The rest of this week flies by. I don’t run into Mia at her office again, but I look for her each time I enter or exit the building. She shows for her session on Thursday, but from the minute she steps inside my gym she’s all business. I don’t recommend another kissing game even though I’m positive we’d both enjoy it. I don’t want her to get the wrong impression—that I’m only in this for sex. As amazing as that is, when it comes to Mia I find myself quickly wanting more.
She texts me on Friday morning that she’s free this weekend if I still want to get together. Her cousin’s visit gets nixed, so we make plans to meet for lunch on Saturday after I’m done at South Side. I don’t ask if she’s including it as one of our “dates,” because frankly, I’m hoping she’ll lose count. Ridiculous, I know. In the meantime, I’m out to prove we’re good together. Oh, and keep my gym open and running.
Saturday brings two kickboxing classes, and after that, training for a solid three hours with my advanced fighters. Xavier is once again absent without notice and that automatically pisses me off. I sincerely hope everything is okay with his mom. He’s already missed two practices this week, but at least with those he called. He’s been picking up extra shifts at work to help cover those his mom’s been too sick for. Really, I have no room to complain, but while I sympathize, it doesn’t bode well for his upcoming match. He can’t keep missing training and expect a win. I know he has immediate needs, but he also must shine in front of the UFC sponsors. For the first time since I signed on to this event, I’m doubtful he can deliver.
I wave a good-bye as the last of my guys leave the gym. The few who had the slowest sprints get stuck wiping down the mats post practice. There are only a few minutes before I need to leave to meet Mia for lunch before my shift at Zig’s. This time she picked the restaurant along with a promise to school me on comic trivia afterward at her favorite store. I’ll get my ass handed to me there, and I’m more excited for that than I should be.
I don’t know what exactly it is about her, other than she’s unlike every other woman I’ve ever met and I find her extremely sexy. She’s too good for me in so many ways—intelligence, job security, hell, even looks, but it doesn’t keep me from holding out hope. Maybe she doesn’t want to label what we’re doing together, and that’s cool. For now.
Our arrangement has an expiration date, but I already know I want more. More time. More laughs. More conversation. Yes, more sex, too. Doesn’t matter what I want though, if she doesn’t return the feeling, and I know better than to push. Being a fighter, I’m trained to be patient. One strike too soon and your opponent learns all your moves, sees you coming. You have to do the dance, take a few hits. And once you’ve worn them down . . . Strike.
Leaving the door to my office open, I step inside and take a seat at the desk. There’s a stack of mail I’ve been avoiding, mostly marked with a familiar late notice stamp. I’ve been in total denial, but it’s time to face the damage and make a new game plan. The cash from the painting job is almost gone, and even though I haven’t had to lay off any staff, another month like this and I will. Damn it!
There are only two weeks until the big fight night, and I need that payout to come through—along with a contract or two for my guys. I want everyone who walks in that venue wearing a South Side gym shirt to be regarded with a higher level of respect, but that’s only gonna happen if we’re prepared. I’m still pissed as hell that Xavier didn’t show today. I’m going to have to call Kyle soon. It’s not fair to him or his fans to bring someone unprepared to a match-up. Disappointing. Xavier would have won, too; caught the eye of the right people. But that’s my streak of luck as of late. One step behind. Every damn time.
Settling back into the office chair, I pick up the stack of letters and sift through them. Electric, city, gas. I already know what they contain, and next month they’ll be shut off. I’ve got to make some more cash. My check from Zig’s comes this week, thank God. Or maybe Uncle Jimmy has another painting gig I can get in on. But the thought of keeping up this pace another month has my gut sinking with dread. Will I ever pull ahead or am I just another rat in this wheel of continuous catch up?
The envelope from the management company of my apartment complex catches my attention and I pull it from the stack. Marked important, I have to wonder what else the universe wants to test me with. As I unfold the paper I steel myself for the worst.
