Page 2 of Revive Me

When the doctor indicates that I should sit up on the massage table along the wall, I sigh but follow directions. Every fighter will tell you that this is the worst part, because more often than not, you end up going to the hospital—even if you won the fight.

But it’s mandatory, so I sit patiently as the doctor does his exam, even knowing the only thing he’ll find are some bumps and bruises.

“Incredible,” the doctor murmurs, pulling his stethoscope out of his ears. “You’re consistently the most uninjured fighter I look at.” He gives me a look of incredulity. “How is it possible that you just fought a fifteen-minute war with one of the toughest bastards on the UFC roster and all you have is a black eye?”

I can’t help my smug grin. Shrugging, I say, “I don’t like being injured. It disrupts my life.”

Chuckling, he shakes his head. “I hope for your sake you never get a bad injury, Roman. I’m not sure you’d know what to do with yourself.”

I snort. “You got that right. No thank you. I prefer being healthy and pain-free.”

Closing his bag, the doctor turns to my coach. “He’s all good, Dom. I’m clearing him.”

“Great, thanks, Marty,” my coach says, shaking his hand.

Marty waves at me and at the room as he leaves. “Have a good time celebrating tonight, boys. And Roman, good luck with the title fight.”

The sounds of whoops and cheers follow him out of the room, my teammates once again riled up by his words. I think they might be running on more of a high than even I am.

Proving my point, Dustin jumps up from his chair and starts to shadowbox right there on the warmup mat, too amped to sit still. “Speaking of celebrating… Where we going tonight, champ??”

I wince. My version of celebrating is a little different from my teammates’. “Dude, I’m tired. I really don’t feel like going to a strip club tonight and spending my bonus on a bunch of girls, just soyoucan take one of them home.”

“Rude,” Dustin sniffs, not stopping his shadowboxing. “I don’t need your money to convince a girl to come home with me.”

“Perfect. Thenyougo to the strip club. I’ll be home reviewing fight footage.”

At that, he finally stops and puts his hands on his hips. “Comeon, seriously. You can’t just go home and study after a win like this! You need to celebrate! You just became the most dominant fighter in divisionhistory!”

I sigh, feeling my defenses crumbling. The truth is, I haven’t given myself a night off in months. I’ve been working to the bone even before I got offered tonight’s fight, partly because I wanted to give everything in pursuit of my goal, but also because it takes a lot for me to convince myself I deserve a break. I rarely do anything that’s not training, recovering, eating, or sleeping.

“Alright,” I concede. Already, my teammates are cheering. “But not tonight. I’m serious. I feel like I’m going to drop into a coma as soon as I leave this locker room and the adrenaline wears off. You know how hard I’ve been pushing my body.”

Dustin can’t argue that. Begrudgingly, he nods. “Okay, fine, not tonight. Tonight, we’ll celebrate in your honor.”

I wave him off as I take a big swig of Pedialyte. “Works for me. Have at it.”

“But we’re planning a night next weekend,” Dustin demands, pointing a finger my way. “You can pick the spot, but wearegoing out. I’m not taking no for an answer.”

“Fine. Next weekend. Tonight, I’m celebratingmyway.”

And by that, I mean goinghome. Where I can be by myself, in silence, until I eventually fall asleep without having to set an alarm for the first time in months. Maybe years.

Knowing that’s what I have to look forward to has me rushing through all the obligatory post-fight press, then sending a silentthank youto the promoters for scheduling tonight’s fight in my hometown. Being able to go from the arena, straight to my penthouse and sanctuary, is a relief in itself.

As soon as I’m home, I toss my gym bag down in the entryway and immediately grab a cold bottle of water from my fridge. Since I already showered at the arena and changed into sweats, I don’t have a single other thing on my to-do list. Now, I finally get to relax.

Stepping up to the floor-length windows, I take a sip of my water as I look out over the city. With a deep breath, I release every remaining bit of stress, nerves, and adrenaline from the day.

As my heart rate slows, so does my breathing, and I clear my mind of everything but this moment. I’ll watch my fight tomorrow, pick apart every mistake I made and everything I could have done better, but for now, I’m allowing myself to revel in the simple fact that I won—and dominantly.

The sound of my phone interrupts my meditation. Since I have it on Do Not Disturb, that means the message can only be from one of my emergency contacts, so I reach into my pocket and pull out my phone.

Mom: Congratulations, Roman. I’m so proud of you <3

I smile and text back a quick,Thanks, Mom,making a mental reminder to call her tomorrow.

But once I have my messages open, I can’t help seeing how many other texts I have rolling in. Four hours after my fight, I have over a hundred in my inbox. Muttering a curse, I read a few.

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