"Truck driver?"
"Yeah."
Damien chuckled.
"Guy looks like he hasn't thrown a punch since the Reagan administration."
His friends laughed.
Dominic turned another page.
He hadn't even looked up.
That irritated Damien more than it should have.
They took a booth near the center of the diner.
Carla approached.
"Evening, gentlemen."
"Coffee," Damien said.
"Anything else?"
"Four menus."
Carla handed them over.
Damien continued looking at Dominic.
Mason noticed.
"Leave him alone."
Damien raised an eyebrow.
"I didn't say anything."
"You were thinking it."
Damien laughed.
"I'm just curious."
"About what?"
"Why old guys always sit like they're guarding something."
Mason shrugged.
"Maybe he's tired."
"Maybe."
Damien leaned back.
For the next fifteen minutes, he talked loudly.
About his upcoming fight.
About how his next opponent was afraid.
About how nobody in his division could survive the second round.
About a fighter who had recently called Damien overrated.
Every sentence was designed to be overheard.
Dominic heard all of it.
He simply didn't care.
Carla brought him another coffee.
"You want anything to eat?" she asked.
"Just pie."
"Apple?"
"That's fine."
She smiled.
"Coming up."
Damien watched.
"Pie?" he said loudly.
Dominic didn't respond.
"That's your dinner?"
Still nothing.
Damien laughed.
"Guess when you get old, pie counts as protein."
Mason sighed.
"Come on, Damien."
But Damien was already standing.
He walked toward Dominic's booth.
Carla froze behind the counter.
The other truckers glanced up.
Damien stopped beside the table.
"You deaf?"
Dominic slowly raised his eyes.
They were pale blue.
Calm.
Completely uninterested.
"No."
Damien grinned.
"Then you hear me."
"I did."
"Nothing to say?"
Dominic closed his book.
"No."
Damien laughed.
"What's your name?"
"Dominic."
"Dominic what?"
"Hayes."
Damien nodded.
"Well, Dominic Hayes, I'm Damien Cole."
"I know."
That surprised him.
"You know me?"
"I've seen your fights."
Damien's grin widened.
"Then you know what happens when someone gets in my way."
Dominic took a sip of coffee.
"I've seen that too."
For half a second, Damien didn't know how to respond.
Then he smiled again.
"You think you're funny?"
"No."
"You think you could beat me?"
Dominic looked at him.
"No."
Damien relaxed.
"Good."
Dominic continued.
"I don't think about beating you."
That answer was somehow worse.
Damien's smile disappeared.
"What does that mean?"
Dominic opened his book again.
"It means I don't think about you at all."
Silence settled over the diner.
One of the truckers coughed.
Damien stared at Dominic.
For the first time that night, someone wasn't afraid of him.
And Damien didn't know how to handle it.
He leaned closer.
"Maybe you should."
Dominic looked up one last time.
"Maybe you should finish your coffee."
Then he returned to his book.
Damien stood there.
His fists tightened.
The quiet man had dismissed him.
In front of everyone.
And Damien Cole had spent years building an identity around never being dismissed.
He walked back to his booth.
But the humiliation had already begun turning into something darker.
He had no idea that the man he had just challenged had spent a lifetime learning the difference between proving strength and actually possessing it.
The Challenge
The rain became heavier.
Water streamed down the diner windows.
Thunder rolled somewhere beyond the highway.
Damien sat in the booth, but his attention remained fixed on Dominic.
Victor noticed.
"Forget it."
Damien looked at him.
"Forget what?"
"You know exactly what."
Damien smirked.
"He's nobody."
"Then why are you still watching him?"
Damien didn't answer.
Victor was forty-three and had managed fighters for more than a decade.
He understood athletes.
More importantly, he understood egos.
And he knew when one of his fighters was about to make a stupid decision.
"Damien," he said quietly, "we have training tomorrow morning."
"I know."
"Then leave."
Damien leaned back.
"I'm not going anywhere."
Victor sighed.
Across the diner, Dominic ate his apple pie slowly.
One bite.
Pause.
Coffee.
Another bite.
He seemed completely unaware of the tension.
But that wasn't true.
Dominic knew.
He knew where everyone was.
The waitress.
The truckers.
Damien's three companions.
The kitchen entrance.
The emergency exit.
The distance between each table.
The glass windows.
The wet floor.
He had been taught to observe rooms like this before he learned to drive.
And he had learned something else.
The most dangerous person in a room wasn't necessarily the strongest.
Sometimes it was the person who needed to prove something.
Dominic saw that person clearly.
Damien stood.
Victor grabbed his wrist.
"Don't."
Damien looked down.
"Let go."
"No."
Damien's jaw tightened.
Victor released him.
Damien walked toward Dominic again.
This time the diner became completely silent.
Dominic looked up.
"Can I help you?"
Damien placed both hands on the table.
"I've got a proposition."
"No."
"You haven't heard it."
"I don't need to."
Damien laughed.
"You've got some attitude for a trucker."
Dominic looked at him.
"You're right."
"About what?"
"That I'm a trucker."
Damien shook his head.
"You know what I mean."
"I do."
"Then stand up."
Dominic didn't move.
"Why?"
"Because I want to see what you've got."
Dominic looked around.
"Here?"
Damien smiled.
"Why not?"
Carla immediately stepped forward.
"Absolutely not."
Damien ignored her.