Chapter One

Some Sweet Day

THIS WAS it. Five years.

Eli Mayhew had waited five years for this very moment, and all he could do was think about how he should have taken the subway. To make matters worse, his uncle was completely oblivious to his anxious state and had spent the last hour trying to get Eli to reconsider his decision, which he had no intention of doing.

“Rule number one: don’t touch his gloves if he ain’t wearin’ ’em. Not unless you’re looking to get your face acquainted with ’em.”

With a quick glance at his uncle, Eli attempted to deduce whether the man was pulling his leg or not. It was hard to tell with Jasper. He always wore the same cantankerous scowl. “Are you saying if I touch his gloves, he’ll punch me in the face?” Eli’s fingers instinctively touched his jaw.

“That’s exactly what I’m sayin’. Which brings me to rule number two. Don’t make him repeat himself. It annoys him.”

“Shouldn’t that have been part of the ‘things Jessie Dalton finds annoying’ list? Which, according to you, seems to be everything.” Eli moved his gaze back out the window as his uncle’s old Model T made its way through north Brooklyn toward Big John’s Gym. He might have all but begged his uncle to let him take the job, but he hadn’t expected a list of rules so extensive it could rival Webster’s Dictionary.

Jasper took a sharp turn that had Eli flailing his arms and scrambling to get hold of whatever was within reach to keep from getting flung across the front seat, or worse, out of the automobile. Again, he asked himself why he hadn’t taken the subway.

“Rule number three,” Jasper continued. “Don’t razz him.”

“Razz him?” Eli scoffed. “Jasper, the man’s over six and a half feet tall, weighs two hundred and forty-five pounds, and is known as ‘the Demon.’ Don’t worry. I have no intention of insulting his mother. I don’t understand. Why are you trying to make him sound like a bastard?”

“I ain’t trying to make him sound like one. He is one.”

Finally they pulled into the narrow alley between Big John’s Gym and a boarded-up house that was undoubtedly a speakeasy. The joints were popping up at an alarming rate all over the city. Not that he was complaining. He happened to enjoy the occasional glass of booze, provided it wasn’t made with rubbing alcohol or formaldehyde. Boy, he could do with a little something to fortify his nerves right about now.

“I don’t remember there being this many rules. In fact, I don’t remember there being any rules at all. Are you trying to give me the jitters? Because you’re the one who agreed I could do the job in the first place.”

“I just….” Jasper killed the engine and sat for a moment, for the first time in a long time looking every bit his weary sixty-seven years. “I don’t want you to be disappointed, kid. I know Dalton’s your hero, but he ain’t what he used to be.” The sorrow in Jasper’s tone caught Eli by surprise.

“What do you mean?”

Jasper turned toward him, his voice low as if someone might overhear them, like maybe Dalton himself. “Come on, kid. Look at Dempsey. Twenty-eight years old and on top of the world. Dalton’s peaking forty, and not a good forty either. His health ain’t what it used to be. All those years of brawling and bare-knuckle boxing in saloons did a number on him. And his heart….” Jasper shook his head sadly. “Losing the title was one thing—he could have won that back. It was the goddamn trial that broke him.”

“Is that why he stopped accepting challenges? Because of the trial? He was found not guilty.” Had his hero thrown in the towel at the height of his career over one incident? Eli refused to believe it. Jessie “the Demon” Dalton had been one of the greatest boxers Eli had ever known. With forty wins under his belt, two draws, and two no contests, Dalton had been unstoppable, a force to be reckoned with in and out of the ring, and an undefeated world heavyweight champion, until five years ago in 1919 when Dalton lost the title to Henrick Hutton.

“Do you know what it’s like to not only have your reputation torn to shreds, but to have folks remember you for nothing other than one failure?” Jasper climbed out of the car and slammed the door, muttering something under his breath while he walked around to wait for Eli, who stepped out onto the running board, trying not to think about what had happened five years ago.

At first Eli had understood Jessie needing time to himself after the trial, but soon Eli had begun to wonder if it was something else. He had snuck out of the house one night and showed up on Dalton’s doorstep, ready to confess his long-buried feelings, only to have his world come crashing down on him when some blonde woman in a skimpy nightdress answered the door. Eli had promptly informed her he had made a mistake, and had run off before he could make a bigger one. He had had five years to get over Jessie Dalton, and yet….

Following Jasper into the gym, Eli was unable to hold back a smile when he caught the familiar scent of leather and arnica that permeated the air all around him. He’d been a kid the first time he had walked in here, trailing behind his big manager uncle. Jasper “Mayhem” Mayhew had discovered an eighteen-year-old Dalton brawling for money in some dusty backwater saloon, and the two had quickly become friends. Years later, Jasper was still Dalton’s biggest supporter, fiercest defender, and the reason he refused to retire. Jasper was also the one who had introduced Eli to Dalton all those years ago.

