I’m sitting at the gym, waiting for Lou to show up from his doctor’s appointment, when Ryan Miller walks in. Or struts is more like it. His fighter name is “Trash Compactor,” which I laughed at the first time I heard it, and it almost earned me a hard right to the jaw. He’s a brawler, and he has no respect for the rules of the sport. Conveniently, he’s far enough out of my weight class that I’ve never had to fight him, but more than once he's tried to antagonize me into a spar. When he sees me sitting in the chairs outside of the locker room, he smirks and heads my way.

Oh, for fuck’s sake…

“What’s up, Burnham? Waiting for your old man trainer to teach you some fisticuffs?” Ryan drawls out. The rumor is he got run out of Georgia because he fought so dirty, no one would get in the ring with him anymore. And I believe it.

“Screw off, Miller. I don’t have time for your deep-fried bullshit.”

He holds his hands up defensively and laughs. “Touchy today, huh? Is it your time of the month?”

He’s needling me, as if implying I’m a woman would be offensive. “Grow up, Miller. I’ve known women who could beat you in that ring with one hand tied behind their back. Now run along and take out some of your self-loathing and pent-up sexual energy on the bag, since I doubt you’ve even touched a woman in years.”

Ryan takes an aggressive step toward me, when out of the corner of my eye I see Kylie walk through the doors. I slide out of the chairs as quickly as I can and run over to her, pushing her back outside. The last thing I need is to see Ryan’s reaction to a beautiful woman in the gym. She looks at me, shocked.

“What the hell, Adam?” Kylie asks as she shimmies out of my arms.

“Sorry. I’m sorry. But not every guy in there is a gentleman. In fact, some of them are straight assholes. And one such asshole is in there now. What are you doing here, Kylie?”

She looks like she’s come straight from the office. She’s wearing a striped pink and blue dress, and a camel-colored coat over top, with point blue heels. Her legs are bare despite the fact the chill of winter is creeping in, and I have to remind myself not to look down. I don’t want to seem like a creep. There are enough of them currently peeking out the barred windows of the gym behind us.

“I needed to talk to you,” she answers hesitantly. “I dropped off your paperwork at the IDFPR, and they promised to fast-track it for me. But I need to know how quickly you can be ready for your first professional fight.”

I feel my blood run cold for a second. “What? That… that’s fast. That’s really fast. Already?”

She scrunches up her face at me, and it’s adorable enough that I forget for a second how afraid I am. “We’re not talking tomorrow or anything. But as soon as your license is approved, I want you in a real arena fight, and I’ve already been talking to some other agents and managers who are willing to put their clients up against you.”

“Oh, God. They think I’m chum, don’t they? Just some scrapper they can put up against their fighters to up their stats?” I start to feel sick, but Kylie just laughs at me. “You’re laughing. That’s great. I’m freaking out, and you’re laughing.”

She waves one hand at me as she wipes tears away with the other. “No, no, it’s not funny. I just didn’t even expect to see you being so… human. Anyway, you won the Golden Glove, Adam. No one is going to take your skills for granted. Just trust that I know what I’m doing, and I’m going to set you up for the best fight possible.”

I nod, trying to slow down my racing heart. “Thank you, Kylie.”

“Don’t thank me yet. I need to tell you something else. I talked to my boss, and…”

“Well, well, well. Who is this pretty little daffodil? Don’t get a lot of your type around these parts,” Ryan says behind us, startling us both. I groan and try to come up with an escape plan, but the gym entrance is down an alley and there is nowhere to go.

“Go back inside, Ryan. It’s cold, and you have enough of a deficit without subjecting your anatomy to this weather,” I mutter under my breath. But he hears it, and punches me square in the stomach. It takes the wind out of my sails, yet I mostly manage to avoid looking like he hurt me. Even though he absolutely did.

“What’s your name, little lady?” Ryan asks Kylie with a wink. She hardly suppresses a gag.

“Not interested and busy is my name. If you could excuse us,” she answers, her shoulders stiffening. Ryan’s whole face contorts into barely disguised rage.

“Well, screw both of you then,” he growls. Then Ryan makes a sudden move on me, like he’s trying to make me flinch, but I don’t budge; then he goes back inside the gym. Once I’m sure he’s gone, I curse in pain. Kylie puts a concerned arm on my shoulder, but I can tell she’s holding back a smile.

“Are you okay?”

I straighten up and attempt to look tough. “Yeah, I’m fine. I hate meathead douchebags like him. I came across more than my share when I was still fighting bare-knuckle. I’m surprised he managed to make it out of that world.”

“Well, with a name like ‘Trash Compactor’…” she says with a chuckle.

“You know who he is?”

Kylie straightens her bag on her shoulder and nods her head at me. “I may be new to Chicago, but I’m not entirely new to this world. Besides, your friend Ryan there has submitted for representation at our agency seven times and has been turned away every time. He’s a lemon. A little bit of parking lot appeal, but nothing but trouble once you look under the hood.”

“And what does that make me?” I ask with a smile.

Kylie turns on her heel and starts walking away from me, her curves looking dangerous, even under her coat. Then she calls over her shoulder, “You… are a diamond in the rough,” before she turns the corner and disappears, leaving me grinning like an idiot.

What have you gotten yourself into, Adam? I think as I walk back into the gym. What have you gotten yourself into?

* * *

“What have you gotten yourself into, Adam?” Jake asks me as our kids run by us, waving toy lightsabers at each other and shouting. Jake and Bree invited Hazel and me over for dinner, which inevitably erupts into a sort of controlled chaos. They have five kids, so even adding one Hazel to the mix means an exponential increase in activity and noise. But Jake seems to thrive on it, and would have five more kids if Bree hadn’t told him he was insane.

