"Dada, what that?"
Ava pointed her tiny finger toward a poster on the hallway wall.
It was a blown-up shot of Damon squaring off with Tereira during weigh-ins.
Her face twisted with confusion at the big version of her father.
"That's a picture, baby," Damon said softly, adjusting her on his arm. "A big one."
"But why you look angy?"
He chuckled. "I wasn't angry. Just serious."
Ava frowned, clearly not buying it. Damon smiled and kissed her cheek.
They moved through the hallway toward the locker rooms.
The buzz of the arena was starting to rise media, crew, and security filtering through the backstage maze. Everyone around him knew what the night meant.
But for now, Damon was just a dad, answering every question his nearly two-year-old could come up with.
"What that?" she asked again, pointing at a bucket of ice near one of the medical stations.
"That's for fighters. To cool down."
Ava leaned her head on his chest, her hair brushing his jaw. "You gonna fight?"
