Claiming The Prize (23 page)

Twenty wearying hours after arriving
in Germany, the Zadrovecs boarded their flight to Philadelphia
International Airport, and upon settling in their seats, Grace
found herself unable to remain awake.
The great jet roared through
the air, arcing upward to shed the thick, gray mist which lay heavy
and menacing, cloaking the earth below and the heavens above, but
the dark journey through the clouds unfolded without notice by the
sleeping couple.

Dim light filtered through the cabin,
enough dispersing to reveal the silhouettes of fellow passengers.
Wondering how long he'd been sleeping, Drago checked his
watch.

Not long enough.

Grace was propped against his side,
still asleep.
She shivered.
Reaching to wrap her more closely into
his warmth, he discovered her clothes were damp with perspiration,
and when he touched her forehead, found her skin hot under his
hand.
Bunched in his lap lay the blanket she had purchased during
their layover, and he pulled it over her.
She stirred, then stilled
again.

The trip has worn her down, he
reasoned.
She'll be fine once she gets warm and sleeps her
fill.

Tucking her head under his chin, he
held her.
But as the hours passed, Drago's confidence in his
thoughts began to crumble.
Flushed cheeks burned against his chest
hotly, yet her body shook uncontrollably in spurts.
With worry
mounting, he roused her.

“
Gracie, wake
up.”

A whimper was all she
managed.

“
Come awake, moja
ž
ena.
Look at
me.”

She did, causing his concern to spike.
Dull eyes looked through him, and her teeth chattered
violently.

“
You need medicine for your
fever.”

He fumbled with his bag in search of
ibuprofen tablets, and producing them, encouraged her to take them
with the water he offered.

“
I don't want anything.
I'm
not hungry,” she mumbled.

“
Gracie, you must take
these,” he firmly insisted.

Pushing the tablets into her mouth,
Drago tipped the bottle at her lips.

“
Drink,
ž
ena.”

An eternity seemed to pass before they
landed.
Drago could not get his wife off the plane fast enough.
He
had dosed her a second time with the fever reducer, but it only
held her fever at bay, and he prayed he could get her to her
father's home before it ravaged her again.
Dark circles ringed her
hollow eyes, and she teetered on delirium.
Spotting Guy with the
Friar beside him brought relief washing over Drago.
They would have
her home quickly.
Easily managing their carry-on bags, he guided
Grace toward her father.

Guy's face registered the concern
etched on his son-in-law's before he caught sight of his daughter.
Advancing, Guy closed the distance in a moment.
Drago rapidly
explained what was wrong.

“
Grace is burning with
fever.
We need to get her home.
I've given her something, but it
isn't helping much.”

The Friar had heard and seen
enough.

“
I'll get the vehicle.
Meet
me in front.”

“
I'll take Grace,” Guy
said, taking her arm.
“Can you manage the bags alone,
Drago?”

“
Of course.
Just worry
about Grace.
I'll be there as quickly as I can.”

Fortunately, they traveled
in the opposite direction of the morning traffic, and the SUV sped
down the highway.
There were no observations on this ride, no
interesting histories given by his wife.
Weak and ill, she slept,
her head in Drago's lap until the familiar guest house welcomed
them.
Guy had seen to its readiness, and once Grace had been put in
bed, Guy spoke with Drago.

“
I'll have a doctor here
shortly.
Do you need anything?”

“
No, sir.
Thank you.
Only
the doctor.”

“
Relax, son,” the older man
said.
“She'll be all right.”

But for days her fever raged.
Doc
Haviland declared it a flu-like viral infection, prescribing rest,
fluids, and something for comfort.
After his examination, he had
drawn her blood and tests were run, proving that she had no
infection that required antibiotics.
None of this eased Drago's
mind.
Never leaving her side, he sponged her with cool water and
spooned ice into her protesting lips.
He prayed.

On the evening of the fourth day, Dr.
Haviland reasoned that if the fever did not break by morning, it
would be time to admit Grace to the hospital.

Guy stayed with them throughout the
night, battling alongside Drago against this unseen adversary that
threatened his daughter.
Guy succumbed to worry and exhaustion
after the witching hour passed, and Drago again took up his vigil.
Completing his ritual of a cooling bath and medicating Grace, he
wrapped his body around hers.
He raged in defiance against the
feeling of powerlessness that mocked him until his heart ached and
his eyes burned with tears of frustration and worry.

God!
Help her!
Help me.

In his fear, he remembered the
truth.

Not my will, Father, but thy
Will be done.

The echo of the words poured
through his heart and mind.
He had never been in control.
Ultimately, Grace was not his.
She was in the hands of her Creator.
Somehow, the thought brought him the peace that had eluded him for
days.
A peace he had denied himself by trusting in his own power
and the power of other men.

“
Father, Your ways are
above my ways.
I trust in Your mercy and goodness.
Thank you for
blessing my life with Grace.
I have loved and been loved.
It is
more than I deserved.
Still, I ask for more – that you allow her to
remain with me.
But no matter what You decide, I will praise Your
Name.”

In prayer, Drago continued until sleep
overtook him.

