Chapter 19 - Cameron

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One month later...

"Get it together, West!"

Damn. I shake my head forcefully to chase off the dizziness. That was one hard fucking blow I just took. This guy is the strongest opponent I've ever faced, that's for sure. He has one hell of a hook and reflexes that are intimidating beyond belief. My nerves are getting the best of me and now I'm taking hits that, in hindsight, I know I'm capable of avoiding.

My world shifts once again and goes blurry. It takes a couple of seconds to register the pain on my jaw and I curse under my breath when it finally kicks in. The fucker got me. Again. I back up several steps so that I can gather myself and not be in arms reach of my opponent while I do it. He's kicking my ass badly enough without me making it easy for him. I swipe a forearm over my mouth and a smear of red greets me when I take a look. I can feel my lip gradually swelling. I guess it'll pair nicely with the bruise on my left eye.

The ref calls the round and I exhale roughly in equal parts frustration and relief. I think this is going to be the first match I'll lose since going pro. We're already on round nine and my points are nowhere near his.

As soon as my ass lands on the metal chair the crew has prepared for me, Coach steps in front of me and promptly rips me a new one.

"This is a match you could have won, West, and you know it. You've had it easy so far because you're that good. This is the first opponent that's really tested your limits and you let that get to your head. You let doubt creep in. He didn't defeat you. You defeated yourself."

I flinch and hang my head low between my shoulders. He isn't telling me anything I don't already know but it still hurts like a bitch to have to hear it,

"I'm sorry, Coach." I mumble.

There's a still moment before I feel his hand on my shoulder. I'm still too ashamed to look him in the face. "Losses happen, son. They're inevitable. But they have to mean something. Either you can learn from them or grow an ego in the face of them. Let it humble you no matter how much it stings. If this match did that for you then it isn't entirely a loss."

I jerk my head in agreement but it's all I can offer. There's a stone lodged in my throat and I can't trust myself to speak just yet. Coach knows as good as I do that this is over for me. This one doesn't belong to me.

At least I'm humbled, like he said.

A cool cloth is pressed to my forehead and droplets of water stream down my face. I hope the few tears I wasn't able to stop from spilling over blend in with them.

I'm prepped and ready just as the ref calls the final round. My opponent has a smirk on his face that I'm tempted to knock the fuck off but I remind myself to keep a cool head. This match may be as good as done but that doesn't mean I have to end on a shitty note too. I need to stay level-headed and do my best so people can at least see that I tried. I channel all the training Coach has given me these past few months into my mind and focus on just that. I'm going to make this a round to remember.

My opponent, Craig Fletcher, throws a right jab to the side of my face but I dodge it just in time and duck. Just as quick, my own arm shoots out and I clock him in the stomach with a left straight. He doubles over instantly and clutches his middle. His arms are down for a couple of seconds that I don't miss the opportunity to take advantage of. Lightening fast, I throw punch after punch until I'm pummelling the ever-loving fuck out of his cocky face. He crosses his wrists so that his hands are protecting his head as much as possible but right now I'm a force to be reckoned with. The dipshit is so consumed with one part of his body that he leaves the rest wide open.

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