The sound of applause, the smell of blood and the taste of victory coursed through my body like a relentless typhoon. This is what I lived for, the win. The moment. The glory I brought not only myself, my name but my son, too. Each day, I wake up and think how can I make my son proud to call me his father? He’s just a good kid, such a smart and loving boy and he deserves the best. And I’ll give it to him.

People clap my bare shoulders, the sweat on them making the hands sting a little more than usual but fuck if I don’t love the feeling. The eyes on me. The cheers for me. Everything belonged to me. Jumping out the ring, I search around the place, a pretty girl with long braids catching my gaze and winking at me, I grin back at her. My body runs on adrenaline when I look over at Carter and tell him to have the girl sent to my locker, I deserve a reward.

Beat that bitch ass motherfucker into the ground, I deserve a little sweet treat.

Licking my lips at the idea, I prowl into my locker room and catch a glimpse of my shirtless form. My marred left arm and back filled with tattoos, a light layer of sweaty sheen coating them and dripping down from the bump of my Adam’s apple. Abruptly, the sound of my phone ringing catches my ears. Picking it up in met with the voice of my batshit crazy baby mama, who may or may not be the best piece pussy I’ve had in my entire life. Like shit, I still dream about the sweet tavern my little boy came from.

I swallow spit at the memory. shit, if only she wasn’t a crazy bitch, huh?

“Yo, mamas, what’s up. Calling to congratulate me?”