Reid stepped to the interior office window and looked out at all the things that had been a part of his life for as long as he could remember. A ring for sparring, mats for grappling, padded dummies, punching bags, weights, and cardio machines. A feeling of indifference settled in the center of his chest like a crushing weight. He’d noticed that a lot lately upon entering the gym. Not even the familiar smells and sounds brought on the usual excitement.
He shrugged, feeling the tension knots in his shoulders. “It is what it is, Butch. Lucie isn’t cut out for this life. If I bring her into it, she’ll only end up leaving. She deserves someone better than me. Better than a fighter.”
“Ah, Christ.” Butch returned to his chair from earlier and gestured to the one Reid had first occupied. “Have a seat.” Too tired to argue, Reid did as he was told. “Now I want you to listen and listen good. I’m sure you know this already, but I’ve never said it outright, so here it is: You know me and Martha couldn’t have any kids of our own. Hell, it’s why she’s a schoolteacher and I decided to take on young men like yourself.
“Now I care for all my fighters—if I didn’t, they’d be out on their asses looking for a new coach—but you’ve been with me a long time, and you’re like a son to me. And no son of mine would have such a fucked up self-image. That’s your old man talkin’ through you, is what that is, and it’s a bunch of bullshit.”
“Butch, before I showed up she was half in love with an orthopedic surgeon. The guy took her on a date and wanted to take her on more. He’s got money, good looks, and has a shit load of things in common with her.”
“So?”
“So I’m already going in as the underdog! In the grand scheme of what women look for in a guy, Dr. Douchebag wins hands down.”
“On paper. He only wins on paper, kid.” Butch leaned forward and smiled. “What have I always told you the trump card is in any fight?”
Reid met the steady gaze of his coach and started to see a glimmer of light at the end of that long, dark tunnel he’d been in for weeks. “Heart. Any fighter can win against any odds if he has more heart than his opponent.”
Butch slapped him on the shoulder and sat back with a satisfied smirk. “Exactly. And not only do you have heart, son, I’d wager you’ve got hers, too, if you want it. But that’s up to you. Now, go home and get some rest. No matter what you decide you still have a fight tomorrow and I need your head on straight or you’re gonna get it knocked off. Understand?”
“Yes, sir,” he replied as he got up to leave. Just as he opened the office door his coach called his name.
“No matter what happens, I’m here for you. Good luck, son.”
It seemed like such a normal sentiment. One that a person would hear any number of times in their life. And yet, that had been the first time Reid had ever heard those words.
He tried to speak—even a muttered “thanks” would’ve been acceptable—but his throat had completely closed up, not to mention his eyes were starting to water. Before he completely broke down he gave his coach a curt nod and closed the door behind him.
…
Reid straddled a chair with his wrists propped on the back as Scotty wrapped the athletic tape around his hands and fingers, preparing him for his fight with Diaz.
He’d had all night and most of the day to figure out what he was going to do about the situation with Lucie. A couple of hours ago he made a decision. A decision he couldn’t have predicted a few months ago, but one he was surprisingly at peace with.
A knock sounded on the door and Scotty looked to Reid for direction. Some fighters hated any type of distraction before a fight. Reid had never been the kind who needed to drown out the world with music blasting in his ears as he jumped around the room, psyching himself up. He was more like a snake hiding in the grass. Quiet, patient, and introspective until the cage door closed behind him and it was time to strike.
Reid nodded at Scotty who then called for the person to enter.
Assuming it was one of his teammates wanting to hang out in the room with him, he didn’t look up. But at the first sound of the man’s voice, Reid’s head snapped up to see his father standing in the doorway, wringing his gray plaid cabbie hat in his hands.
“Hey,” Stan said before clearing his throat. “I don’t mean to bother you, but I just wanted to let you know I was here, so…”
Scotty ripped the roll of tape off and secured the end with a few hard pats. “You’re all set, Andrews. You’ve got about a half hour or so.” Glancing at Reid’s dad, he added, “I’ll tell your corner team to wait for you out in the hall.”
“Thanks, Scotty.” He waited for the door to close again before standing and addressing the man who hadn’t come to one of his professional fights before. “Why’re you here, Pop?”
“Look, if you want me to go—”
“That’s not what I said. I just want to know…why now?”