Triplets Under the Tree

He wanted more. So much more. He shifted, unable to find a comfortable position, and the too-soft mattress doubled as a torture device. His half-aroused state didn’t help.

The next morning, he bought a town car and hired a full-time driver to shuttle him back and forth to Falco. He still didn’t feel comfortable driving, not with the headaches that sometimes cropped up out of the blue. Navigation sometimes tripped him up as well, especially while trying to get to a place he didn’t remember. His house—no problem. Falco wasn’t on the approved list of memories his brain had apparently created.

Fighting was his only outlet for the constant frustrations. And his opportunities for it were limited.

Once at Falco, he first arranged for a private detective to start searching for the remaining two unaccounted-for passengers from his flight to Thailand. He gave the highly recommended man one instruction—spare no expense. If those two people were out there, Antonio would help them get back their lives.

Then he spent the afternoon with Thomas untangling legalities. They worked through the brunt of it until Antonio thought his head would explode with details and pain. This office job was where he belonged, where he’d built a company out of the ashes of his first love.

He didn’t want it.

In reality, Antonio longed to climb back in the ring. The business side of this promotional venue he’d created didn’t call to him as it once must have. Some aspects felt comfortable and familiar, though he didn’t have conscious memories of strategy and balance sheets. Surely sitting behind his desk and monitoring his empire had once made him supremely happy.

As Thomas gathered up his paperwork, Antonio swiveled the high-backed chair toward the window, which overlooked a landscaped courtyard with a wishing-pool fountain in the center. He must have enjoyed this view often, as Caitlyn mentioned that he’d been a workaholic, often clocking eighty-hour weeks.

“Thomas, what would it take to get me back in rotation?” Antonio asked without taking his gaze off the gurgling fountain. Not only was it a shocking request in and of itself, but worse, the man who owned an MMA promotional company should probably know the answer already.

“You want to fight again?” Thomas kept any surprise from his tone, which Antonio appreciated. “As a contender? Or just exhibition?”

His mouth quirked involuntarily. “It’s not worth doing if you’re not going for the title.”

The ins and outs of being a professional fighter he had no problems remembering. The pain and the training and the brutal conditioning...all worth it for a shot at glory.

But Antonio had underlying reasons. Reasons why he was a fighter in the first place. It was a part of him, an indelible piece of his makeup that even a near lobotomy of his memory couldn’t extricate.

Thomas cleared his throat. “Well, you certainly proved the other day that you’re in good enough shape for it. But you stopped fighting for a reason. What’s changed?”

“I have. Make it happen.”

After Thomas left, restlessness drove Antonio to the training facility, where several people called out greetings, none of whom he recognized, and without his mind-reading guide to assist, there was no chance he’d come up with names. If only Caitlyn hadn’t requested her space, he’d have gladly brought her with him.

Trainers worked with fighters of all shapes and sizes, some in the rings, some at the bags. Along with the grunts and slaps of flesh, a sense of purpose permeated the atmosphere. Falco had been born out of Antonio’s love of mixed martial arts, but he felt far more comfortable in this half of it than in the CEO’s office.

He watched a couple of heavyweights duke it out in the circular-cage ring. Round, so one fighter couldn’t force the other into an inescapable corner as so often happened in traditional boxing. MMA strove to even the playing field, to create fairness. The two heavyweights sparred under the watchful eye of a middle-aged man who moved with the fighters gracefully and knowledgeably. A former fighter, clearly, and Antonio liked his coaching style instantly.

Both men in the ring were good and they likely practiced together often. But one was better, with a stellar command of his body and a force of will the second man couldn’t match.

Even without clear memories of planning or creating this place, Antonio recognized that he’d spared no expense when purchasing and maintaining the equipment. He’d also managed to attract world-class athletes and trainers, who’d sustained his company while he’d been in Indonesia.

Everyone here had come to improve their technique, to become better fighters, to win. Including Antonio. What happened in the ring made sense, followed a set of rules, a flow. The discipline and repetition settled him and allowed his damaged mind to take a breather.