Damon was in his hotel bed and looked up at the ceiling. The complex pattern above him was lovely, but he was thinking about something else.
He had been through a lot during the fight in his mind, especially since he was up against Calvin. He kept going over it in his head, but one question stood out above the rest.
Why so serious?
Was he fighting to survive? No, he had long left that struggle behind. With his earnings from this match, and the last, he could live as he pleased.
Was he fighting to live? No, he didn't need to fight to feel alive.
He had his family, he had Svetlana.
So this took him back to the root, to that moment in Stockton when Victor asked him the question that had started it all.
Why was he fighting?
Every time he entered the octagon, he put on a mask, serious, focused, unshakable.
Which was good, he guessed.