Awaking with a start, Drago realized
Grace was not in their bed, and he flipped back the quilt hurriedly
to search her out.
Before he could move, she shuffled out of the
adjoining bathroom.
Disheveled and pale, she sought the warmth of
bed.
When she looked at him, he knew the fever had broken.
A weak
smile touched her lips as she eased under the weight of the
welcoming covers, and Drago's hands frantically pressed to her head
in search of reassurance.

“
Thank God, moja
ž
ena!”
he sighed with
relief.
“Co m
?
zem
urobit pre vás,
What can I do for
you
?”

“
A drink would be nice,”
she murmured.

Holding her head, he helped her.
She
was weak and fragile in his hands, but the worst had passed.
He
massaged her aching body tenderly, and when she again slept, he
slipped from the bed to share the news with his
father-in-law.

Chapter 15

Guy insisted that Drago begin training
the day after Grace's fever broke and they had the assurance she
was on the way to recovery.
Strength training, sprinting, and
sparring consumed Drago's days, blurring one into the next.
He
taped his feet and braced his legs, fighting against the pain in
his body to forge a quicker, stronger self.
The team at First
Strike honed their protege as the days slipped into
weeks.

Sinking to the mat with a water bottle
after an intense round of cardio training, Drago's eyes spied the
impossible.
Every nerve in his body went on alert when Carson
walked into First Strike.
After weeks of training, Drago hadn't
given one thought to seeing the man.
Especially here.
Standing
motionless, his anger transformed to shock as he saw the infant in
Carson's arms.
With unbelieving eyes, he watched St.
Clair hurry to
take the tiny girl, bouncing her in his hands to the baby's obvious
delight.

Returning to where Drago stood, St.
Clair cooed, “Lookie what we got here, little Miss.
You ready to
rough this guy up with your Uncle St.
Clair?”

The man disappeared, returning to hang
a seat attached to stretchy springs on a vacant hook in the empty
heavy-bag area.
Struggling to get the little girl's kicking legs
into the cloth seat, St.
Clair looked exasperatedly at
Drago.

“
Don't just stand there
like that, get on over here and help me, man!”

Drago moved, not knowing exactly
why.

“
Put her little legs
through the holes.
Lord have mercy!
You act like you ain't never
seen no baby before!”

Correction.
He had never seen Carson's
baby before.
Carson and his baby in First Strike.
St.
Clair cooing
as if he welcomed a baby every day into a mixed martial arts
facility.
Oh God!
A baby in the gym.
How would Gracie take
this?

A full ten months had passed since the
night she had cried in his arms.
She hadn't broached the subject
again, but Drago knew she was reminded of it each time proof showed
that they had not yet conceived.

Why this?
Why now?

He knew he must tell her before she
stumbled upon it, and his heart worried she would find it a
stinging slap to the face.

* * *

Guy Antolini paused the DVD player and
addressed the Friar.

“
Drago can beat Souva.
Without a doubt.
But he's got to handle him in the first
round.”

“
The key to this fight is
controlling Souva's movement.
Drago's stand-up is better, his hands
quicker.
But Souva will be effective at neutralizing Drago's
ability to use the legs.
He's going to pursue a ground game
strategy, Anto, and he's damned good at it.
Drago's strength, if it
goes to the ground early, should cool Elian's heels for wanting to
go there again, but he's got to survive the initial
assault.”

“
Can Drago keep Souva in
full guard if the takedown scenario plays out, Yves?”

“
When, Anto, not if.
And,
yes, he can.
We're working takedown defense hard, but a fresh Elian
is a danger.”

“
What about a submission by
our boy?”

The Friar took a moment to
think.

“
If an opportunity presents
itself, Drago will submit him, but I don't think he should get
caught up in looking for it until Elian shows signs of tiring.
Maybe after Drago softens him up.
Souva is ground and pound all the
way, so he'll look for the full mount.
I want Drago's focus on
stopping that first.”

“
Work up your plan.
It's
time for phase two,” Guy finished.

“
One more thing,” the Friar
added with a grin.
“Do you remember Jean Luke?”

Guy snorted his affirmation, mirth
crinkling the corners of his eyes.

“
As if anyone could forget
Jean Luke.”

“
I'd like Drago to work
with him.”

When Guy remained silent, Yves
continued.

“
He's not the most savory
character, I know.
But his unorthodox style will be a great benefit
to our Slovak.
Souva will be expecting pure Antolini jujitsu.
It's
the best, but Souva trains in the Brazilian method, which is also
very good, and Zadrovec hasn't encountered that yet.
Jean Luke's
techniques will add a nice surprise to our fighter's ground
game.”

When the older man leaned back in his
chair, Yves knew he had chosen his moment well.

Leaving the office, Yves said, “Think
about it, Anto.”

Guy already was.

* * *

Daylight waned under bleak, blanketing
clouds eclipsing the heavens.
The dank grayness cast its sickly
pallor upon all it touched, infecting its subjects with a lethargic
spell.
Fighters and trainers strove to combat the gloomy
atmosphere, pushing hard through the afternoon's workouts.
Drago's
fists slammed into the heavy-bag violently, venting his anger at
Carson's presence and the worry for his wife, but the day dragged
on unnaturally, keeping him from her.

