“I’m here.”
“Listen, we’re switching up the order of the fights tonight. The bus carrying the lightweights from one of the other gyms got a flat. We’re starting heavy and working backwards to give them time to get here. We’re pushing back the first bell a half hour to give you guys time to finish warming up. Meet me in the dressing room. I need to get you taped up.” Then he turned and walked out, leaving me once again staring at Derrick Bailey’s shit-eating smirk.
“Okay. I’m gonna go grab a seat. Give ’em hell. I hear the guy you got tonight is a beast. Keep your left up, and get a few more wins. Maybe Slate will take you pro too.”
I suddenly had an overwhelming urge to keep my left up, all right. Preferably up around the level of his fucking mouth.
Just as the door closed behind him, Flint whispered, “What a prick! Did Slate really take him pro? He’s going to embarrass the entire gym.”
“I don’t know. Something’s not right though.”
“You’re the best fighter here. Why would he pick Derrick?”
That was a good fucking question, and I fully intended to find out.
“Just get dressed and worry about your fight,” I said, striding out of the locker room.
I found Slate laughing with one of the other trainers in the dressing room.
“You ready for me?” I asked.
“Yeah. Have a seat on the table.” He finished up chatting then grabbed a roll of gauze and tape from the cabinet. “How you feeling?” he asked as he started wrapping my hand.
“Um, Honestly? I’m a little confused.”
“Oh yeah? Why’s that?” He looked up but continued methodically moving the gauze around my hands while holding my eyes.
“I heard you’re taking Derrick pro. That true?”
“Yep. I got him his first fight scheduled for next month. It’s nothing big, but it will get a little money in his pocket and start people talking while we work him up.”
“I thought you didn’t do pro. You sent Hutchins to a whole new gym when he wanted to transition.”
He shrugged. “Things change. I miss it, I guess. I love the amateur stuff, but the true talent makes the leap.”
“Exactly. And you choose to start with fucking Bailey?” I snapped.
His eyes shot up to mine. “Excuse me? You got a problem, then spit it out, but don’t you dare catch an attitude with me.”
“Yeah. I got a problem. How much is he gonna make on that fight next month?” I was still pissed, but I dropped the majority of my attitude.
“Not much. Four or five hundred bucks.”
“Right. Not much,” I scoffed. “I’m easily your best fighter. If this was just something you were itching to do, why the hell wouldn’t you ask me? I need the money. Bailey’s a bum and you know it.”
“Till, you have more than enough on your plate right now without adding something else on top of it. Derrick’s chasing a dream. I’m not stupid. I realize that. Do I think you’re more talented than he is? Absolutely. But you have a family and responsibility outside of that ring.
“Do you have any idea how much time goes into fighting professionally? It’s not something you do for an hour or two every night after you get off work. At least it won’t be for any of my fighters. It’s a full-time fucking job. Forty-plus hours a week. In this gym. Working out, sparing, studying, working out some more. You cannot afford to do that.”
“You managed, didn’t you? You’ve told me at least a dozen times how you had nothing except for your talent when you crossed over. You were just as broke as I am when you started. How the hell did you manage it?”
He finished wrapping my first hand, and I jumped up from the table, physically unable to sit still any longer.
“You’re right. I had nothing when I started. But you have something . . . in the form of two little brothers who depend on you to eat and keep a roof over their head.”
I hated every single word that came from his mouth, but I knew he was right.
I would have given anything to become a professional boxer. I’d shadowboxed that championship fight in the mirror a million times. It wasn’t just the money either. I knew that boxers didn’t make much in the beginning. But I was already broke, so it wasn’t like I’d have to get used to the struggle. No. This was about finally getting to do something that could really better my future. However, like most things, that wasn’t my life.
This was reality.
And I couldn’t even afford to dream.
“This is bullshit,” I mumbled to myself but settled back down on the table.
“Look, how about you increase your hours at the gym and we’ll reevaluate in a few months?”