Memphis

There’s this not-so-secret secret in the boxing world about sexual frustration helping a fighter in the ring. Maybe it’s a myth. Whatever the fuck it is, it’s done something to me today. My fists are bombs. Fast and wicked, though—not sluggish and heavy. They land with precision, they land with speed, and they sting and punish. It’s like I can see things before they happen, my body working one heartbeat in the future.

It isn’t that I held out. It’s not that at all because that…that…knocked me on my ass for the entire night. Liv put on a show, taking her time undressing just out of reach from my gawking, pathetic eyes. The smirk on her lips when she stepped in to close her blinds crawled down my chest and stomach and there was no stopping it. There are fantasies, and then there are the things I imagined last night.

Morning greeted a new man, however; one with an edge on everybody else. It’s like suddenly I have something that I’m fighting for—something real, that I can touch and hold and feel next to me one night. I’ve always fought for myself and for the Delaney name that I want to earn, even though there isn’t a living soul who cares about that legacy. I know, because I’ve looked. My dad was it, a man with no living parents and no siblings, no aunts or uncles. He cruised the world with friends just like him. Their names are mysteries. They all may as well have been made up.

“How’s that eye healing?” Leo spits, taking a potshot at me as an excuse to back up and pull the pads from his hands. I’m hurting him today, which pleases him, because he thinks he knocked me into shape just in time. The irony of how very opposite it is only makes my lungs feel stronger, like tired isn’t a thing.

“Three stitches, old man.” I pull off my gloves and slide through the ropes to grab my water. I would give anything for a beer right now. Hydration has been my weakness before, though. This time I started weeks before the big match.

“Memphis, I’ve got a few things to show you…minute?”

Angela likes to announce her entrances. She always has, and I used to think it was just a personality flaw—a need to draw the room’s attention to her and whatever it is she’s wearing. Last night clarified a lot of things, though. Angela and Leo play into each other’s worst parts, all to put on little shows for each other. You’d never know from the outside, and I’m nearly positive Liv has no idea.

It’s so clear now, though. The reason she dresses up the way she does, when the only person she really sees outside of that house is Leo. His blatant sexual harassment is practically expected, and a week ago, I wondered why Angela had put up with it so long. They’re performing. That’s what this is. She’s showing off for him, reminding him she’s here, of what he can have but can’t tell, and he’s putting on a show to make everyone believe something like this could never be possible.

Liv could have just as easily caught them yesterday, though. They’re getting careless, and that makes me wonder if they want to be caught—if they want Liv to be the one to do it.

It’s all so sick.

“You see that outfit in one of those red-carpet movie star photos in one of your magazines, Ange?” Leo whistles then purrs like a tiger, and when I glance to Angela, she rolls her eyes.

“He’s such a fucking pig. He’s good at his job. It’s why I keep him,” she says to me as we move to the table and chairs tucked in a corner. She takes a seat, then gestures for me to join her; so I do.

“That’s not the only reason you keep him around,” Liv says behind me.

I’m a little surprised to hear the words myself. They were in my head, but they came out in Liv’s voice. When I turn, Angela is better at her reaction—she’s perfected the performance. I’m still new at this.

“Oh, I suppose you’re right, him being family and all,” Angela says, laughing it off and waving a hand at her daughter, who is still paused at the vending machine a few steps away from us.

“I kinda meant that he owns half of everything,” Liv says, a tiny smirk inching up her lip. I wonder if only I notice it.

“We both know you don’t give a shit about family.” Liv mutters that second part as she walks away, but it makes it to Angela’s ears. Pretending she doesn’t hear isn’t something she’s practiced, and Liv’s words make a direct hit at her pride.

I kinda wish Liv didn’t do that, though. She gets so easily sucked into their game. This is her baggage, and words like that don’t help her free herself from the burden she carries around at all. They just make it heavier.

“We have some sponsorship opportunities. You thought the purse was big for Vegas? Wait until you see some of these deals I’ve been able to nail down. First, you are going to be getting some wardrobe items.”

I must look confused, because Angela pauses when her eyes meet my face and she begins to laugh.

“Suits, maybe a few nice shirts and ties, pants. Good lord, you would have thought I signed you up for Miss America by that look on your face,” she says, sliding over a packet of material that I flip through and pretend to care about until I get to that last page—the one full of numbers.

“Hey, Liv?” I call out for her, and Angela noticeably shifts in her chair.

I fold the top pages underneath while I run my thumb down the grid of dollar signs and decimals, doing my best to figure out how the percentages add up. I’ve been diligent with every deal I’ve ever made, and it’s because of the system I grew up in. Good guys are always balanced out by the bad, and products of the state foster system see a mix of both. It makes me question everyone when it comes to money.