Eli would never forget that day. He had been eight years old and a speck compared to the muscular, twenty-one-year-old Dalton, who had knelt before Eli’s scrawny frame, sporting a wide grin, black shorts, a pair of beat-up old leather boxing gloves, and equally beat-up old leather boots. Eli didn’t think he had ever seen anyone as heroic or incredibly handsome as Dalton. His dark eyes were nearly as black as his hair, which coupled with his size and fierce fighting skills, had given Jasper the inspiration for Dalton’s nickname. Eli had been awestruck. He’d also developed his very first crush on a man. It had been an exceptionally confusing, frightening, and wonderful day.

Four years later, and Dalton had become world heavyweight champion. Not only had Eli been there to see it, but Dalton had carried Eli on his shoulder after his victory. Together with his uncle, the three of them had gone for ice cream sandwiches—Eli’s favorite. For a very long time, it had been the three of them. Dalton had even taught Eli a few moves.

With every passing year, Eli’s secret crush grew. The year before Dalton had lost his title had been the best of Eli’s life, because it was the year Dalton stopped seeing him as some awestruck kid and saw him as a grown man. Eli had just turned twenty, and they were out celebrating his birthday. The way Dalton had looked at him that night, and every day after for the rest of the year, had Eli’s silly heart skipping a beat and his head conjuring all manner of fantasies. In the end, fantasy was all it had been.

Mentally shaking himself out of it, Eli went back to surveying Big John’s Gym. It hadn’t changed one bit. Half a dozen heavy punching bags hung from wooden beams on both sides of the room, some gently swaying on their lonesome while others were getting ferocious beatings. The sounds made by the leather speed bags as they got worked over were all but drowned out by the sounds of grunts, shouts of encouragement, and cussing being flung about.

The numerous benches scattered around the place were as scuffed as the old wooden floorboards, and the paint-chipped walls were littered with peeling and faded advertisements of past matches. Toward the end of the room were two rings, and inside one of them was a scrawny, fair-haired kid who looked like he could do with a meal or two. Opposite him was the man of Eli’s dreams.

Dalton was as fit and toned as ever, dressed in his signature black shorts, brown leather boots, and scuffed brown leather gloves. His hair had fallen over one side of his brow, and his muscles were gleaming with sweat. Eli couldn’t keep his gaze from raking over all that hard muscle, from Dalton’s broad shoulders, down his expansive chest, to his flat stomach, over his backside, to his muscular thighs and thick calves. His jaw was chiseled, his nose slightly crooked from all the times it had been broken, and a thin scar to the side of his left eye ran down to his cheek. He had a wide mouth that looked amazing when he smiled—not to mention had Eli aching to kiss.

“What did I say, Jimmy? You have to protect your head and your ribs,” Dalton explained, tapping Jimmy where he needed to shield himself.

“At the same time?” Jimmy dropped his gaze, clearly attempting to figure out how he was supposed to do that.

Dalton moved Jimmy’s gloves up over his ears and pushed his elbows in. “Hunch over a bit. Good. Now tighten your abdomen and bend your knees a little. That’s right. The moment you’re done with that swing, you snap your arm back into position. Don’t leave yourself open, and remember to keep moving. Okay, now I’m going to take a swing at you.”

Jimmy’s eyes widened and he went white as a sheet. “What?”

“I’m not going to hit you hard, you pill. Just tap you. Geez Louise, kid. You do realize at some point someone’s going to hit you?”

“I know,” Jimmy squeaked. “But ain’t no one gonna hit like you, champ.”

“I reckon they won’t,” Dalton admitted, “but that doesn’t mean it won’t hurt like a son of a bitch. Ready? Left hook. You block it.”

“Okay.” Jimmy nodded and let out a shaky breath.

True to his word, Dalton barely tapped him. Even used his left, which everyone knew didn’t have the force of his legendary right hook.

The kid went flying across the ring.

There were some chuckles and laughs from some of the bigger fellows nearby who had been watching, probably waiting for that exact thing to happen. Dalton quickly helped Jimmy to his feet and steadied him. The kid looked like a twig in comparison.

“You okay, kid?”

“Yeah.” Jimmy nodded and wobbled a little as he leaned against Dalton, who called over one of the cornermen and asked him to help Jimmy out of the ring.

“Why don’t you sit down a spell, and then go practice some,” Dalton told Jimmy, reaching out to give him a pat on the back, then seeming to decide against it. “We’ll continue where we left off tomorrow.”

Jimmy nodded dazedly as he was led away, though the smile never left his face. “Okay, yeah. Thanks, champ.”

“Sure thing.” Dalton gave a chuckle, standing with his gloves on his hips and a lopsided smile as he watched Jimmy being helped out of the ring. That was when Eli realized what he once felt for Dalton had never gone away, no matter how much he’d told himself it had.

Aw, hell.