It feels like only yesterday that I was Trent’s age, popping into the gym to burn off some of the energy that always seemed to be coursing through my body. It was the only thing that could effectively wear me out. Baseball, rugby, football—none of it came close to calming me down like Alfie’s. I didn’t understand why then, but I get it now.
The thought makes my heart tug, and tears gather in the corners of my eyes.
“Well, maybe I won’t be a champion,” he says, circling the bag in his half-squat stance again. “Maybe I’ll just teach kids how to throw punches.”
“Good plan. But you need to learn how to throw them the right way first.” I chuckle at his movements. “What movie have you been watching, kiddo?”
“What makes you think I’ve been watching movies?”
“Oh, just a wild guess.”
Trent stands tall, his eyes sparkling, and comes to my side. He leans his head against my ribs, sighing. “Thanks for teaching me, Brooks. You’re a real good pal.”
A real good pal?I run a hand over my mouth to hide my smile.
Trent stands, shoving away from me, his attention grabbed by two kids his age that I see in here sometimes. He races off to them without so much as a goodbye to his good pal.
“Always the bridesmaid, never the bride,” I say, chuckling as I turn toward the door. I don’t get more than a few steps before I notice Alfie standing in the doorway of his office. He motions for me to join him.
Alfie’s office is tucked into the corner of the building. The chipped paint is barely noticeable under the plethora of plaques and awards hanging on the walls from his career, spanning nearly every aspect of fighting. The man is a legend. The kids in this gym don’t know how lucky they are to be trained by him.
“How’s the shoulder?” he asks as he sits at his desk. I take the seat on the other side. “I peeked in at your session today. Looking strong. Looking better.”
“I’m not feeling too bad. Sick as fuck of the waiting around, though. I just want to be healed up and get back to work.”
He cocks his head back and looks at me down his nose with a smirk. “Don’t act like you don’t like bein’ here. Come on now.”
“I’m starting to wear out my welcome.”
“How are ya gonna do that when I would’ve been out of business without you years ago?”
I wipe my face with my towel, hoping the fabric puts some distance between Alfie and me. He never fails to remind me that I help pay the bills around here, but it’s not something I want to discuss. I’m happy to do it. Iwantto do it. But I’d rather it just happen and otherwise be ignored. It’s the least I can do.
“Hear anything on your license?” Alfie asks.
I shake my head, taking a steady breath. “No, nothing yet. There was supposed to be a vote on it next week, but John Duckworth had a heart attack and had to step down from the commission. So they’re waiting to fill his spot before they make a decision. My manager—you know Isaac, don’t you?”
Alfie nods. “I know of him, yeah.”
“Well, he looped in another private investigator to do some digging. It’s costing me a fucking fortune.”
“They’ll let you back in. I know it worries you, but they will. Have a little faith.”
That’s hard when you know you were set up from the start.
No one outside of the fight world, and only a few of them, know what’s happening with my license. I told Alfie because there isn’t much you can get by him, and I talked to Gray. Being a professional athlete, I knew he’d understand—and he did.
If you tell anyone unfamiliar with the underworld of pro sports that you have allegations floating around about fight fixing, banned substance violations, and bad behavior, it makes you sound like a terrible person. All of that is said about me, but none of it is true.
But it may cost me my livelihood.
“How are things?” I ask, redirecting the conversation from shit that makes me want to scream.
“Same old shit.” He groans as he sits upright. The lines on his face are those of a man who has been the father figure to a sizable portion of Sugar County over the past thirty years. “Got me a tenderloin at Patsy’s for lunch. That’s always a good day.”
A roar of laughter trickles in from the gym, and Trent’s voice rises above them all.
“Hey, while I’m in here, what do you know about that Trent kid?” I ask. “Who is he?”