“Yeah?” she says.

I feel her next to me before I hear her. She purposely stood close enough to allow her hip to brush into my elbow. I want to let my hand fall free to the side so I can run it up the leg of her blue leggings that contour around every muscle and curve decorating her. It would make her uncomfortable, though, and that’s why I don’t. It’s the only reason.

“I’ve never really had someone around to ask about these things. You think this looks like a good deal?” I turn the pages slightly so she can see them better, and Liv glances from me to her mom. A few breathless seconds pass before she finally looks down at the contract.

“I don’t really deal with things outside of the operations. You should maybe have a lawyer—”

“If I win this fight, I’ll get a lawyer,” I cut in. “For right now, I can afford asking a favor of…” I let the end of that sentence trail off, letting her imagination insert the word. I could have said friend, I could have said woman I’m seeing; it could have been girlfriend or colleague. The way her lips purse, but bend, signals that she knows she gets to fill in that word.

Whatever smile was there, fades when she looks back at her mom, and I glance over just in time to catch the hard stare she’s giving her daughter. This isn’t about questioning what Angela does for me as a manager; it’s about letting her daughter lend advice on something that she’s territorial about.

It’s stupid. And it’s a big part of the problem.

Liv clears her throat and slides into the open chair to my right, her eyes flitting to me a few times before she gives all of her focus over to the numbers. She holds a finger by one line of digits for a few seconds, closing her eyes and moving her lips silently like a human calculator. It takes her seconds to do what I spend a long night and three Red Bulls doing on legal pads and phone apps.

“The payout is more if you win, of course, but the upfront is really good. It’s in line with what you’re worth, especially based on your r-record.”

She stumbles a little at that word. If she hadn’t, I might not have fully noticed what she said. She knows my record, which means she’s done her research on me. I keep my grin in check, but I feel it pushing from the inside.

“You should see eight thousand, maybe eight five, upon signature. If you win, that number doubles. Even if you lose—”

“I won’t lose.” Liv glances my way. The way she trembles and blushes, pretending that her smile is just there because I’m amusing, is goddamn adorable.

“God I love your arrogance, Memphis,” Angela cuts in. I lean back and fold my hands behind my head to look her in the eye. “Archie was the same way. That confidence is going to take you a long way. You out-talk before you out-walk. That’s what he used to say.”

“Hell, he did,” Leo interrupts. The table has gotten crowded, and I can feel Liv’s leg bouncing in the space next to me, so I adjust my position and scoot my chair in close, sitting up and moving my hands under the table and out of Leo and Angela’s sight. My right palm finds her knee, and the moment I squeeze lightly, she freezes.

“Oh, I suppose you’re going to take credit for Archie’s sayings too, huh?” Angela rests one arm on the back of her chair, turning enough to cross her legs—a movement Leo leers at.

“He only repeated things,” Leo says, finally looking Angela in the eyes. He taps two fingers at his temple and starts to back away. “Brains of the operation, baby. I’m all the brains.”

Angela laughs loudly and Leo winks. I chuckle out of courtesy, but Liv…she stays absolutely silent. God, how did she survive this messed up life?

“So I sign here?” I bring our attention back to business, and Angela clicks a pen. She’s invested in this. I’m not the contract genius Liv is, but I know that Angela walks away with at least one and a half, maybe two grand.

We spend the next thirty minutes reviewing two more deals—one a quick commercial spot for a local car dealer that will only run in the Valley for a weekend in September. The pay is all right, but I sign because it’s really only an hour’s worth of work. Everything gets balanced against the scale with time. My time is valuable.

My dad taught me that. It’s the first thing that I accepted when I got his diary. It’s a running theme from him, maybe because his was so short.

The last deal is a little trickier. It’s for a major sponsorship. It’s for Fuel Factory Athletics, one of the biggest gear suppliers in Boxing on the West Coast. This deal wasn’t supposed to come this soon—my first title-fight not yet on the books.

“This feels a little…presumptive, I guess?” I squirm in my seat and draw the contract in close, resting my forearms on either side of the pages. I had to study like this in high school, to block out the noise and keep my head focused on the work. I was never meant for college, not that I wasn’t smart. My heart was always pulling me on a different path, though—this one.

My head falls forward until my thumbs catch my temples and my fingers rub my forehead.

“I thought you were going to win?” Liv nudges me with her knee when she speaks, and my hand falls under the table to touch her instinctively as I chuckle. It’s the most simple thing that shouldn’t mean anything to anyone, but I feel her grow stiff under my fingers. I pop my head up to Angela.

