The Fighter's Prize

When she laughed up there, I smiled.

When she yelled, I wanted to yell as well.

When she cried, I wanted to cry.

I also want to shout at people who look at their cell phones while she is on stage. Can they not see what a treasure is in their midst?

Okay, so once or twice, I did crush a cell phone under my foot.

I had to start waiting outside for the play to finish.

But I managed to keep my control on a leash after that and now watching Whitney on stage is my favorite thing to do. Especially since she does not kiss boys. That would not have gone over well at all, no matter what compromises were made.

She is mine.

My wife, my best friend, my preoccupation.

My world.

I am hers, too, so she really should be sitting in the reserved seat.

I look questioningly at Scout, who sits directly to the right of the open seat. Then at Scout’s husband, who merely shrugs and makes a wrist flicking gesture at me to keep fighting. I make a disgusted face at him around my mouthpiece. I can’t believe this man has become my friend. He is mostly insufferable, but I keep him around because he brings the sister and the sister makes the wife smile. And I live for her smile.

He also brings good cigars.

Finally, I see my wife trotting down the aisle and I almost get my head knocked off while shouting at her to slow down. Is she crazy to run in heels when she is six months pregnant with our second son?

Whitney falls into her chair and winks at me—and just like that, I am focused.

The world has twisted into place and I am ready for anything. My wife is here.

God she looks very pretty.

Is that a new dress?

Seemingly in answer to my question, she lifts the hem slightly and crosses her legs. Slowly. And I see she is not wearing any panties.

My opponent is on the mat within seconds and I am roaring to be let out of the octagon. As soon as I’m free, I jump down and find my wife, carrying her up the aisle at a fast clip to the roaring of the crowd.

“We make a good team,” she laughs, leaning her cheek against my shoulder. “You bring the muscle. I bring the motivation.”

My own laughter booms out, cutting through the cheers, and I wonder—not for the first time—if I was truly happy a single day before I met her. If I even knew happiness like this could exist. No. I don’t think so. To me, Whitney is happiness. They are one and the same. “If a moment with you is on the line, I will always win, Whitney. I love you.”

She kisses me on the mouth and the cheers turn deafening. “I love you, too, Maxim.”

THE END