Page 12 of Fighter Daddy's Girl

“It might be the only way you can get him to leave you alone.”

“If he gets worse or does something more, I will. Right now, I just want to get through the semester without causing any trouble.”

Lila grabs both our bags, then my hand, and yanks me to my feet. Holding onto my hand, she gives me a grin and then hustles me out of the student union and away from the unwanted gaze of my professor.

“Where are we going?” I ask.

“Back to the dorm,” she says as we dash across the quad. “You still have a lot more to tell me about your little tryst, and I’m going to give you some advice for getting that man into bed.”

“Oh, dear God,” I say, laughing so hard my sides hurt.

6

GRIFFIN

Sweat pours down my body as I work the bag, launching a flurry of punches and kicks. I don’t have any other fights lined up right now, but I like staying in shape. Plus, it’s kind of expected that I stay on top of my game, given that my main source of income is training other fighters and prepping them for their upcoming tilts. Those who can’t do teach, right?

After finishing my set, I step back and grab a towel, wiping away the sweat as I take a minute to catch my breath. The gym is crowded with guys getting in their work. A couple of guys are sparring in the ring, others are working the weights, and some are practicing form and technique on the bags as hard metal music is pumped through the speakers. The air is musty, humid, and smells like old sweat. It smells like work.

I’ve always loved the work. I love the sweat and the aching muscles. I even love getting punched while I’m training. It always teaches me something. It helps me sharpen and refine my craft. Back when I was still on the circuit, people used to say I was a master technician because my game was always evolving. I never settled into complacency and always strove to improve mytechnique. Those punches I took in training weren’t something I took during an actual bout.

Life gets in the way, though. There was no way I was going to let my mom go through what she had to endure alone. She was all I had, and when I was a kid, she sacrificed so much for me, always pushing me to excel and chase my dreams. Watching her wither away, collapsing into a shell of herself, was harder than any fight I ever took. I miss the game, and I hate that I never got my shot at a title, but I wouldn’t give up that time I had with her for anything.

“Yo.”

Pulling my face out of my towel, I see Tommy James standing in front of me. Both of his eyes are still blackened and swollen, and deep purple bruises mar the skin on his face, but he’s smiling. He holds his hand out, and I shake it. Draping the towel over my head, I sit down on the bench and take a long pull from my water bottle. Tommy sits down beside me.

“That was a hell of a fight,” he says.

I nod. “Yep.”

“I just want to say there are no hard feelings.”

“Why would there be hard feelings?”

He looks at me, his face lined with surprise. “Don’t you think the beating you put on me was a little … excessive? It was an exhibition.”

“It was a fight. There was a purse at stake.”

He scoffs. “The purse was five hundred bucks. Did you really need to pound me like that for five hundred bucks?”

“Whether it’s five hundred bucks or five million, you should know me well enough by now that I’m going to give you everything I got. If you weren’t ready for that smoke, that’s your fault.”

Tommy frowns, sucking in a bit of air through his teeth and shrugs. “Yeah. I guess so. Still, you could have eased up at the end.”

“And when have you ever known me to ease up, Tommy?”

He’s trying to offer up an olive branch, but I’m still pissed at him for popping off about Grace. It’s not that I don’t like Tommy. Outside of the ring, he and I get on well enough. We’re not best friends. I mean, we’ve gone out and had a few beers, but we’re not super tight. But hearing him saying such vile things about Grace really set me off. And when he said those things, there was no question in my mind I was going to keep pounding on him until I beat those thoughts right out of his head. It seems like he got the message.

“Anyway, you okay?” I ask.

“Yeah, I’ll be fine.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Wanted to find out what the fuck that was all about the other night? It seemed extra to me,” he says. “What’s going on with you?”

“What do you mean? Nothing’s going on with me.”

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