Page 25 of Off Balance

"Yes, of course, right this way," he says, ushering us through the back halls to a locker room. "We don't have private rooms here, but only fighters and their trainers are allowed inside, so you won't be bothered."

"That's perfect, thanks," I say, giving him one last handshake and heading inside the locker room, leaving my brother to talk to the club owner.

As soon as I walk inside, all chatter and conversation stops. The other three fighters in the room, all in various states of readiness for the fights ahead, turn to look at me. I give them a friendly up-nod in greeting and walk over to a bench in front of a row of lockers that has my name on a banner across the front. After setting my bag down, I turn to assess the other fighters, who are still staring at me. Two of the guys have their hands wrapped, faces shiny with petroleum jelly. I'm assuming they're the ones fighting the first match before my headlining match with local champ Ray Nichols.

One of the younger guys reaches a gloved fist over for me to bump and introduces himself. I'll never admit that his name goes in one ear and out the other. Not because I'm so full of myself that I don't care, I'm genuinely glad to meet the up-and-comer, but I'm more nervous about this fight than I care to let on. It's the first time I'll be in a ring since the fight that put me in the hospital.

Sure enough, the first two fighters are called to get ready to enter the ring, and I'm left with the man I'll be fighting tonight. By all respects, Ray Nichols is a worthy adversary. His stats and record are reminiscent of the kind of wins I used to pull as a young fighter. He's a big guy. He’d have to be to get paired against me. He's a bit taller, so his muscles have less bulk, which would give him an advantage. He's towards the back of the locker roomjumping rope to warm up, but as soon as I'm dressed and ready to start warming up myself, he comes over to shake hands.

"Ray," I say, taking his hand. "It's nice to meet you."

"Likewise," the younger man says. While his tattoos and size might make him look intimidating to others, his smile is friendly and genuine. "Not to be weird or anything, but I'm actually a huge fan. Your match with Evan Fields back in 2004 was actually the first live boxing event my dad ever took me to. I doubt you remember, but you signed my t-shirt."

Well, that doesn't make me feel old at all. Ray must be younger than I initially thought he was, which is another advantage for him.

Thinking back, I try to remember the exact fight. I'd had a streak of first round knock-outs around that time, which was great for my stats, but not great for audiences who came to watch a good show.

That would have been one of the last matches I had my father in the corner with me.

Giving Ray a weak smile and nod, we both continue our warmups. Ray's trainer comes to take him aside, giving me a double take when he sees me stretching my calves with one of the turnout exercises Cameron taught me. Dwayne comes in and holds a pad for me to punch a bit, which helps get out some of my nervous energy, but not too much.

"You alright?" he asks.

I nod and focus on my footwork, not wanting Dwayne to see how nervous I really am. He might see through me, but he allows me my space and sends me to get some water and take a quietminute before we walk out to the ring. I sit on the bench, leaning forward with my elbows on my knees and my head in my hands, trying to get my head in the right place.

Boxing is more than a physical sport. It's mental. Going out there afraid is only going to hand whatever advantages I have to the other guy. There would be no shame in losing to a fighter like Ray Nichols, who by all means has the advantage here, but it wouldn't do to go down without putting up a worthy fight. A win is what I need to prove that I'm ready to take on Bo Hoyt again. To myself as well as the rest of the world.

My phone buzzes inside my gym bag. I pull it out and find a text from Cameron.

Tiny Dancer: Kick ass tonight. You've got this, big guy.

Me: Thanks. You, too.

I stare at the text for too long, wondering if he got the flowers I had delivered to his dressing room anonymously, or if he figured out who they were from. I haven't been able to stop thinking about the moment we had in the studio yesterday.I'm so stupid.

I jumped at the chance to help Dwayne surprise Cameron with the studio space. Not only because I thought it was an amazing gesture on my brother's part, but I liked the idea of taking the dance lessons off the main gym floor. I don't really care what anyone thinks about a man of my size and stature doing the moves he teaches me, even when they sometimes feel ridiculous. But I liked the idea of privacy. Of being alone with him.

Alone was a bad idea.

We weren't in there for a full fifteen minutes before I completely zoned out on him. Standing in the middle of the floor that I'd installed and waxed myself, holding his waist, or arms, or soft hands while he danced in circles around me was intoxicating.

I'd been so stressed yesterday, thinking about this match today, and then having the argument with my agent over the most recent publicity stunts my ex and public rival have been getting so much attention for. But everything melted away watching Cameron dance, and before I knew it, we were so close I could have kissed him. His face was so close to mine, I could feel his breath on my cheek and across my mouth. My lips parted, and I gripped him tighter…

If Dwayne hadn't walked in when he did, would I have done it? If another second had passed between us, would I have kissed him?Tasted him?

My brother walked in at the exact worst moment. Or maybe the best. Lord knows what could have happened if he hadn't unknowingly interrupted, bursting the bubbleof atmosphere that was stifling all my brain function and allowing my better sense to return to me like a hit to the head.

What am I doing even thinking about this?

Maybe a hit to the head is exactly what it's going to take to shake me out of this obsession I have with my brother's stepson.

The door to the locker room opens, and Dwayne pokes his head inside."You ready?"

Not really.But I nod and follow him out, with Cameron's tantalizing vanilla scent wrapping around my memory like a comfort blanket. Maybe my head isn't in the right space to fight, but the active effort of keeping Cameron's long limbs and teasingsmile out of my thoughts is at least enough to distract me from my fear of entering the ring. It blots out the swell of the crowd, the loud cheering and jeers. I miss the quick pep talk Dwayne gives me right before I head into the middle of the ring to tap gloves with Ray. I don't even hear the sound of the first bell.

Before I know it, the ref is waving me back to my corner, and Dwayne is in front of me with water and a towel.

He dabs at the sweat on my face, and the little bit of blood that trickles through my nose."Where are you, Dom? Get your head in the fight!"

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