“You know, you’ll never get abs like mine you keep eating that shit,” I told him.
“I think I’m okay,” he replied, lifting his shirt with the hand that wasn’t stuffing his face. Em took a sneak peek at the six-pack on show, giggling when I growled again. I still wasn’t entirely comfortable with her being around Earnshaw, mainly because I was a possessive, jealous arsehole, but I’d put up with almost anything to hear the beautiful sound of her happiness, however fleeting it was.
“You ready for some real work then?”
“Bring it on,” I dared him as I switched to one-handed push-ups. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”
Chapter 15
“Kier!” I shouted across the gym.
“What?” he called back.
“Come and rescue me from the American before I punch him in the face,” I answered him.
“You can punch me if you can catch me. But you can’t because you’re not fight-ready and you’re slow as shit.” Earnshaw danced around the ring like he was Muhammad Ali.
I’d been training since before dawn, I was dog tired, and getting fucking sick of making him look bad in front of my wife. I rolled my head around my shoulders and bounced a while to loosen up.
“You know the great thing about having lifelong friends who’d do anything for you,” I said quietly, so that only he could hear. “There’s always someone around to hold you down,” I told him without waiting for his answer. I looked behind him, and he followed my gaze, expecting to see my guys jump him. When he turned back after realizing that no one was there, I punched him in the face and knocked him out.
“Con, you’re gonna give that kid brain damage.”
“Danny, he left a good job in America to come and work for you and get in the ring with me. I think he was a little bit brain-damaged anyway.”
“Did you angry knock him out?” he asked me.
“I’m not mad. He was just annoying me,” I answered him truthfully.
“I’d give you a feckin’ bollocking but his constant yammering’s been getting’ on my feckin’ nerves for the last half an hour.”
“Is he all right?” Em asked me. She always got worried when one of us was knocked out. Well, one of them. I never got knocked out. I can’t imagine how ape shit she’d go if I was. I checked him over, not wanting her to worry. I knew he’d be okay. Already he was starting to come round.
“Can you please stop knocking me out?” he asked me as he pushed himself up to sit against the ropes.
“Can you please stop pushing my buttons in front of Em? As long as she’s here, motivation isn’t a problem. But you telling her I’m slow or that I’m not ready, it pisses me off but it upsets her. Makes her worry. I can’t have that.” I nodded in her direction as I spoke, and she gave me a small, nervous smile.
“I hear you,” he said as Em handed him a mug.
“Cup of tea,” she replied, as she climbed out of the ring.
“I don’t drink tea,” he whispered to me, and he got points from me for not offending her.
“If it’s going spare, I’ll take that,” Kieran told him as he climbed in the ring after Em.
“Don’t worry about it,” I told Earnshaw. “It’s sort of what Em does when someone needs comfort. She either drinks tea or makes it for someone else. We’ll break it to her that you only like coffee when you haven’t just been knocked out.” The three of us sat propped up against the ropes, Kieran drinking his tea, Earnshaw trying to focus his vision, and me waiting for Danny to come out of the office and bawl me out for taking a break.
“What the feckin’ hell is this?” I heard, and we all smiled. “Deaf, dumb, and blind, the three feckin’ stupid monkeys. You wanna sit round like a bunch of old ladies, fuck off down the Salvation Army cafe. They’re having tea and biscuits with the pensioners today. They invited me but I told them I couldn’t take all the excitement. Watching you three train is much more relaxing. It shouldn’t be. Now move!” he barked across the ring, and we jumped to attention.
Earnshaw got up too quick, got dizzy, and fell back down, which made Danny roll his eyes and walk toward the storage cupboard, muttering all the while about the travesty that was our generation. He came back with three skipping ropes and chucked them at us. Climbing out of the ring, I nudged Earnshaw. “Change out of your trainers and put some boxing shoes on. Danny keeps a couple of spare pairs in the cupboard.”
“I’ve got my own. I’ve just never used them for jumping rope before.”
“In this country, mate, it’s called skipping,” Kieran told him.
“Skipping is for little girls. Jumping rope is for fighters,” he replied.
“Well us ‘little girls’ are gonna kick your arse.”
“Con, maybe,” Earnshaw retorted, “but not you.”
”We’ll see,” said Kieran, grinning cockily. “Danny makes every fighter, from the juniors to us, skip for hours. It teaches you how to transfer weight from foot to foot quickly and builds solid muscle.”