Page 6 of Fight for Forever

All charges have been dropped. Jenna explained they used the Domestic Violence Survivors Justice Act, and the fact he was breaking and entering as he didn’t live at the property, justice came down on her side.

She’s free.

Not that it will ever be easy to forget. Nor will she easily get over what happened that night.

I’m good with how things played out. I don’t think my part warrants celebrating. I put up my money, and I got it back, like I knew I would. I don’t need anything other than to know she is safe.

I’m fucking relieved she hasn’t reached out. I have no clue what to say to her. I’m still the same person I was before all this happened. A fighter.

It’s Thursday and I’m due in for a session with Sam today. I’ve been putting in more work the last few weeks. Guess I had some energy to work off. I’ve spent a lot of time trying to figure out my interest in Megan. Sure, she’s hot and sweet and I want to help her, but would I have done this for some other woman at the gym I barely knew? It is driving me crazy trying to figure it out, so I stop.

There are two rings, and as I cross the floor, I watch one of the fights. Malice is facing off with a new guy who started training here last month. He’s young, only twenty-one, and has won some matches in his weight class. He wants to take his career to the next level so joined Sam’s team.

Devon is good, a little too cocky for my liking. Malice will show him some humility and how to respect your opponent. He’s not in my weight class so we won’t face off, although I’ve heard he’s said he wants to. He’s funny if he thinks that’s a good idea.

Sam comes out of his office and spots me, lifting his hand and crooking two fingers at me to head there, rather than into thechanging rooms. I frown and cut between the rings, just as Malice lands a kick to Devon’s solar plexus that has him doubling over. Malice grins at me.

We’ve been friends for years, went to college together where we bonded over underground fights, until Sam got a hold of both of us and made us knock that shit off before we got hurt.

Malice is an ass, but he’s loyal and he’s a good fighter. He doesn’t compete anymore after a back injury that competitive fighting could cause more serious damage. It has never stopped him from getting in the ring here.

Sam’s office is just as you would expect for an old-time gym like this. No windows, white walls that look greyer in the light. His desk is metal and dented, his chair is old and wooden with a cushion on the seat where the padding has worn through. He’s got more than enough money to replace all of it, but Sam is a creature of habit.

He has trophies and ribbons and two belts on a shelf in the corner. They’re not exactly displayed. It’s more like he put them there and forgot about them. He has a decent computer and a row of sturdy, lockable cabinets where he keeps all his records.

We have a receptionist who keeps track of our regular clients, people who come to the gym to work out, but anything relating to the fighters is kept in here.

Sam’s hair is greying more, and he’s pushing sixty, but he’s still built as fuck, having fought in my weight class for years. No one ever sees him training, but he does it to keep the physique he has.

He’s one of, if not the best trainer in New York, and I would never want to work with anyone else. His knowledge doesn’t just lie in fighting and training. He’s a shrewd businessman, and his knowledge of the sport is unparalleled. He’s highly respected in the fighting world.

Sam knows when to accept or decline a fight. He can tell when it’s an appropriate challenge or an impossible task. Without sounding like a cocky fuck, more often than not, the challengesthat are brought my way, I win. It’s been a while since I’ve come across an impossible task.

“What’s up?” I enter the office with my duffle over my shoulder.

“Take a seat.”

“Well fuck,” I groan, dropping the bag.

I get a look that tells me to shut the fuck up without him having to open his mouth. I sit in the hard as shit chair in front of his desk. God forbid Sam makes his visitors comfortable. Mostly because he wants them out of his office almost as soon as they’ve sat down.

“Marris wants a rematch.”

My brows arch. You rarely get requests for a rematch so soon after a fight. I took Kelvin Marris on two months ago, he was my last fight. It was a closely tied match until the last two rounds, when I decided I was done and unleashed on him.

I could give two shits about it, but Marris is the kind of fighter who becomes your enemy as soon as the fight is arranged. It doesn’t need to be that way. We’re doing a job. Sure, we’re all competitive and we all want to win, but I see this as a professional sport. No personal grudges will get me any further. In fact, they can hinder you. Hence why he lost, he let personal feelings get in the ring with us and I capitalized on it.

“A grudge match, Sam.”

Sam shrugs. “Sponsorship will be good.”

“It’s not about money,” I wave a hand. “You think this is a good idea? Aren’t you the one telling me grudge fights should be avoided?”

Sam leans forward and rubs his chin, looking away from me for a moment. I frown, not sure what that means.

“Spit it out, old man.”

“Fuck your asshole,” he fires back.

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