Brightness suddenly overtook
the expansive First Strike floor when the Friar turned on the
lighting, and relief from the oppressive dullness was tangible in
the air.
Moving to the next station in his workout, Drago began to
heave the leaden medicine ball above his head, counting off as he
worked toward his goal of thirty repetitions before returning to
the bag for his final set, and he struggled to allow the
illumination to brighten his own dark mood.

The Friar's words in the distance
sucked the breath from his lungs.

“
Gracie!
Glad to see you
out and about!”

The ball dropped heavily to the mat as
Drago made for his wife.

“
Thank you,” Grace said in
wry cheerfulness.
“I thought I'd come down to see that my husband
is being tortured sufficiently.
And I needed to get out of the
house,” she added, grinning in conspiratorial laughter with the
Friar.

Drago stepped between them.

“
What are you doing out in
this weather, milovany?
It's too cold and damp for you.
You should
be at home, resting.”

“
I'm fine, Drago.
Really,”
she reassured him.
“You are worrying too much.”

He wanted to hurry her to her father's
office, away from an encounter with Carson.
Away from the child.
He
wanted to prepare her, but St.
Clair destroyed all hope, descending
the stairs with the tiny girl on his hip.

“
Gracie girl!
Welcome
back!”
he bellowed.
“I've been wondering when you'd venture out.
Lookie what I got here!”

Every muscle in Drago's body tensed.
His jaw clenched and unclenched in anticipation of his wife's
reaction.
Halfheartedly, he cursed St.
Clair, knowing the man had
no idea of Grace's private pain.
He wished he could spare her.
But
her next words hit him like an uppercut to the jaw.

“
This must be
Kadence!”

Relaxed beneath his hand, Grace
welcomed the sight without blinking an eye.

“
She sure is,” St.
Clair
spoke, beaming as if he showed off his own child.
“Carson's coming
in a minute.
The little Miss left him a fine mess.
Didn't
she?”

Drago was speechless.
The only
explanation was that her father had prepared her.
He wished that
Guy had prepared him.

“
Hello Grace,” Carson said
meekly, taking his daughter.

Leaning closer to her husband, Grace
nodded to the man who had once terrified her.

Drago felt like growling.

Awkward silence lingered, encouraging
St.
Clair and the Friar to take their leave.
Carson had confessed
his shame to Guy, and later to them, after his world had collapsed
around him.
He'd had no one to turn to after ruining his chances
with Antonio Paola.
Seeing his daughter come into the world had
been the wake up call he needed, but it was too late to salvage his
fighting career.
Clean and sober since Kadence's birth, his life
now revolved around the little girl – his little girl.
With no job
and his assets nearly squandered, he had sought Guy Antolini, the
only man who he thought might give him a second chance.
Carson
would never forget the day he had humbly talked to the man who, for
two years, had been his mentor.

Walking into First Strike,
Carson breathed deeply, his chest constricted with anxiety.
This
was the hardest thing he'd ever had to do.
He found Guy Antolini in
his office.
Knocking on the door frame, he waited, uncertain if his
presence would be tolerated.

Guy looked up from the
papers strewn on his desk.

“
Carson,” Guy acknowledged,
offering nothing more.

“
Anto, I was hoping I could
talk to you.
Is this a good time?”

“
Come inside, Carson.
Shut
the door.”

Carson wasn't sure where he
should begin.
He closed the door and stood in front of Guy's desk.
Exhaling and drawing on his evaporating courage, he
started.

“
I don't know if I should
even be here, honestly.
I wasn't sure you would see me.”

He waited for Guy to say
something, but the older man only listened silently.

“
I've made a mess of
everything, Anto.
I blew it.
My career is up in smoke, and I've got
nobody to thank but myself.
I'm not here asking for you to take me
back into training.
I just want to tell you that you were right
about everything you said to me before I left here.
I was pissed
off, and full of myself, and I ruined a good thing.”

He wanted to come clean
about everything but stopped, wondering how in the hell to say
it.

“
Carson, I'm going to ask
you one question, and I want an honest answer,” Guy broke in.
“Why
are you here?”

Carson Khaler knew it was
time to confront the man he had become, a man he didn't want to be
anymore.

“
Guy,” he choked out, his
voice strained, “I'm here because I need to be.
I...
I didn't come
back after you found out that I was using, but that's not the whole
reason why.”

Confessing the whole truth
of what he had done to Grace – and why - Carson purged his gut of
the guilt that had been eating away at him for so long.

“
After that night, I knew I
couldn't come back.
And instead of facing my problems, I spiraled
out of control.
Drugs, drinking, partying..., you name it, I did
it.
When Savannah and I got engaged, I thought I was living the
life.
Then she found out she was pregnant.
I wasn't there for her;
I was too damned busy with myself.
When my daughter, Kadence was
born..., I don't know..., something clicked in my head.
Here was
this little baby, my baby, that was depending on me.
I've been
clean and sober since the night she was born, and that's the truth,
Anto.”