I wouldn’t admit it out loud, but I love being here. I soak up the happiness that permeates every wall, and the joy their kids exude from living in a house so full of love. Hazel enjoys it too, and soaks up every second with Bree, who dotes on her. Hazel would never say it because she thinks it would make me sad, but I know how much she misses her mother. She may have only been three when Mandy died, but she remembers enough to feel the loss. I think being around Bree helps her remember.

We’re all sitting on their heated, screened-in porch as Jake barbecues, and Bree tries to sew up a torn pair of jeans that were destroyed by their oldest, Peter. I’m nursing a beer and trying to avoid answering any further questions, but Jake isn’t letting it go.

“I haven’t gotten myself into anything. She’s just my agent,” I say as I finish the beer and crack open another one.

“You can lie to yourself, Sergeant Burnham, but you can’t lie to us. And I can confirm we haven’t seen that look in your eye in…”

Bree stops short of finishing her sentence. No one ever wants to say Mandy’s name, or mention the day we lost her. Sometimes I appreciate it, and sometimes I just want to talk about her, not pretend it never happened. But I don’t want to get into it tonight.

“Can we talk about something else? Anything else?” I grumble.

“Fine. Your first professional fight, huh? And just think. Two years ago, you were getting your ass handed to you on the docks!” Jake says cheerfully. But the look in Bree’s eyes makes it clear nothing about it is funny.

“I don’t understand why you do this. You could do anything else in the world, Adam. I understand why both of you did it when you got back, but if you went into the private sector, you would get punched in the face a lot less. Once a day, max,” she says without looking up from the jeans. Jake just shakes his head, and I laugh.

“Because I’m good at it, Bree. And it seems to be leading me somewhere. I can’t explain it, but I know this is the path I need to be on.”

She doesn’t ask any more questions, which I am grateful for, because I don’t really want to share the real reason I left intelligence. I’ve never told anyone the reason.

“Daddy! DADDY!” Hazel screams from the yard. My heart drops and I’m on my feet and off the porch before I even have a chance to realize what I’m doing. When I get to the side yard next to the house, I find Hazel and the other kids standing in a circle around something. I see that Hazel is upright, and not hurt, and I breathe a sigh of relief.

“Hazel, you scared the shit out of me.”

She turns and scowls. “Language, Daddy! But look! It’s a kitten! I think she’s hurt!”

I lean over the kids, and sure enough, in the middle of their circle is a tiny, gray tabby. She’s breathing, but she’s not moving her back right leg. It looks like she’s been attacked by something. I curse under my breath, “goddammit,” and send Peter to get his dad.

“Daddy, we have to help her! We just have to!”

I squat down and see that she’s probably too young to be away from her mother, and may not have much of a chance. But I know damn well that if I leave this kitten here, my daughter will never forgive me. I take off my sweatshirt and gently slide it under the kitten, then wrap her up so she’s at least a little warmer and protected. Jake comes back with Peter, a confused look on his face when I ask,

“Where is the nearest veterinarian, man?”

* * *

Hazel and I have been sitting in the waiting room of a vet’s office for two hours when my cell phone buzzes. I look down, and it’s Kylie. Hazel is asleep on my arm, so I try to shift and answer as carefully as I can.

“Where have you been? I’ve been trying to call you all night,” Kylie says, annoyed.

“My phone was in my coat, and now I’m starving to death in a veterinarian’s office, thanks for asking.”

She pauses. “A vet’s office? I didn’t see any pets at your house. You have pets?”

“We might depending on the next hour or so. What is going on, Kylie?”

“Yeah,” she answers, still trying to get a handle on what she is missing. “I got you a fight! Confirmed tonight, just have to finalize the details. It’s a title fight at the UIC Pavilion. Can you be ready in two weeks?”

I have to stifle the urge to laugh because I don’t want to wake up Hazel.

“You want me to be ready for a title fight in two weeks? That’s insane. I don’t think—”

She stops me. “Adam, Lou says you’re ready. He says you just need to focus on nothing but training for the next two weeks, and you’ll be more than ready.”

“Mr. Burnham, Dr. Rice is ready to see you,” the vet tech interrupts, as if on cue.

“Kylie, I have to go focus on something other than training. I’ll call you when we get home,” and I hang up before she can say anything else. I wake up Hazel, then we follow the tech back to a huge all-purpose room, with metal beds and kennels. The kitten is asleep on one of the beds, with an IV going into her back. I worry we might have been too late to save her, but Hazel squeezes my hand hopefully.

“She’ll be okay, I know it,” she whispers quietly.

The vet is standing behind the bed and holds his hand out. “Mr. Burnham, I’m Dr. Rice.”

“Adam is fine,” I say shaking back.

“Adam, you found this little fella just in time. I’m afraid we’re going to have to amputate that leg. It looks like he was attacked by another animal, and there isn’t anything we can do to save it. But with some fluids and time to heal, I think he’ll be okay.”

Hazel jumps up and down, radiating happiness. “It’s a boy, Daddy! We can keep him, right? Please?”

I run my free hand over my beard and swallow back a groan. The last thing we need right now is a cat. The absolute last thing.

“Of course, sweetie. Of course we can keep him.”

I’m such an idiot.

“Excellent. We’ll do the surgery tonight, and I suggest letting him stay over here for a few nights to heal and get the medications he needs. But by the end of the week, I think he’ll be ready to come home with you,” Dr. Rice says as he waves at the tech to set up for the surgery. “You better start thinking of names!”

“Ringo!”

I look at Hazel, shocked. “Where in the world did you come up with a name like that?”

She casts her eyes down to the floor and shrugs. “Mommy had a cat named Ringo. I saw it in her photo album.” I pick Hazel up and hold her close.

“Ringo it is. Let’s go get the house ready for him.”