Chapter 8
Austin taps out, slapping the fuck out of my arm and grimacing as I cut off the air supply to his head. I release and he rolls to his back, his body still. I check to make sure he’s not out cold when he blinks to me with glassy eyes.
“You’re a fucking dick to spar with,” he rasps.
I laugh. “And you’re a pussy.”
He chuckles and rolls to his knees. “Yet I’m your favorite sparring partner.”
I slap his shoulder. “Easy to beat. Easy to feed my ego.”
He lets out a hard laugh as he slowly stands to his feet. “Your ego is big enough without my help. We all fill you with far too much confidence.” He puffs a breath and then claps my shoulder. “It’s your time to shine, man. Break out of the little guys and go stand with the big dogs.”
I tip my chin. “My plans.”
He slides his gloves off. “Good. I’m gonna take off, but tomorrow, you better bring you’re a-game. I won’t be an easy conquer for you.”
I laugh. “Whatever you have to tell yourself.”
He grins and walks away, grabs his duffle bag, and heads out the door.
I glance around to my empty gym. It feels weird as fuck not having my coaches here just days before my championship fight. Normally, they’d be kicking my ass, forcing me to use every muscle, reminding me of every move I’ve ever learned, and jarring my thoughts from what I thought would happen. They enjoy having my training partners blindside me with something preplanned.
I enjoy it too. Keeps me on my toes.
Unfortunately, the stacks were against us. They both had some personal business they needed to take care of before flying out to Florida for the fight. With Daniel’s wedding approaching and Flynn’s oldest child about to take off to college, I’m sure the next few months will be sparse of their company.
Whit warned me this morning she’d be working late, which leaves me with nothing to do and bored out of my mind. Why? Because all I want to do is wait for her. Besides, Gracie is at school, Jackson and Kyce are at work, and Sarah will obliterate me because when I come over, I purposely irritate her by leaving little messes in her clean house. I love to aggravate her.
What are brothers for?
I’m heading into my locker room when I hear the thud of the large door from the main area. I take a step back and see Carter glancing around timidly.
“What’s up, man?” I offer. “Where’ve you been?”
Since the first time he started coming here, he’s been here every day. Yet strangely, I haven’t seen him in a while.
His smile is hiding something else. Something more sullen. “Came to see how you’ve been doing.”
I shake my head. “I’m always good. You?”
He glances away, twisting his thumbs before jamming his hands into his pockets. He looks exhausted. “Been better. Hey, you still looking for some help?”
“Who’s asking?”
He drops his view to his feet. “Me.”
I nod my head behind me. “Want to punch it out? Always helps me.”
His face lights up, his sad brown eyes glimmering as he nods.
I grab the pads and it’s as if he’s waited for this for a while. He means business, slamming his glove-covered knuckles into my hands. Swing after swing, he dumps all his frustrations. He looks different with sweat forming across his brow. I’ve not seen this much pissed off determination from him ever. He’s always carried himself quietly. Although I know he’s got a cocky mouth, he’s normally timid.
He stops, hands on his thighs, and tries catching his breath. Sweat drips from his face.
I knew he would run out of gas fast. “You can’t hold your breath as you swing.” I straighten him up. “You’ll breathe better standing up,” I inform him.
He nods loosely, gulping in air. “My stepdad found out my mom’s been helping me with the apartment.”
“I can always use a helping hand. It’ll only be part time, though,” I say.
“You probably think I’m a punk who can’t do shit on his own,” he bites.
I tighten my lips. “It sounds like you need to quit listening to your stepdad. People hit hard times. Getting help doesn’t make you a punk.”
This spasm of compassion is Whitney’s fault. Fucking shit. She’s rubbing off on me.
He pinches the bridge of his nose. “I had a good job, but the owner went through a horrible divorce. Somehow his ex-wife took it all and forced him to shut it down. He got me another job at a factory. I like the job, but the fucking pay sucks. I’m already at top pay. No damn where else to go.”
I’m not used to this. So I nod like I understand. Truthfully, I don’t. When I turned eighteen, I was lucky enough to have a contract that promised me a hefty paycheck. Before that, it was odds and ends. But my parents made sure none of us Hayes boys struggled.
“Sorry, dude.” He shakes his arms out. “I’m pissed.”
I go over his part time roll at the gym. His hours are flexible, but I expect him to show up every day. It’s an easy job. Boring honestly.
After showing Carter around, I came home and showered. The sun is setting when Whit comes through the door and sets her purse and a binder on the counter. She drops, arms out to her side, flat on her back onto the couch.
I chuckle. “Bad day?”
“Not bad. Just really long.”
“Have you eaten?”
“Candice had Chinese delivered. How was your day?” she asks, lifting her head to me.
“I gave Carter a job today,” I tell her.
She pushes up and her eyes widen with warmth. “Really? I bet he’s excited. That was sweet of you.”
“I don’t do sweet except to you,” I remind her. “But your compassion is wreaking havoc on me.”
She giggles and then moves to me, sitting on my lap. “I think it’s sexy,” she says.
“I’ve always been sexy,” I counter.
She places a soft kiss on my chin. “That you have.”
“Can I give you a shower?” I ask with all the right intentions of fucking her.
She hears it and grins impishly. “Do you sit around when I’m not here and think of sex?”
I laugh. “No.”
“You’re a virile man.”
“You sound like you’re complaining,” I say.
She shakes her head, but my phone rings underneath us, cutting our conversation short.
“Pussy whipped,” I sing, answering the phone.
“Oh, hell no. You’re the one engaged to get married. You’re the ultimate whipped,” Matt cackles.
“Wait? Are your eyes the green ones now?” I laugh.
“You dumb fuck. They’ve always been green,” he jokes.
“That’s right. You’ve always been envious of me,” I banter back.
“Pfft. In your damn dreams. You’re just competitive and had to outdo me, that’s all.”
I bark out a laugh.
“Look,” he switches, sounding more serious. “I’m not going to make it to your fight. Work won’t let me off that day. But I’ll have it on the television. Holly is excited about it too. She’s just having a hard time expressing it,” he laughs.
Yeah, right. Holly wishes I’d fall off the face of the Earth. Girl code bullshit.
“I get it. It’s all good. Just be ready to celebrate,” I tell him.
“I’m fucking stoked, man. It’s your dream. Show these dickheads what the motherfucking Striker is about.”
“Yeah, man.”
After our goodbyes, I hang up and kiss Whitney, suddenly feeling more invigorated. “I’m so fucking ready for this.”
She smiles that gorgeous, proud, reassuring smile of hers. “You’ve got this.”