Page 7 of Big Wild Fighter

The boxing gym is thirty minutes out of town, tucked in an industrial park surrounded by warehouses and auto repair shops. It’s not flashy, but it’s got everything you need to break a sweat and clear your head: bags, a ring, free weights, and that smell of leather and sweat that’s so familiar it’s like home.

When I walk in, a few heads turn. It’s not unexpected. People tend to recognize me, especially in places like this. But no one approaches, which is a relief. I didn’t come here for autographs or selfies—I came to move.

I’m halfway to the back when I spot a guy in the ring, working with someone who looks like a local hopeful. The trainer—if that’s what he is—moves like a pro, fluid and sharp, his punches lazy but precise. His build is solid, like a linebacker, but there’s a looseness to his stance that says he could keep this up all day.

He catches me looking and pauses, leaning on the ropes. His eyes narrow briefly in recognition, and then he grins. “Well, I’ll be damned. Marlon Henderson, right?”

I nod, tossing my bag to the side. “That’s me.”

He hops out of the ring, grabbing a towel to wipe his face. “Didn’t think I’d ever see you in a place like this. What brings you here?”

“Just passing through,” I say, keeping it simple.

“Passing through, huh?” He doesn’t sound convinced. “Well, welcome to the gym. I’m Alex.” He sticks out a hand, and I shake it. His grip is firm, but not the macho kind that tries too hard.

“Nice place you’ve got here,” I compliment, glancing around.

“Thanks. You looking to get a workout in?”

“Yeah.” I’m already pulling the wraps out of my bag.

Alex smirks. “Good. I’ll be your sparring partner. Get those hands wrapped and meet me in the ring.”

I take my time wrapping up, letting the hum of the gym wash over me. There’s something grounding about the rhythm of this place—something I’ve missed.

When I climb into the ring, Alex is waiting, bouncing on his toes. We tap gloves, and then it’s on.

Sparring with him is...unexpected. For a guy I’ve never met, he reads me like a book, slipping my jabs and blocking my hooks like he’s been studying my moves for years. His punches are solid, too—not enough to hurt, but enough to let me know he’s serious.

After a few minutes, I start to test him, throwing feints and combos that force him to stay on his toes.

“You’re not bad,” I tell him, landing a body shot that makes him grunt.

“Not bad?” He grins, wiping his mouth with the back of his glove. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

We circle each other, trading punches and banter. There’s an ease to him like he’s not trying to prove anything, and I find myself relaxing in a way I don’t normally do with strangers.

By the time we’re done, we’re both sweating and breathing hard. Alex leans on the ropes, grinning like he just won a prize fight.

“Hell of a round,” he quips, tossing me a bottle of water.

“Not bad yourself,” I joke, taking a long swig.

We sit on the edge of the ring, the kind of quiet settling in that only comes after a good workout. Alex leans back on his hands, studying me like he’s trying to figure something out.

“So,” he says after a moment, “what’s a guy like you really doing in a town like Cherrywood Village?”

I chuckle, shaking my head. “You’re persistent, aren’t you?”

He shrugs, smirking. “I call it curiosity.”

I hesitate, not sure how much I want to share. But there’s something about Alex—maybe it’s the way he doesn’t seem impressed by my name, or the fact that he kept up with me in the ring. Either way, I decide to tell him the truth.

“There’s this girl,” I finally tell him, feeling like an idiot the second the words leave my mouth.

Alex raises an eyebrow. “A girl, huh? She must be something if she’s keeping you here.”

“She is,” I admit. “Met her a few days ago. She’s smart, funny, and beautiful. Makes me feel like I’m more than just a fighter, you know?”

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