Coach wasn’t actually my father, but he was the strongest parental figure I’d ever had. He knew how much going pro meant to me, because he’d been the one to introduce me to it and stop my life from becoming a train wreck.
My history with Coach went all the way back to high school. He was my neighbor for a few years, and he had a first-row seat to the tragedy that was me. Angry, stubborn and too rebellious to be up to any good, I’d almost dropped out during my junior year. My mother had been at a loss about what to do, and my father… Well, he’d been the reason I’d almost dropped out in the first place.
Coach had caught me one day, and almost ‘forced’ me to go with him and see boxers train. He showed me what discipline could do, what focus and purpose meant, and I started getting my life on track.
In senior year, all my efforts had almost gone up in flames because ofMark Jacobson, but thanks to Coach and my sister, I’d managed to hold on.
My father had thought I was a lost cause. He never thought boxing could do anything good for me, and neither did my teachers. No one vouched for me, they all were ready to kick me to the curb and leave me for dead—in the metaphorical sense, of course—but then I made a bet.
I would become a proandget a degree, and I would do it just to spite my father and everyone who thought a problematic guy like me could never succeed at anything in his life.
Coach nodded. “Just making sure you know where we stand.”
I’d been getting ready for this for years. Even if I’d been feeling the niggling of doubt about my future and what I wanted it to hold, nothing would derail me now. The stinging reminder of seeing Mark around campus only made my blood run hotter and my purpose more clear.
It didn’t matter if people didn’t think and would never think I was good—appearances mattered more than objective reality, and that was just a fact. Still, I could prove them I was good for something, my success the biggest slap in the face to the naysayers I could manage, and no one would be able to take that away from me.
“I’m going back in,” I said, stepping on the cigarette.
I was going to make this happen.
* * *
“What did Coach want to talk to you about earlier?” Andy asked, plopping himself down on the sofa beside me and reaching for the warm pizza on the coffee table.
“The usual. He wanted to ride my ass about the competition and Benny Denver. Doesn’t want me to get distracted.”
We were in our apartment’s living room, watching a re-run of a football game, beers, and just-delivered pizzas on hand. It was finally the end of the week, and having a chill night in with Andy did wonders to my sanity. With everything going on, I always felt like I was almost a step behind on everything.
Well, except when I was with Scott. When we were together, I could only think of how to elongate the minutes and make everything last.
As if he could hear my thoughts, Andy said, “And this lack of focus on your part has nothing to do with a certain Prince who was selling cupcakes with you, does it?”
I only answered him with a hard look. I didn’t want to lie, but saying something non-committal would only give me away. Andy was my best friend for a reason.
Andy raised his pizza-free hand. “I’m just asking, bro. I mean, you were pretty obsessed with him before, with all thoselongingstares and everything.” He was being sarcastic here, or at least I thought he was. I hadn’t wanted to accept it at the time, but I had been a little obsessed, hadn’t I? “Not to mention your bad mood when you started working together. But then, suddenly, you were asking me toget his jacket, and then nothing. Not a peep.”
I thought for a moment about how to best answer.
“He’s not a bad guy.” An admission. Andy knew about my history withgood boysand how much I’d wanted to put Scott in the same bag.
But he wasn’t in it. He was so far from Mark Jacobson, they were in different universes.
Andy watched my expression for a long second. “He might not be. But be careful with who you get involved, man. The road to Hell is paved with good intentions.”
“I’m being careful.” No need for reminders. Iknewwhat the consequences of getting involved with someone like him had been like.
Andy nodded and took a big bite of pepperoni pizza.
Thank fuck for laid-back best friends.
“Anyway. I’m glad I don’t have Coach breathing down my neck about going pro. No time for that sort of stress.”
Andy was one of the best boxers in our college after me, butunlikeme, he’d decided this year that he didn’t want to go pro.
“Have you thought about what you want to do yet?” I asked, taking a sip of beer, and reaching for another slice of greasy goodness.
Andy nodded. “I want to open a gym.”