Austin moves us over to a quiet corner where there are a few tables and chairs set up. We sit across from one another. “I was wrong, Con.” Now it’s his turn to let out a sigh of frustration. Whatever he wants to say must be weighing heavily on his mind. Crossing my arms over my chest, I lean back in the chair. When our legs bump together under the table, I make a concerted effort to pull away. “Give me another chance,” he demands, no “please” or anything.
My large frame eats up the space of the small table as I lean across it. “If I recall correctly, when you left you said you had no room in your life for a washed up fighter who was no more than a vegetable.”
“I don’t know what to say.” He has the good sense at least to look ashamed. “I was an asshole. I was only thinking about me, and those first few months after you were hurt really took a toll on me.”
“On you?” I can’t contain my laughter. “Oh, that’s rich, Austin.Myhead injury must have been really difficult foryouto deal with. It must have been really trying foryouto cope with the loss ofyourlifelong career goal months after losing your parents in a house fire. Tell me more about how much of a struggle that time was for you.” Sarcasm hangs heavily on each and every word.
Austin reaches out his hand, tentatively placing it on top of mine. He tightens his grip on it as I try to pull away. “You’re right. I didn’t have to deal with any of that. And I was so wrong for walking away from you. Please hear me out.”
Not able to listen to his crap anymore, I shoot up from my seat, sending the flimsy folding chair skidding behind me. “No, you had your chance. That much I can remember. Now get out of here.”
He stands from his chair, scanning me from head to toe. “I’ll fight for you this time. I will,” he promises as he turns to walk away.
“There’s nothing to fight for,” I say with an unmistakable tone of finality. With any luck, Austin will be on the road heading back to New Jersey by midnight. But if I know, Austin, he’ll be the thorn in my side I thought I dislodged long ago.
I’m not sure what I’m happier about – that Austin is walking out of the gym or that Dylan is walking into it. Since I’m still kind of hidden in the corner, Dylan hasn’t seen me. I have no clue why he’s here. It’s not like we hit it off the other night. I think I annoyed him more than helped him; though, that wasn’t my intent. He’d just set me on edge and I couldn’t tell left from right when I was around him.
As he navigates his way through the crowd, I can’t help but notice how good he looks. The other night, I thought his body looked amazing in a suit, but I was wrong. His dark wash jeans pull tightly across his legs and showcase his firm ass perfectly. He’s wearing a black and grey striped polo. I laugh when I notice he’s not wearing his sling. That’s one thing I picked up on the other night. Even though I only know him casually, calling Dylan stubborn is most definitely an understatement.
When he finally finds me, I can’t tell if he’s happy or not. As he walks toward me, most of the frustration I felt with Austin melts away. A smug smile takes up residence on my face and I chuckle a little when I see the same one mirrored on Dylan’s face.
“How’s the arm?” I tip my chin at his sling-free shoulder.
He rolls it, only wincing slightly. “Better, thanks. Doctor said I just need to take it easy, nothing was re-torn or anything like that.”
Knowing he’ll be back at the gym sooner rather than later makes me happier than I’d care to admit aloud right now. So I go with a simple, “That’s good,” instead.
“So how’d you manage to get Adrian McIntyre and Troy Davidson to make an appearance? Those guys are pretty big names.” I ignore the insinuation that this event is too lame to draw championship level fighters.
“They’re good friends of mine, actually. We all used to fight together.” I watch as the realization dawns on him. I’m not conceited enough to think he would have known who I was when we first met, but it’s nice to see that he remembers my name.
“Wait. You mean… are youtheConner Michelson?”
Hiding my face with my hand, I shake my head back and forth more out of embarrassment than out of denial. “Yeah, that’s me,” I finally admit.
“No shit!” It’s odd to see Dylan excited, especially when all I’ve seen of him is moody and injured. Then his face changes as another piece of the puzzle falls into place. “You said youusedto fight. What happened?”
Just because something has come to be the defining moment in my life doesn’t mean that everyone I meet remembers it like I do. Not wanting to get into that gem of a story right now, I opt for deflection. “I had to stop.” There’s no misreading the icy chill to my words.
Just as a stagnant silence begins to surround us, Dylan breaks it. “So how’s the night going?”
“Really well, actually.” The iciness is replaced with pride. It’s finally setting in that this is real and that I might actually make something of myself.
“That’s great,” he responds awkwardly. “I’ll let you get back to everything. I don’t want to take up too much of your time.” Before he takes more than one step away from me, I grab for his arm to pull him back to our conversation.
“Why did you come?” I’d wanted to ask it since he walked up to me.
Dylan shoves his hands in his pockets, staring down at his feet as if an answer will just magically appear. It takes him more than a few seconds to spit out an answer. “I wanted to say thank you for helping me the other night.”
“I only did−”
“No,” he cuts me off. “Let me finish, please.” I nod and he continues. “You weren’t supposed to be gay.”
I laugh. “They say it’s not a choice, you know.” Sure, I make a joke out of it, but to be honest, his confession confuses me a bit. “Care to clarify.” Extending my arm to the side, I move so that we can sit at the table Austin and I just vacated.
We sit and this time, and when my knee bumps with Dylan’s, I do not pull it away.
Neither does he.
