Page 87 of The Knockout Rule

Eric hissed out a sore breath, hating where this was going. “What is it?”

“A barbecue chain that boasts massive meat platters. They want you dressed like a barbarian, gnawing on their meat, doing a few Brick Smash grunts.” Preston spoke smoothly, his tone matter of fact, like the prospect didn’t make Eric physically ill.

More aches added to his endless list, but maybe this humiliation was a solution. A way to ease into retirement. “How much are they offering?”

“Fifty grand, but I can get that number up.”

It wasn’t thirty million, but, aside from Preston’s cut, most of the money would be Eric’s. No cash would be lost to a setup like this Vegas show or to training and his wellness team if he actually quit boxing. He’d likely have enough to cover the medical bills and pay Preston what he owed. Plan for his future. His nausea shifted slightly into the stirrings of hope. “I’ll do it.”

“Really? I thought for sure you’d say no.”

“I’ll do it,” he repeated and looked his manager in the eye. “I’m also retiring from boxing. It’ll be my last Brick Smash gig.” He’d stretch that money, live leanly and get a job while finishing school. Be a regular guy with a regular life, one that included keeping his word to Isla.

Preston frowned, then walked over and leaned on the lockers, facing him. “You want out?”

If Eric was honest with himself, he’d never wanted in. “It’s time. It’s not what I want anymore, but I need that cash. So, yeah—I’ll do the commercial.”

“If it’s not what you want, I’ll support you. You know I always have your back, but that plan can’t work.”

Eric moved to rub his eyes, then thought better of touching his swollen skin. “Why not?”

Preston’s phone buzzed. He checked it, then shoved it back in his pocket. “Sorry. As per the endorsement, they don’t want a retired guy for the ad. They want Brick Smash, intimidating-as-hell boxer. If you quit, they’ll use someone else. If you lie about it and quit afterward, it’ll look bad. They could sue.”

Eric muttered, “Fuck,” and pushed off the lockers, pacing. Every move shot pain to his broken ribs. He didn’t care.

He couldn’t keep boxing. He didn’t want it, but he needed that money. Always the money. His choices were once again ripped away from him, but Eliza’s health was more important than his wants. If she got sick again, he’d make sure she got the best care.

He quit pacing and faced Preston. “What if I fight one more match? No promises of more down the line. As long as I have one on the books, they’ll hire me, right?”

Preston pocketed his hands, rocked on his heels. “Theoretically, I don’t see why not. No career is a guarantee. As long as you’re still in it, they’ll be on board.”

So that was it. One more fight and a ridiculous commercial. He’d have to convince Isla this would be it. That she was strong enough to stay with him. She’d mentioned how much better she’d felt lately with the therapy and talking to Heather. She’d understand his choices were limited. Losing her wasn’t an option when he’d already lost so much.

“Fine,” he told Preston. “Book me another fight.”

“Another fight?”

Eric’s attention snapped to the locker room entrance, to Isla standing there looking like she’d been punched in the stomach.

* * *

Isla must have heard them wrong. Eric had promised he’d quit boxing. He’d spoken the vow when she’d hesitated to pursue their connection, unable to imagine a future with this remarkable man.

After I win this fight, I’ll quit. You won’t have to worry about dealing with the training and the fights. I’ll just be a man, putting the woman he cares about first.

“Just one fight,” he said now. “One match, so I can secure an endorsement deal.”

The move made sense, but she’d been here before. Her father retiring, then returning to the ring. Her father never really seeing how his boxing affected those he loved. It was always one more fight. Then one more and one more, until he was lying on his hotel floor, a gash to his head, because Parkinson’s had knocked him on his ass.

That could be Eric one day. He might look invincible now, big and strong and at the top of his fitness, when he hadn’t been boxed to a pulp. This wasn’t athleticism, though. This was science. Boxers exposed to repeated head trauma weren’t likely to live long, healthy lives. Eric may not know about her father’s illness, but he knew how this sport had torn her down time and again. He’d promised this would be the end for him, offering her what she’d needed to hear, sealing the deal to be with her. Had it all been an act?

“You promised you’d quit,” she finally said, her breathing coming fast. “You knew I wouldn’t date a boxer, and you promised. Was that all bullshit? Lies to get what you wanted?”

“I’m not sure what’s going on here,” Preston said slowly, his attention bouncing between Isla and Eric. “But if he promised you he’d quit, he meant it. He even told me he wanted out before you walked in.”

Preston could be protecting his client, having Eric’s back. Isla could barely think through her hammering pulse and the twisting in her stomach. She looked hard at Eric, focused on his intense eyes. Even through the swelling, his pleading bled through. Remorse and sadness in the depths of his gray gaze. No. His promise hadn’t been an act. If he’d won, he’d have quit. Unfortunately, none of those good intentions changed Eric’s broken promise.

Frustration and sadness winded her, along with a flood of guilt. She’d rushed here, desperate to help Eric deal with the blow of his loss. He stood slightly bowed, his bruised face pinched and his breaths shallow, like he was in pain. Her father had come home looking like that and worse, walking gingerly around the house. Wincing when he coughed or talked or chewed.