The gymnasium was jam-packed with tons of kids from my school, our archrivals, and as many parents of the athletes as possible. Growing up in New York, there were three sports that were a way of life: wrestling, boxing, or hockey. When I was little, my dad tried to get me into hockey, but I absolutely hated it and was a klutz on the ice. So, I bit the bullet and traded in my stick and skates for a speed bag in the garage and a pair of boxing gloves. Best decision I had ever made. My older brother was already the rookie for the New York Otters, the team my old man coached, so hockey was theirs. Boxing was all mine.

Before I knew it, my match was about to start. I waved to my mom as I began to stretch. She was giddily clapping and waving from the bleachers, yelling, “Yay! Griffin!”

Martha Hayes was a woman of good breeding and class—always proper, dressed to the nines, kind, but snobby. She was as supportive as she could be, and really tried to act like she cared about boxing or hockey. Despite her best efforts, we all knew she wished we played golf and went sailing on the weekends. Instead, she dealt with bloody noses, scraped knees, and smelly workout gear. Her life probably would have been so much better and simpler if she’d had daughters instead of sons, but we all have to play the hand we’re dealt.

“Are you ready, son?” Coach Redding grunted as he slapped me on the back. “This is going to be your year, Griff. That state championship is only a few fights away.”

I was his golden goose and he was milking me for all he could. He had his heart set on riding out my talents all the way to winning the first title of his coaching career. Yes, I was the one fighting for it, and yes, my name was going to be on the trophy, but the way Coach acted, you’d have thought it was his victory, not mine.

“As ready as I’ll ever be.” I threw in my mouth guard and slithered through the ropes.

Tapping gloves with my opponent, Vick Lundergan, I felt more intimidated in the ring than I ever had before. I was the youngest guy on the varsity team and even though I was small and stealthy, most of the guys I was matched up against had reach on me for miles. They all liked to be outside fighters, and I needed to bring them in to do some real damage. Vick was at the top end of our weight class and I was considered a bantamweight. I wasn’t completely sure it was a fair fight, but that didn’t matter—the match was already starting.

This bout was going to take everything I had. Vick’s dukes were up and he was dancing around me like a damn ballerina as I waited. I wasn’t about to waste energy on chasing him, and he was doing a great job of tiring himself out unnecessarily.

One quick jam to my cheek and I got him hard with a cross right in the ribs. I could hear my coach hollering from the side to keep him in close. I went in for a one-two, missing completely as his glove got me right in the bread basket and then with another hit that made me see stars. The wind was knocked out of me. Damn kidney shot. I staggered back, trying to catch my breath as he came at me again. His glove crashed directly into my left ribcage, and I heard the bones snap instantly as I cried out. The referee flew to my side, holding me up.

Everything started to fade as Coach leaped to my aid. “Griffin? Griff? Are you all right?”

I tried to respond, but nothing came out. I was dazed, falling faster and faster into nothing.

Utter.

Complete.

Darkness.

It blanketed me as the pain took over every cell in my body.

* * *

“It’s only a few busted ribs.” I tried to comfort my mom as she sat at my bedside, crying.

“Is he out for the rest of the season?” She wiped the tears from her cheeks as she looked over at my doctor.

He shut off the x-ray light, turning to face her. “I am afraid he is going to have to sit the rest of the matches out, yes, but he should be right as rain come the start of next year’s season.”

“See, everything is going to be fine. I will be able to fight again next year.” I was more saying it to comfort myself than anything else. Being so seriously injured was a hard pill to swallow, but there was nothing I could do about it.

My mother’s sobs started to get louder as she whimpered, “I don’t know what we are going to tell your father.” Her hands flew in the air as the dramatics took over her.

“Why don’t you tell him the truth? How any times did he get injured during his hockey career? I think if anyone is going to understand, it’ll be Pop.” I hated how concerned my mom was about what my father was going to think. Who gives a fuck if he’s mad? I was actually hurt for crying out loud. Isn’t that all that actually mattered? Not if my old man was going to be frustrated by the crappy situation?

Taking a tissue from the doctor, my mom blew her nose and then looked up at him. “Will he be able to work out and keep up his strength?”

My mom was dead set on finding a silver lining to bring home with her to comfort her husband once he started raging out about his son being laid up for a season.

Fucking ridiculous!

“After the bones are healed, Griff will be able to start with physical therapy and then will be back in the gym, hitting the heavy bag before you know it. Luckily, teens are resilient. Your boy will have nothing to worry about.”

“Thank you, Rudy.” Mom faked a small smile.

“If you’d like to call your Mr. Hayes and have him come down, I would be more than happy to explain this to him, if that would make you more comfortable.” Dr. Rudy Dunkin had been our family’s doctor for as long as I could remember, and with the amount of money my mother’s family had dumped into the hospital over the years, we got all kinds of special treatment. Case in point, Dr. Dunkin was in a polo and golf pants because we had his personal pager number and my mother had insisted on calling him in on his Saturday off.

“He’s away for work right now.” It wasn’t like Dr. Dunkin didn’t know who my family was, but I didn’t want the special treatment because my father and brother were famous hockey players, or because my mom’s side of the family was dripping with more money than they knew what to do with. I was in pain and wanted to get my ass home and onto the couch.

“All right, the front desk has all your discharge paperwork and aftercare instructions. Be sure to take it easy and let those ribs heal up before you start back at the gym.”

I hopped off the table and cringed from the pain of that simple motion. “Don’t worry, doc. I ain’t trying to mess up my recovery.”

“That’s good to hear, son. I’ll see you back here in a couple weeks to check on your progress.”