Dear Mr. Haywood,
We are excited to announce the Offering Plan for the conversion of South Gentry Apartments to condominium ownership has been approved for filing. With this change from R&R Investments management, we are able to present you with the opportunity to purchase your property at an exclusive discount available only to current tenants.
My building’s going condo. “Fuck!” I shout even though no one hears. Skimming the rest of the letter, two things are clear. There’s no way I can afford to buy the tinder box I’ve been renting for the last year, and even though I’ll officially be homeless, I’ve just been given an out on my lease. I can vacate at any time and request a refund of my deposit. I’m two grand richer this month.
Now, if that’s not a glass half full, I don’t know what is.
“Coach.” The voice at the doorway lifts my gaze from the letter.
“Xavier. Nice of you to show up today, but you’re a few hours late. Practice was at nine.”
“Yeah, about that. I’m sorry.” His jaw locks and he studies the concrete floor.
“Don’t be sorry,” I snap because I’m just not in the mood. His stiff shoulders and non-existent eye contact only grind on my already shattered nerves.
“Can I talk to you?” he mumbles to the ground.
“Sure, but make it quick because I have someplace to be at one. I hope you have good news for me.” That catches his attention and for the first time since he arrived his gaze lifts to meet mine.
His frown is full of worry, and I’m already disappointed before the next words leave his mouth. “I’m sorry, Coach.”
I shake my head, not in the mood for excuses. “Don’t be sorry. Show up.”
“I won’t be. Not anymore. You’ve done so much for me and I don’t take a single thing for granted, it’s just that I can’t do this anymore. I came to say good-bye.”
It takes me a moment to process his words. “You’re serious?”
Xavier’s gaze drops again and so does my heart, along with all my hopes for this gym—for showing everyone I’m not the fuckup they once thought. For this kid and the opportunities a career in the UFC would afford him.
“What the hell are you thinking?” My anger flares along with the disappointment. What a fucking waste. A waste of talent. A waste of time. A waste of hope. I stand and walk around my desk so we’re face to face and he can’t hide behind some lame excuse.
He lifts his head and shakes his head. “Look. I’m trying to do the right thing. I could’ve left you hanging, but I’m not a coward. I can’t fight anymore. Ain’t no one gonna lose sleep over that but me.”
“Bullshit, Xavier. That’s fucking bullshit. You think coming here to bail in person makes you a man?” I shove my finger into his chest but that only causes his gaze to harden.
A scoff leaves his lips and he shakes his head. “It’s not your problem.”
Oh, but it is. Unfair as it is, my dreams of making this gym what I want it to be, what it has the potential to be, all ride on the shoulders of this kid. Of me being able to produce a fierce fighter. One who can soar to the top better than I ever could.
“Give me a good reason. You owe me that. A fucking explanation why I wasted hundreds of hours training some nobody from the ghetto. Huh?” I’m poking because he’s void of his usual fire and drive. I want to know what has this fighter acting like the quitter I know he’s not.
“Sorry, Coach.” He shakes his head as if that’s enough. He won’t even meet my eyes.
“That’s really all you’re gonna give me, huh? God damn it!” I resist the urge to take a fist to the wall behind him and smash the framed photo that only further mocks my failures. It’s one that captures the weigh-ins for my very first UFC fight. Xavier won’t meet my gaze, even as I get in his face. This isn’t the same hungry kid who walked into my gym not even a year ago. The one willing to do whatever it took, whatever I said, because that’s how bad he wanted to train. That kid wouldn’t have quit. Nothing could keep him from his dreams. “What changed, Xavier? This have something to do with your mom?”
He’s stone cold, his expression impassive as he trains his gaze at the floor. It’s because of that he doesn’t see me grab for his shoulder. The moment he feels my touch he shoves at my chest and jumps back a step.
“Answer me when I’m talking to you,” I bark.
Xavier’s glare digs into mine. Angry. Present. That’s the fighter I trained. “You aren’t my fucking father. I don’t owe you shit. Don’t put your hands on me again.”
