Page 110 of 4th Degree

“Fuck,” I mutter, looking around the gym as thoughts buzz through my brain. Do I force her to talk to me? Clearly, she doesn’t want to, if she came here when she knew I wouldn’t be here. But I need to talk to her. And I have no idea where she even is right now.

“She said she’s sorry,” Jax adds, almost apologetically. “She made me promise to tell you that.”

And that decides it for me. “I have to go find her. Can you teach today?”

“Yeah, but?—”

I’m already grabbing my keys and turning toward the door.

“Wait, Dom?—”

I’m not listening. I have to go fix this.

“The committee is meeting right now about your Hall of Fame induction,” he blurts out.

I freeze in the doorway and slowly turn my head toward him.

“They’re…what?”

He looks relieved to have my attention back. “The committee is meeting right now to discuss your induction. My friend on the board just called me. The president scheduled a last-minute meeting to have everyone vote on whether they’re still going to admit you.”

“Jesus Christ,” I murmur, dragging a hand down my face.

I kind of figured that’s what they were going to do, based on their email to me. It was a very professional email, never outright addressing the rumor or saying they’re going to kick me out, but I could read between the lines. They don’t want a “predatory” coach in their Hall of Fame—especially since it directly contradicts the reason I was nominated.

There are multiple reasons to be inducted into the Hall of Fame: being a pioneer for the sport, having an impressive fight career, or being part of a historically important bout.

Ironically, I was nominated because of my contributions to the sport outside of it.

When I was fighting, I always spent a lot of time helping up-and-coming fighters. So much so, that I had plenty of people tell me that I was wasting time and energy that could be better spent making me a better fighter. But I never listened, because mentoring fighters the way I didn’t really have when I was young was far more rewarding than any win I ever got. Sometimes I would even do seminars and donate the money to local schools that needed additional funding for their sports programs. The same program I spent last night teaching.

To get the induction for a reason that’s bigger than my fighting talent was the best gift I could ever ask for. And the fact that it completely contradicts what I’m now being accused of is devastating.

Fuck. I have to talk to the induction committee. If they vote me out for this, my whole career disappears.

If I lose the Hall of Fame nomination, and for a reason this public, it won’t just be the Philly MMA community that will shun me, it’ll be the whole country. I’ll lose my name, my career, everything.

“Where’s the meeting?” I ask Jax.

“Downtown in the Frederick Green Building. They’re starting in ten minutes.”

I don’t wait for anything else. Passing the first student to walk into the gym for 11 a.m. class, I beeline to my car so I can make it to the meeting will undoubtedly determine the rest of my career.

The receptionist is too stunned by my presence to stop me from entering the conference room where the meeting is being held. So, I brush right past her.

As the doors slam open louder than I intend them to, every person’s attention snaps to me, and I immediately freeze in place.

The room is filled with older men. None of the board members were professional fighters themselves, but all of them have too much money and love to give their opinions about the sport and its athletes. Deciding who goes into the Hall of Fame is the ultimate power move.

And I’m now standing in front of them, ready to beg them to use that power to let me in.

Unfortunately, I didn’t think this through, and now I have no idea what to say.

The president saves me the trouble of starting. “Dominic, this is a closed meeting. You aren’t allowed to be in here.”

I swallow roughly and start toward him on the other side of the long conference table. “I know, sir, and I’m sorry to interrupt. But I believe what I have to say directly affects your meeting.”

He looks uncomfortable as he clears his throat. I don’t blame him; it would be much easier for them to make a decision based on facts on paper, and without the consequences of that decision staring them in the face.

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