“Luke, finish that set and take a break. You’re up in the ring in an hour,” Joe tells me.
“Yes, sir,” I answer.
Grabbing my water jug, I refill it and rehydrate before I have to hit the ring. Joe has a room off the side of the locker room just for relaxing after a hard workout. It’s plain, with just a lounge chair, a side table, a lamp, and fitness magazines. Taking a load off, I prop my feet up and put my earbuds in to listen to my tunes for a few minutes.
I’ll have to hit the jump rope before I enter the ring to warm up my footing and get my blood pumping. For now, though, I just want to enjoy the time alone. My thoughts automatically go to Andi, especially since most of the music on my phone is from her. She made several different playlists, each with a different theme and feeling. She uses music to communicate, and sometimes she’ll just text me the name of a song to listen to and I immediately know what she’s trying to tell me.
After spending a few minutes with Andi, through her music selection, I feel energized. When I walk back into the gym, I see a couple of guys in suits talking to Joe and Mack. Walking over to Shane, I jerk my chin in their direction. “Who are they?”
“Not sure. But Joe seemed happy to see them,” Shane says.
“Luke, come on over here. I want you to meet these guys,” Joe calls out to me.
The two men watch me with obvious curiosity as I approach them. “Luke, this is Charlie Russell,” he says, pointing to the taller man. “And this is Artie Pascal.” He points to the shorter, portly man.
I shake both of their hands, introduce myself with a quick “Luke Woods,” and immediately want to go wash the sleaze off my hands. I sense snake oil salesmen.
“Charlie and Artie are fight promoters, Luke. They look for talent to fight in the exhibition rounds before a major fight. There’s a welterweight fight coming up in two months, and they’re filling the exhibition spots now. They want to get a look at you in the ring. Interested?”
“Sure, no harm in them watching,” I say nonchalantly. This is really a great opportunity, but it can also be a setup to be a journeyman, the guy who loses just to make the other guy look good. That’ll never be me.
Charlie and Artie smile widely, but their eyes tell me they know I’m onto them. Joe and Mack must sense it as well because their smiles show pride. I haven’t been here at Joe’s gym that long, but I was a street fighter for several years. I have more street smarts than most give me credit for.
Joe calls one of the other serious heavyweights over to spar with me. “Chris, fight like you mean it. Luke will be after your blood.”
“You got it,” Chris nods and dons his gear.
We’ll obviously still wear our headgear, but we’ll be scored and a winner will be pronounced at the end of the fight. Chris is a good guy, but most fighters don’t take the punches personally anyway. It’s the sneaky shit that makes a fighter mad—the hits below the belt that are hidden from the referee, the punches to the kidneys that are meant to incapacitate the opponent, and jabbing the eyes with the thumb of their glove.
Joe instructs everyone on day one that if he sees any intentional fouls, that fighter will be thrown out of his gym. Knowing that Chris wants this chance as much as I do, I know he won’t risk excommunication from Joe. A ringside assistant wraps my hands with tape and helps put my gloves on. Once my mouthpiece is in, I take a few minutes to bounce around the ring, warming my muscles, getting the blood flowing throughout my body, and ramp up my energy level.
Our unofficial referee climbs into the ring and calls both of us to the middle. Going over the rules, he makes sure we both understand and then sends us back to our corners to await the bell. We “shake hands,” meaning we bump gloves, and retreat to our assigned corners.
When the bell rings, we each come out in a straight line toward the other. My mind is set on winning this fight, regardless if Chris is my friend outside the ring. There are no friends inside the ring. There are only winners and losers. Today, I’m showing them what I’m made of, and that if they think they’re using me to make someone else look good, they’d better think again.
Chris swings first. I duck his punch and counter with a left hook to his ribs, followed by a right jab to the chin. While he’s temporarily dazed, I continue throwing punches. Leaning forward, he wraps his arms around me to stop the assault. The referee separates us and quickly jumps back out of the way.
Chris steps toward me and throws a straight right at my face. My guard is up, but I move to dodge the blow anyway. His right hand connects with my arm, and he moves in for a body punch. Twisting away from him, I surprise him with a left uppercut to the jaw. He was a little too confident and let his guard down, giving me access to his face.
The bell rings, and the referee sends us to our corners. My corner man is waiting with a water bottle, a bucket, and a towel to wipe the sweat from my brow. “When he cocks his right hand back, his left automatically draws down. Dodge to your right and knock his ass out with that incredible left hook of yours. Right to his damn jaw. He’ll never see it coming.”
He shoves my mouthpiece back into my mouth just as the bell rings. We dance around the ring, each waiting for the other to be the aggressor. One of Chris’s weaknesses is he’s impatient. He won’t wait out the other fighter for too long, so I knew he’d be the one to give in and come at me first.
When he finally prepares for his predictable right power punch, I do exactly as my corner man suggested and quickly dodge to my right. When Chris puts all of his weight behind his punch, he loses his balance since he doesn’t connect. I move in for the knockout punch to his face. He whirls around and crumples to the mat.
The referee jumps in, pushes me back away from Chris, and begins his count. Chris tries to get up, but his bell has definitely been rung. He reaches the ropes and uses the lowest rope to try to pull up. The referee continues his count until he reaches ten. The bell rings, the referee holds my hand up as the winner, and I’m still shocked as shit.
I just knocked him out in the second round.
“Damn, son! That was impressive! If you’d landed that hit in the first round, this fight would’ve been over a long time ago,” Charlie praises.
“Joe, why have you been hiding him from us?” Artie laughs as he claps him on the shoulder. “Luke, good fight, really good. I can see that killer instinct in your eyes. You’re definitely going places.”
Joe, Mack, Charlie, and Artie walk away to discuss my future without me as my ringside assistant removes my gloves and takes the tape off my hands. Chris walks over and congratulates me on the fight. “You got one hell of a punch, man,” he says, rubbing his jaw. I shake his hand with a chuckle and we’re right back to being friends again.
When I turn to climb through the ropes, Syndi is standing just inside the gym door. Her mouth is gaping open, her eyes are wide, and she isn’t moving at all. “What’s wrong, Syndi?” I ask.
“I’ve never seen anything like that before. I’ve never been to a client’s fight before,” she says, finally finding her voice.