She’s making note of these little intimate details.

I’m not sure what to do here—do I pull away and create space, try to erase what she saw to keep the peace in Liv’s life, or do I stand my ground and force Angela to get used to her daughter being happy for once?

If only Angela knew what I saw.

“I don’t know…” I lean back, but keep my hand right where it is.

Angela’s eyes are practically boring into her daughter, but Liv is deliberately looking away.

“That’s a lot of money you’re leaving on the table there, Memphis. There’s nothing superstitious about good business decisions,” Angela says.

I can see Leo hovering over her shoulder. He gets a cut of her cut, too. They all get a cut. They call fighters on the rise alphas.

Alpha.

I’m the leader of a starving pack all right.

“Let me think about it,” I finally say, pushing the contract back in Angela’s direction.

She reaches for it hesitantly, pausing with her palm over it for a second before letting it fall flat on the papers. Her fingers drum on it a few times, long, golden nails with black tips pattering against the table.

“Have dinner with Paul. He’s the CEO, and he was worried you would be concerned,” she says.

I cock my head and lift a brow suspiciously.

“You are not the first boxer they’ve sponsored, Memphis. He understands the fabric of superstition that runs through this sport.” She laughs lightly and pulls the contract back into the folder with the rest of them.

I look down at the empty table where I just let several grand float in limbo, and I swallow hard. Superstition is a part of it—absolutely. But it’s not just how it plays into fighting. It’s about my life, and a promise I made to myself never to take the easy way. I earn everything I get. The small and the grand—they all have a story of work behind them. Long days in a shipping yard in Pittsburgh earned me enough money to get across the country to the bike and my RV. Handiwork bought things at yard sales along the way. Roofing jobs kept me in the good graces of small-time gyms that helped me get fights and train. Nothing was easy, but that’s what made it feel so good.

There is power in the word earned.

“It’s dinner, Memphis. I’ll go with you, if it helps.”

Angela’s words strike me fast, and I throw back an alternative.

“I’ll take Liv.” I lift my chin and meet Angela’s eyes.

She knows.

I’m daring her to mess this up for her daughter by putting the one thing she cares about most on the line—money.

“There might be questions she can’t answer…about the business or the fight.” Angela is grasping. Liv is still frozen, but her gaze has moved, from the open sliding doors that lead out to the parking lot, to me.

“I can answer most of it, and Liv knows numbers. But I mean really…” I smirk. “It’s just dinner, Angela.”

Her expression shifts the tiniest bit into a sinister one, but she nods lightly. Her eyes move to her daughter in a blink.

“You can borrow a dress.” The chair scrapes across the concrete floor as she slides it angrily backward.

“I’ll get her a dress,” I say. My pulse is kicking with an anger similar to the one I feel in the ring. I’m grateful for the deals, and I know that Angela and Leo are the ones I have to thank for being in this position. But I also have come to realize that they aren’t very good people.

Angela glances to Liv then back to me, and in that time Liv’s hand quivers as it slides gently over the top of mine, which hasn’t left its place on her knee. I turn my palm open just enough for her fingers to curl into me, and I grip her hard, squeezing to let her know she is safe. She squeezes back with the same force.

We both wait, our eyes now a team, staring at our opponent. Angela licks her bottom lip, then pulls her papers and messenger bag together, tucking the strap over her shoulder and the bag against her hip.

“I’ll make the call.”

She nods and leaves with a swagger in her walk that I know is meant as some sort of FU warning to her daughter. Leo announces he’s taking a break seconds after the door closes, and he follows her.

“Can you talk to mice and make birds sew ball gowns?” I ask.

Liv turns to meet my eyes and her lip curls on one side with an airy laugh.

“I really am Cinderella, aren’t I?” she says, laughing a little harder.

I move my hand finally, bringing them both up to either side of her face and my lips to her forehead.

“Ready to rule the kingdom?” I ask, smiling against her skin. I rest my forehead on hers, and we both breathe in deep. We’re in this, and I’m a little scared. I’ve always been in this alone—in everything alone, really. I made a promise that I won’t break her, but I’m so afraid I will. I don’t know how to walk through life with someone else.

“Are you ready to arm me for battle?” She leans away from me then stands, eventually nodding her head toward the ring where I promised her a lesson. I wonder if her words have a double meaning for her, too? I think they do.

“Don’t punch me in the face,” I say, pressing my palms flat on the table and standing to meet her eyes.

Her smile mocks me.

“Don’t count on it.”