Page 99 of Revive Me

My voice softens as I say, “Then that’s even more of a reason for a transfer. Roman, I can’t be the only reason you want to walk.Youhave to want it.”

His gaze darts away, his throat moving on an audible swallow.

“I told you I’d carry the hope for you…and I meant it. I carried it. I’d carry it forever if I thought it was best for you. But Roman…I can’t carryyou.I can’t be the only motivation in your life. It’s not healthy, it’s not sustainable, and it’s just not good for you.” I pull in a shaky breath for strength. “So whether you allow another PT to help you with your rehab is up to you, butyouhave to make the decision. No one else. Your life is in your hands now, Roman.”

When he still doesn’t meet my eyes, I chance a step forward. And then another, until I’m standing in front of him. With tears burning my eyes, I place a hand on the side of his face.

“So what are you going to do with it?” I ask. “Throw it away because some girl walked away from you? Or take control of it?”

Roman’s gaze jerks up and locks with mine. “You’re not just some g—” But he cuts himself off and clears his throat. I wait for him to say something else, but when he’s still silent a moment later, I realize the fear has frozen him in place.

My thumb brushes over Roman’s cheek, my heart breaking for him. It breaks for me, too, which is the reason I throw good judgment out the window one last time and lean down to press a gentle kiss to his lips. Still, he remains frozen, though I can hear the squeak of his hands tightening on the armrests.

I meet his eyes as I pull back, wanting him to see every bit of sincerity in my words. “I hope you know you have something to offer the world, Roman. Wheelchair or not, fighter or not, you’re so much more than your injury.” I force myself to straighten. “I hope you realize that,” I add in a near-whisper, barely holding it together.

I take a step back, and then another.

He doesn’t try to stop me this time.

32

ROMAN

I go numb as Lily walks out of the room.

I’m numb as I get in my mom’s car, and as I deflect her questions about my session ending early. I feel nothing as I enter my house and collapse on the couch.

How is it possible for a person to go from the highest high to the lowest low in the span of an hour? When I left for therapy, I thought I had everything: Lily, progress on my rehab, maybe even a vision of my future. I should’ve known it was too good to be true.

I thought I had already experienced the worst parts of this injury. I didn’t realize losing Lily was going to be my true rock bottom.

And then my phone beeps with a notification.

The alert is a custom sound. I set it up to only work for one specific sender.

The UFC.

Reaching for my phone feels different now than it used to. In the past, when I got an email from the promotion, it was with fight contracts and Fight of the Night bonuses—that sound used to fill me with excitement and sheer joy. Now, all I feel is confusion and an impending sense of grief.

Which grows as soon as I tap my phone screen and the email subject becomes visible.

Interest in Ultimate Fighter Coach Position

Steeling myself, I open the email.

Roman,

Thank you for your interest in the coaching position on the Ultimate Fighter reality TV show. We’ve reviewed your qualifications and considered the expertise and energy you would bring to the competition as both Head Coach and Assistant Coach, but unfortunately have decided that you wouldn’t be a good fit for the show. We believe a coach should not only be a mentor and wealth of knowledge for the fighters, but also an active and challenging training partner on the mat. So, despite your impressive fight record and reputation in the organization, for this reason we cannot accept you onto the show’s coaching staff.

We apologize for any disappointment this causes. We appreciate your interest and hope you’ll still watch and share the show.

Regards,

The Ultimate Fighter Production Team

And that’s when everything crashes down on me, like one final wave sending me down the abyss.

It doesn’t matter if I walk again—I’ll never fight again. I’ll never haveanythingto do with fighting. I’ll never really be able to coach, not without being able to fight. This email just proved that. Applying for the coaching position was my last-ditch effort at staying in the MMA world, my application sent in on a good PT day when my hopes were unrealistically high. I should’ve known it was too much to ask for.

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