MMA System: I Will Be Pound For Pound Goat-Chapter 606: Return Routes and Rest Stops

Damon kept one hand on the wheel as they pulled off the main highway and into a small roadside stop.

It wasn't anything fancy—just a quiet local diner with shaded parking and a wide window front.

They were on the way to Stockton from Santa Monica, making the drive steady with a few stops in between. This one was for lunch and a stretch.

Damon parked, unbuckled, and turned to glance at the back seat. Ava was still babbling in her baby seat, calm for now. He smiled as he helped unclip her.

Inside, they found a booth by the window. The place smelled like fresh toast, bacon grease, and coffee, simple but comforting.

Damon slid in first, letting Svetlana take the seat opposite with Ava seated beside her in a baby carrier.

As they settled in, Svetlana watched Damon for a moment before asking, "How do you feel?"

He looked up, still scanning the menu. "Mmh?"

"I mean," she clarified, "what do you feel? We're going to Stockton. You haven't been there in, what, years?"

Damon smiled, slow and reflective. He looked out the window for a second before responding.

"Mmmh... well, can't say for sure. But I'm excited. A bit."

Svetlana leaned in with a playful look. "You never talk about it. Come on, tell me some interesting stories about your life back then."

Damon chuckled and leaned back slightly. "Well, I'd say my life got a lot more interesting after I started fighting, so I don't have many. But…"

He paused, thinking. "There was this one time. I'd just managed to get some money, me and my mom were trying to find a place to stay after sleeping in alleys for a while. We got to this run-down motel. Real rough spot."

He raised an eyebrow. "And this cracked-out lady walks up. like, full-on twitching, and just straight-up asks me for money in exchange for, well… some head."

Svetlana stared at him, unimpressed, lips pressed in a flat line. "…Did you?"

Damon grinned. "Matter of fact, I did. Actually."

Svetlana exhaled long through her nose, shook her head, then smirked. "I forgot you suck at telling stories."

"I wouldn't say I suck," he replied, raising his brows. "I just don't sugar-coat anything."

"That's one way to put it," she said, reaching for her glass.

He chuckled again, eyes drifting back to the menu. "You asked for Stockton stories. That was Stockton.

Shaking his head. "Okay, okay, I do have interesting stories. Let me think..."

He leaned back in the booth, scanning the ceiling like the answer was hidden up there. "Alright. So, this one… even my mom doesn't know about it."

Svetlana raised an eyebrow, waiting.

"Back when things were bad, really bad, I was digging through dumpsters behind a closed market in south Stockton.

Just looking for anything. And I see a pizza box sitting right on top of the bin. Closed, no stains, looked like it had just been tossed."

He smirked. "I open it up, eight slices. Perfect. Whole pizza, untouched. I didn't even think. I sat right there and started eating. Two slices in, I thought I'd just hit the jackpot."

Svetlana gave him a wary look. "Please tell me it wasn't poisoned."

He laughed. "Worse. A guy walks up yelling, 'Hey! That's mine!' Turns out he set it there while unlocking his bike lock."

Her jaw dropped. "No…"

"I panicked. I yelled back, 'I'm doing you a favor, it was cold anyway!' Then I took another bite and ran."

Svetlana stared at him, equal parts horrified and entertained.

"That's disgusting."

"That's survival," Damon grinned. "Still the best pizza I ever had."

Svetlana shook her head slowly, her smile amused. "I repeat, horrible at telling stories."

"Tsk. As if you can do better?"

"I actually think I can."

Just as she opened her mouth to prove it, a waitress approached the table, pad in hand, smile easy and warm. She glanced at Svetlana first. "What'll you have, hon?"

They placed their orders, nothing too complicated, just something quick and filling for the road.

The food came out not long after, hot and fresh. They dug in without ceremony, the road hunger making even average food taste good.

Between bites, the conversation didn't get any deeper, just dumber, in the best way.

Damon joked about how he once thought of naming Ava "Kickstand" if she came out swinging.

Svetlana countered with how she once wanted to name her future child "Galaxy." Neither of them had real explanations for their terrible taste, just laughter.

It was the kind of exchange that made no sense to anyone else, but for them, it was perfect.

They didn't need drama or depth. They just needed each other, a plate of fries, and a few bad jokes.

Soon enough, they left the diner and continued the drive toward Stockton.

The air outside had warmed up, the sun leaning low but still bright across the highway.

Victor would be meeting them there.

As much as he loved his granddaughter, he wasn't the kind of man to sit around while his daughter took twenty minutes to get ready.

He preferred being early, settled, and in control.

Damon hadn't realized how much time had passed back at the house. Most of it had been Ava.

Getting her changed. Getting her calm. Getting her distracted while Svetlana prepared. He didn't mind. He rarely did when it came to Ava.

Now, as he drove, he smiled without even thinking about it.

One hand on the wheel, the other resting near the gear.

From the passenger seat, Svetlana leaned slightly back, speaking softly to Ava in her lap.

The little one was wide awake again, babbling in her own language—"hag… gah… guh"—all energy and no structure.

Svetlana laughed gently. "I think she just insulted you."

Damon glanced over, grinning. "Good. Startin' early with the attitude. She really is your daughter."

Ava let out a loud happy squeal as if in agreement, her tiny fingers flailing while Damon steered them down the road that led back to where it all started.