Stan scoffed. “Live out there as what? A retired has-been fighter living off his son’s charity? No thanks. I shoulda been your manager.”
Reid worked his jaw and repeated a calming mantra in his head several times before allowing himself to speak again. “Look, I didn’t come here to argue. I was in the area and thought I’d say hi—talk—but if you’re too busy that’s fine, too.”
After a minute or two of staring at each other, his dad finally showed signs of life. “Peterson. Grady. Hit the bags for a while. You,” he said pointing at Reid, “come with me.”
Reid followed his dad into the small office consisting of a worn metal desk and a couple of folding chairs in front of it. Stan sat behind the desk in the beat-up vinyl chair sporting several strips of silver duct tape to hold torn edges together. Reid spun one of the chairs around and straddled it, laying his forearms on the back. Everything in him told him to get up and leave. He knew he wasn’t going to get any warm and fuzzies from his father. At least, that’s how things would’ve gone years ago. Maybe his father had softened over the years.
Yeah, and maybe his mom would walk through the door and say how she hadn’t meant to leave them like a pair of shoes she no longer cared about.
One of the things his father had taught Reid was to analyze people’s body language. If you paid attention to that—whether in a fight or out of one—you could almost always anticipate your opponent’s next move or how they’d react to yours.
The older man leaned back in the chair and folded his arms over his barrel chest. He was guarded and unhappy about his son’s surprise visit. “So why’re you here? I’m sure you’re not looking for any pointers with all them fancy trainers you have back in Vegas. You come to gloat about your success?”
“Geez, Pop, can’t you just drop your resentment of life for one fucking minute?” When all he did was scoff, Reid took a deep breath and tried for civil. “I have a fight coming up. It’s a title fight to win my belt back from Diaz.”
“Yeah. I know all about it.” Stan gestured toward Reid’s arm. “Shoulder healed?”
The fact that his father knew about his fight and his injury shouldn’t surprise him. Being an active coach it only made sense that he still followed the sport. But damn if that little kid inside of Reid didn’t swell with pride at knowing his dad was up-to-date on his life. Stupid kid.
“Yeah, almost a hundred percent. I’ve been working with a really great PT. She’s worked fucking miracles with it. Actually, you know who she is. Lucie, Jackson Maris’s little sister. Remember her?”
Reid was taking a chance bringing up the Maris family for any reason with his father. Since Reid had spent any spare time he had at Jackson’s house, the relationship between the adults had been strained to say the least.
His dad stroked the stubble on his jaw with one hand as he thought back. Then he grunted. “Quiet little thing. Kinda gangly and awkward if memory serves.”
“Not anymore,” Reid said with a half smile. “She’s gorgeous, not to mention totally amazing. But, yeah, that’s the one.”
Stan leaned forward, his eyes narrowing. “You fucking love her or something?”
“No, it’s not like that. I mean, yeah, I really care for her—” Reid cursed on an exhale. “I was thinking about maybe trying to do the whole relationship thing. See where it leads.”
Stan jabbed a finger in his direction. “Now you listen to me, boy. You might be in the twilight of your career, but I’ll be damned if you haven’t managed to stay on top with as old as you are. You’d be a fucking idiot to throw that away for a woman.”
Reid stared his old man down and kept his jaw clenched tight to avoid yelling and causing a scene. “I’m not throwing anything away. There are plenty of guys that manage to have relationships while having careers in the UFC. Some are even married.”
“And how many of those”—he actually paused to make air quotes around the next word—“relationships actually last? I’ll tell you right now, there’s only two kinds of women out there. The kind that love the lifestyle, the publicity, the traveling. It’s what they crave and it offsets all the shit they have to put up with to have it. But as soon as it’s gone, so are they.
“Then you have the kind of woman who won’t put up with the life. They might at first, and they’ll tell themselves that it’ll get better and the relationship is worth the sacrifices. But eventually they realize they deserve better than what we can give ‘em, and then they’re gone, too.”