I nod and set the device back down by the bowl of change.
He left his phone here on purpose. That’s obvious. He’s sending a message, cutting all ties. As much as it hurts, I can’t deny that it’s probably for the best.
With a wave good-bye to Ryder and Theo, I keep my head down to hide my tears as I scurry out the door and to my car. My mom makes sure I get in okay, and once I’m out of sight, I pull over onto a side street and bawl.
Twenty-three
Killian
One month in London and I’ve managed to fall into a robotic routine. I wake every morning at five and jog The Thames Path along the river. I throw down a mostly tasteless breakfast and shower then head to the training center with Caleb. The training center here is a quarter of the size of the one in Vegas, more like a storefront than a warehouse, but only five miles from home. Just like back in Vegas, I train with different members of the UFL UK team, but all under the supervision and expertise of Caleb. I’ve met so many new people it took weeks for me to remember all their names.
There’s Laise, pronounced like Lacey, the Scotsman who rivals the likes of Jonah Slade in size and ability. His overgrown beard and shoulder-length hair give him an ominous look inside the octagon, but he has the temperament of a kitten when he’s outside it.
Then there are the three local British fighters: Liam, Henry, and Jay who encompass the MMA trifecta: Liam’s ground game, Henry’s stand up, and Jay whose takedowns are better than Rex’s (not that I’d ever admit that out loud).
And finally there are the French siblings, Olivier and Fleur, a brother and sister who’re so bad-ass their blood type must be BA positive.
It’s Ollie who stares at me now as I annihilate the speed bag. His eyes are narrow and assessing. My arms and back, legs and core, all strain with fatigue as the Frenchman lifts a brow at me. I step back and pop off my earbuds. “I don’t care how many times you ask. I still refuse to autograph your dick.”
His mouth lifts in a one-sided grin, and he scratches his shaved head. “Hilarious, Harry.”
I control the urge to sock him in the gut. Just one time these assholes saw me in my glasses and they’ve been calling me some variation of the young wizard’s name ever since.
“Caleb wants you at grappling.” His French accent is weak and mixed with the Londoner accent he’s picked up since he’s lived here most of his adult life. “And you should know you hit like my little sister.”
I laugh and pull off my gloves to wipe the sweat off my forehead. “Is that supposed to be an insult? Because your sister’s quick as shit.”
“That’s what I mean. Your arms are fast; it’s like…like…” His eyes widen. “Magic!”
I grab my shit and make my way over to the grappling pads. “You guys really need to come up with some new material.”
He follows right behind me. “Tell me, Potter, how long did it take until Hermione let you Slytherin, huh?”
He laughs at his own joke, and I can’t help but chuckle too. The guy is creative. I’ll give him that. “Did you know Merlin was a Slytherin?”
“You’re off your trolley.”
“I’m serious. The Merlin was taught personally by Salazar Slytherin.”
“You nerds done?” Caleb calls from the mats, waiting with Liam. My first fight is in three weeks against Hugo “Spidey” Webb. He lost the welterweight title his last fight and is looking to make a comeback, and I’m not going to let him earn it on my back.
“Liam’s been watching Webb’s tapes.” Caleb motions to the stocky Brit. “Let’s run through some ground game and defensive moves.”
Fine by me. Pride isn’t something I’m comfortable feeling. I’d like to think I’m a constant work in progress, that there’s always room for improvement. But the last two grappling sessions I had with Liam I came out on top. Hopefully, he has something new for me today.
“You ready, old man?” I toss my towel away and grin at Liam.
He snarls and flashes his chipped front tooth, which adds a ruthlessness to his already intimidating mug. “Fuck yeah, you little tosspot.”
These guys and their slang. British insults are the cutest damn things I’ve ever heard. “Aw, that’s sweet.”
He growls then lunges, and just like every other day, we move through takedowns, submissions, and escapes.
The weeks go on like this, training every day and going back to the penthouse every night to wind down, make dinner, and read or watch a movie.