Pre-fight jitters. They’re the worst, and will call your fight before you even step foot in the ring. Reba pulls and tugs on Tate’s blonde hair, braiding it into cornrows along her scalp. It’s protocol to have your hair tightly braided to keep from injury inside the ring. Tate winces, and scratches at her head as Reba continues to jostle her head around. I remember how much those damn things itched and hurt when my hair was considered a hazard. I don’t miss them. Pulling the door to her locker open I open a gym bag I packed, and pull out an old school Walkman. Kneeling in front of her, I place an earbud in her left ear and she flinches aggressively, like she didn’t even notice I was in the room. “Easy.” I pinch my brows together. “You’re too wound up, babe. This will help.” I place the other earbud in her ear. “A Walkman? You know they have iPods and stuff now.” She eyes the tape player with a smirk on her face. “I’ve had it since I was a kid, it’s never let me down in getting my head where it needs to be.
