Page 84 of Obsessed with my Temptation

This was just a charity competition, yes. A one-day event where there wasn’t even a prize for the winner. But what it really meant to me was all the coverage it would get. The possible sponsors that might get interested in me if I had a good fight, the managers that Coach had talked to me about that would be watching me closely and judge whether they should invest in me.

Today needed to go well. It was vital if I wanted to become a pro.

But do you want it?

I didn’t allow myself to dwell on it. Instead, I re-focused myself on Benny Denver, my opponent for today.

I’d met him a few times, as all amateur boxers in this region were meant to do, and I knew I could win. I’d seen him fight, and he might be good, but next to me, he was lousy at best. He was too cocky, too impulsive, and too bad-tempered for me not to take advantage and send him home with tears in his eyes.

But today was not my day. And with how distracted I’d been this week, I didn’t put it past me to be KO’d before the day was over.

I was thinking about this, getting ready, when Coach found me. Bushy eyebrows furrowed on his craggy face, he pointed to the empty hallway and I followed him, closing the door to the locker room behind me and getting ready for the rant ahead.

He stared me down for a long moment.

I had to admit, it made me feel two inches tall.

“If you want to quit now, say it before you’re in the ring and your ugly mug is plastered to the floor.”

I clenched my teeth. “I’m not quitting, Coach.”

“Then look like it. You’ve been out of it for weeks. Fuck, you’ve been hesitating for months, and for what?” He shook his head. “I was taking it the zen route, letting you figure your shit out on your own, but clearly it didn’t work. So we’re going to do it now before you end up with a brain injury and we can’t go back.”

Rolling my eyes, I shook my head. Not because I didn’t want to, but because I didn’t know where to start. I was too frustrated to eventhinkabout anything properly.

“What do you want?”

“I want to win,” I said, sounding for all the world like I meant it, but not feeling at all like I did.

“No. What do youwant? Right now. For real. Think about it.”

I wanted a lot of things.

I wanted to stop feeling like nothing I ever did would be good enough.

I wanted to stop chasing after dreams just to spite those who didn’t care about me.

And I wanted Scott. I wanted Scott so fucking much it hurt to breathe.

I had to say something. I had to because I was exhausted and I couldn’t shoulder all the pain on my own anymore.

“I don’t want to go pro, Coach,” I said, even if it was difficult. “It feels like fighting against the wind, fighting for recognition I’ll never get. Nothing will ever be enough, I’ll always be justbad.”

“No.” Coach took hold of my shoulder and made me look at him. “That’s not fucking true, and deep down, you know it. I know it, and the people who know you know it. Your problem, boy, is that you want too badly for other people to admit it, to know it, but maybe they never will. Even if it’s right in front of their faces. And you need to be okay with it.”

I was breathing heavily, holding emotion in, letting all the frustration and anger wash over me as I accepted the cold, bitter, hard truth.

“So I’m fucked, no matter what I do.”

“No. Accepting it means you get to be free, son. You get to choose that no matter if they never accept that you are good, you will still know it, and they can’t take that away from you. You can choose to live your life even if they will never accept your path. And you can choose that you want to win or lose, just because you want to.”

His words finally cracked my shell, pouring into me and letting the rays of hope finally touch me.

This was it. All the plans I’d ever made for my future, crumbling to dust. All my spiteful motivation, down the drain. All my anger softening up, but still with me, because I wasn’t done.

I didn’t want to go pro, but I still wanted to win.

I wanted to win because boxing had been my shining light out of misery.

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