“You’re right. I’m not that worthless piece of crap who walked out on you and your mom. I actually give a damn.”
“This is BS. I’m out.” He moves to turn but my next words catch his step.
“Don’t you walk out that door unless you plan to never come back through it again. Even with the shit you’ve pulled this past week, that’d be a damn shame. You’re fucking talented, Xavier. Too bad you’re willing to throw it all away. How does this help your mom? You going to run drugs like your brother now?” I spit out the last words, so damn disappointed. In him. In me. In life.
Xavier doesn’t turn around and I won’t beg him to stay. I turn back to my desk with the resolve to find another solution to my own problems. I was a fool to place so much weight on one young man.
“Coach?” Xavier’s voice cuts through the empty room, splicing the thick air with all the pain that drips from that one word. I can’t help but lift my gaze to meet his sad eyes. “It’s my mom. We need more money. They’ve stopped her treatment until we can come up with more. Until I can . . . Without it? . . . She’s as good as six feet under.”
“Xavier, I’m sorry.”
“Don’t, okay? I know you’re sorry. Everyone’s fucking sorry. But that doesn’t help her get better, you know? And chasing some pipe dream to become the next UFC champ doesn’t either. It’s time for me to grow the fuck up. If running with the guys from my block gets her the treatment she needs, then that’s what I’ll do.”
“That what she wants?” Xavier’s mother has been in here countless times. Her pride for her youngest son and the fact he’s chosen a different path than his father and older brother has always been clear to me.
“She doesn’t get a say anymore. We don’t have time.” He blows out a breath.
“So, you’ll give it all up?”
A scowl forms on his face. “I’d do anything for her. You know that.”
“And sitting in a jail cell, what does that do? Can’t pay for treatments or take care of her from there.”
He steps forward, anger and frustration laced into each rigid movement. “What else am I supposed to do, Coach? Tell me. Honest to God, tell me what the fuck I’m supposed to do to make this right. To get her better?”
“It’s not a fairytale. There’s no magical spell. It’s blood and sweat. Hard work and time. Fuck, you’ve done all the work. You’ve earned your place in the ring. I know there’s an easier way. But it’s not the right way. It’s not what she wants, and not what you want, either. Give me two weeks. Wait until after the fight. After that, quit if you want. I don’t think you should, but if you have to walk out, don’t do it before the main event. Not after you’ve earned your front row ticket.”
He’s considering my proposal. He wouldn’t still be standing here if he weren’t. I only hope he chooses to stay. To fight.
I give him the time he needs, the seconds passing more painfully than the last thirty seconds of a match. There’s no cheering crowd. No adrenaline surge or cuts and scars. Just a young man at a crossroads of two very different lives.
“Two weeks,” he finally says.
“So, that’s a yes?”
“Yes, Coach. I’m sorry I let you down.”
“Good. No more apologies. We’re moving forward.” Turning my back to him, I squat down and input the code to the safe. Drawing out the grand I have left from my uncle, I know this is the right thing to do. I’ll get out of my apartment tonight and they should return my deposit to cover this. I lock up the safe and turn around, shoving the envelope into Xavier’s hands. “We’re moving forward. Starting now. This should get your mom’s treatments back on track. Now, go get changed and meet me on the floor. We’ve got a week’s worth of practice to make up.”
“Now?” He blinks, still gaping at the envelope in his hands.
“Yes. Now.”
He nods and when he lifts his gaze I know I’ve done the right thing. Consequences be damned. “But don’t you have somewhere to be?”
“That can wait. This takes priority. I believe in you, Xavier. You have what it takes, and you deserve it more than anyone I know. I’m going to do everything in my power to get you ready for that fight. Now, let’s get to it.”
“Thanks, Coach.”
With that he bounds from my office, lightness in his step, determination in his eyes. My own outlook is so much brighter with his decision to fight. I swipe my cell off the table and type out a quick text, hoping Mia understands. I hate canceling our plans, but this is where I need to be.