Take Me On

John’s eyes snap to mine and his fingers freeze. “What do I get out of it?”


“An awesome fighter.” West did take down Conner’s little friend and bruised the hell out of Conner’s face. It’s definitely arguable that West has raw talent.

“Can he pay?”

My face tightens as I try to smile. “Probably not, but I heard you’re looking for a volunteer to clean the gym and I’m sure he’ll do it.”

“Not enough. What else do you got?”

“I’ll return to the gym and train.” Swallowing prevents dry heaves, but the tingling in my head indicates I probably went green. Just the thought of fighting makes me ill.

John pulls on his bottom ear as if that will help him correctly hear what I uttered. When he accepts that hell hasn’t invested in snow-removal trucks and that pigs haven’t taken to air, he speaks. “Sit down.”

With my foot, I push a boxful of paperwork to the side and drop into the seat across from my grandfather. He resumes his angry typing and ignores me. On the filing cabinet behind him is a picture of me and him after my last fight. He has his arm around me and both of us hold up an end of the belt I won. I barely remember what that type of smile feels like on my face.

Since there was a lack of female kickboxers in the area, I trained with the guys in the gym and we had to travel to find tournaments for me, which meant a ton of one-on-one time with my grandfather. The two of us were close, very close. Now we’re as far apart as strangers.

John clicks the mouse. “What’s this about?”

I weigh whose truth I should tell. “I’ve got a friend who’s going to be in a fight in two months and he needs someone to train him.”

John’s seat squeaks as he relaxes back and links his fingers together across his stomach. The smirk informs me I’m in trouble, but it’s the chuckle that grates against my nerves. “Are we talking about your new boyfriend that jumped Conner?”

I officially hate Jax and Kaden. “Yes.”

He chuckles again and the smile fades. “Fight for me, Haley.”

I’m shaking my head before the final word leaves his mouth. “No.”

“I want more than you gracing us with your presence in my gym. You remain the best talent I’ve seen in years—”

I interrupt, “You have Kaden and Jax.”

“In years,” he repeats. “And you threw it away. You want that college scholarship? You’ll get more than a recommendation from me. You’ll have current titles. What more do you need?”

“No.”

“Haley...” John runs his hands through his gray-and-white-peppered hair.

“No!”

“At least tell me why! Tell me the truth. Tell me why you walked away.”

I lean forward with the urge to bolt from the cramped office. My breathing picks up and I rub the sweat off my palms onto my jeans. “Because.”

“Dammit.” Both of his hands land on his desk and I jump with the impact. “What the hell happened to you?”

My pulse pounds in my ears. Did Jax and Kaden snitch about the night they found me in the garage? I wipe my palms against my jeans again, except this time I’m not attempting to expel sweat but the memory of the blood that caked my hands. “I’ll train here again, but no sparring. I can’t spar, okay? It’s my offer. Take it or leave it.”

It’s silent as he stares at me. I try to count my heartbeats, but it’s next to impossible.

“Then we’ve got nothing to discuss.” John pretends he’s in his office alone and writes on a piece of paper.

“He needs help.” I need help, but I can’t admit it. There’s always been a part of me that has craved to rest my head on my father’s or grandfather’s shoulders and tell them the truth, but then they’d see me for who I am and how can that help? They already hate who they believe me to be. No reason to make them despise me more.

“You know my asking price.”

I prop my elbow on the arm of the chair and cover my eyes with my hand. “Then I’ll train him. At least let me use the gym to do it.”

The scratching of pen against paper ceases. I can’t look at him. I just can’t.

“If you train at my gym again, then you can use the facility, but he only spars or trains with me or the others if I get you as a fighter.”

I part two fingers and peek at the evil old man across from me. “I won’t spar.”

“I wouldn’t throw you immediately back into your old training regimen even if you asked. I’ll ease you in, but if you agree to spar when I say, then I’ll help you train him.”

I straighten. “I’m not sparring, old man. Get it through your thick skull.”

Totally unaffected by my outburst, he continues, “How are you going to train him without sparring? In fact, how are you going to work your job, train in my gym, then find extra time to train someone else? Agree to one fight for me and I’ll take him off your hands.”

My heart beats manically and a cold clamminess blankets my skin. I can’t spar. I can’t fight. Not even for West. “I’ll train him when I get off work.”