I shook my head, I knew some of his story, but the parts I knew told me that the boy was going places and it wasn’t slumming it with the club or the underground. He would make something of himself and live a life without worry.
“I think passing all your classes and preparing for your student teaching is great work.” I tried to encourage him.
He explained he wanted to become a physical education teacher, wanting to mentor younger people giving them the tools they needed to survive, especially those that may not have gotten what they need from their own blood.
He was a good man.
“Try telling that to the school.”
“Stop psyching yourself out.”
“It’s not about that, man.” He grunted, barely looking at me.
“What is it about then?”
He paused for a second before answering, probably thinking which would be better, the truth or a lie. “I got behind on making a payment for student housing and now I’m barely scraping by.”
I knew he was doing it on his own, paying for everything and barely surviving.
“What’s left in the account for the rest of the year?” I asked, taking a glance at Stray, who was just standing by shaking his head.
Dillon muttered something.
“Speak up there, princess.” I leaned forward.
“Two thousand dollars,” he said, practically shouting.
It was hard to make the gym stop and turn their heads, but somehow he did it. After the awkward silence, everyone turned back to their drills. I rubbed my chin through my beard, which desperately needed a trim.
I brought him over to the corner away from prying eyes. “College costs that much now? Jesus, bud. I thought you had the work study placement that was adding a little something.”
He shook his head. “They went with someone else, someone that could be at their beck and call.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I’ll make do. But I’m telling you, I need to get into one fight. At least one. Shooter, you know I’m good for it.”
“You know what happened the last time you said that? You could barely walk for a month because you had pushed yourself too far to prove that you were something. Dillon, I can’t do that to you.” My hand plopped on his shoulder, giving him a good squeeze. “Not again.”
His shoulders slumped, and the look he gave me was pure disappointment and utter rejection. I’d seen it a time or two when men wanted to fight in the desert but ultimately were told to sit their asses down. Those men wanted to fight, to take up arms. But Dillon had more heart and good intentions. Not the pure greed that flooded that underground.
Stray stepped closer to us, giving me the look of “you sure about this?” and I couldn’t shake the feeling that he had more faith in Dillon than I did. I racked my brain, not trying to go back on my word.
Maybe I had a soft spot for the kid, a gentle reminder of myself being like that before joining the military. Young, innocent. And now look at me, brutal, blood thirsty, someone that would snap your neck at the drop of a hat. A true darkness that sucked me in further, creeping closer to the surface. Waiting for a light to brighten my days.
I sighed, hanging my head before snapping it back to meet Dillon’s eyes. I pointed to him. “One fucking fight, bud. Just one and then you’re back to teaching the newbies on the weekend for community service.”
Dillon’s face brightened up, giddy with excitement. I swear if he was a dog, he’d be wagging his tail. Like a kid on Christmas morning.
“Don’t get too excited, that means more gym time and then in a few weeks we could look at getting you a fight. But I’m serious.”
He threw his hands up, “One fight. That’s all I need, Shooter.” One fight, and a decent pay out.
I had hoped I wasn’t wrong in my decision. Before I could grumble, Stray threw some gloves in my direction. “Get to it, coach.” There was a smug look on his face. It took me a second.
I leaned over the ropes, as Dillon started to bounce in the other corner, warming up. I leaned closer to Stray, the grizzly man himself. “You fucking knew he was going to ask me, didn’t you?”
“He may have said something about needing money to another fighter and I may or may not have given him someinspiration.” He shrugged.
“Bastard. That was some inspiration.”
“What can I say? I’m a muse.”
