“Increase my hours? I work close to sixty hours a week. Then I spend another twenty at the gym either cleaning shit to pay my dues or training. Where exactly would you like me to pull these extra hours from? I barely even have enough time to sleep as it is.”
“I don’t know what to tell you. You know I’d do damn near anything for you. But putting you into a professional ring without the proper training and watching you fail is not one of those things.”
“Right. I guess I just wasn’t aware Bailey was the next Muhammad Ali.” I was acting like a petulant child, but I was pissed and frustrated.
“That he is definitely not. But his daddy is funding his grand pursuit at going pro. It won’t hurt me one bit to watch him lose.”
“Well, maybe it should. He’s going to make you look like a fool as a trainer,” I bit out just as he finished wrapping my second hand.
I stomped to the door, and just as I pulled it open, I heard him say something else behind me that I couldn’t make out.
“What?” I let out an exasperated sigh and turned to face him, but he was already storming in my direction.
When he reached me, Slate used the heel of his hand to slam the door shut. Leaning into my face, he growled, “And that’s another thing. You would have to go to the fucking ear doctor for your new physical. I set you up with a doctor and even prepaid for the appointment, but you still couldn’t seem drag your ass in to get your hearing checked.”
I blatantly rolled my eyes at his concern.
Stepping up, Slate bumped his chest with mine as he leveled me with a glare. “You know what? I’m done. I’ve let you throw a fit. You’re pissed. I got it. But I am not going to stand here and watch you act like a punk-ass kid. Remember who the fuck you are talking to or march your ass out of my gym for good.”
We stood nose to nose staring at each other.
He was wrong. I wasn’t just pissed. I was jealous. Of him. Of Bailey. Of anyone who got to follow their dreams. Of the people who had money. And most of all, the people who didn’t have to crawl through fucking windows just to feel a single minute of contentment in their lives.
But none of that was Slate’s fault. He might very well have been the closest thing to a father I’d ever had. But what blew my mind was why he did it. He was good to all the kids at the gym, but he had gone out of his way since day one to help me, then Flint, and now Quarry too.
“I’ll go to the doctor next week,” I promised.
“That’d be a good start.” He took a step away.
“And I’ll add a few hours on Sundays in the ring.”
“Another good answer.”
“Sorry,” I finally mumbled.
Slate reached out and squeezed my shoulder. “I get it, Till. I fucking know how you feel. You’re hungry for more in life, and that’s a good quality for a man to have. Don’t ever lose that. Stay hungry. Stay driven. Stay focused. But you need to remember that I’m looking out for what’s in your best interest. Always.”
“I know. I appreciate it all. I really do.”
“I know you do, son. So before you go and get soft on me, let’s keep that adrenaline going and get you warmed up. Let’s make a deal. You take him two rounds, then you have my full permission to knock him the fuck out in the third.”
My eyes grew wide. “Seriously?”
Slate always encouraged us to take it the full three rounds. He drilled into us all that the local league was there for practice and experience, not for laying your opponent out. It still happened sometimes, but it was never the goal.
“His trainer is talking all kinds of shit today. This guy’s apparently the new golden boy over at Three Minutes. I saw a video of him fight a few weeks ago, and I swear he’s just a fat kid who can take a punch. But to hear them tell it, he could go ten rounds with Holyfield.”
I laughed at his assessment. “You know, most people would end that sentence with your name.”
It was Slate’s turn to laugh. “Go on. Get out of here. I’ll meet you out there.”
“Thanks, Slate,” I responded, and we both knew it was for more than just taping my hands. It wasn’t enough. But it was all I had.
“HERE WE GO! HE’S UP!” I stood from my metal folding chair to clap.
“So, how long have you known Till?” Derrick asked beside me.
I had been drawing in one of the notebooks I kept stashed in my purse when he’d surprised me by sitting next to me. I’d met him briefly a few times over the years of watching Till fight. There had been a half-hour delay, so we’d had plenty of time to chat while we’d waited for the fights to start.
“Jeez, um . . . eight years. We grew up together,” I answered with a smile.
Derrick was a good-looking guy—I couldn’t deny that. He was a little preppy for my tastes, but he didn’t seem snobby, so I could overlook the slacks. His hair was sandy brown and perfectly styled. He had sparkling, blue eyes. His bright, white smile was blinding, but not in the heart-stopping way Till’s was.
“So, you two . . . together?” he bumbled out uncomfortably.
“No. We’re just friends.”