.
He always knew when I was boxing...and he'd come try and coach me up.
Pretty soon we were working out side by side...he even had me in the ring with him.
Teaching me new tricks.