Page 65 of Finding Hope

“Yeah, B.” Crossing my arms over my still sweaty chest, I nod toward our newest member. “That’s Brad.”

“Met you ages ago with that chick, right?”

Bobby knowsthat chick’sname. But he doesn’t like Brad any more than I do.

“With Brittany.” Smiling, Brad stands proud. “Yeah, that’s my girl.”

“Your girl?” Bobby’s incredulous eyes come to me, then back to Brad. “She’syourgirl?”

“Yeah.” Brad’s smile grows. “You saw me with her that night.”

“I did.” Bobby agrees. “I saw her that night.” Then under his breath, “Wonder if he knowshisgirl slept over withmyboy a few weeks ago?”

I shoulder Bobby out of the way and step forward. “Alright Brock, you’ve got your gear? You wanna start tonight?”

“Yeah.” He throws his shiny credit card down on top of the paperwork. “Now’s as good a time as any.”

Sure is.

“I’ll take him.” Bobby works to step around me, but I stop him with an arm on his bicep.

“No, I got him.”

“Jack.”

I stop and glare. “I got it. You’ve got a PT appointment, yeah? Kit said she was coming in.”

Returning my glare, he studies me for a full minute. Like we have a million times in the past, we communicate with our eyes.

‘Don’t get arrested over this, Jack.’

‘I won’t. Promise.’

‘You’re a fuckin’ liar.’

‘Yeah, but nobody took Kit’s lessons from you, even when we thought you’d do better without the distraction.’

Nodding once, he steps back.Checkmate.“Alright. Watch your step.”

“Yeah.” Stepping around him, I take Annie’s collar and drag her away from reception. “Let’s go Brad.” I turn back to make sure he’s following. “Have you ever trained before?”

“Ah.” He looks around the training room, at the walls lined with heavy bags, and the other people watching us the way Annie watches Brad. “Ah, no… Well, yeah.”

I stop and frown. “Yes or no?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

He guesses.Yeah, alright, dick. Watching Bruce Lee movies doesn’t count.“Do you need to borrow our gear?”

“No.” He shakes his head nervously as Mike steps past with a filthy glower. He doesn’t even know Brad, but his timing is impeccable. “I bought my own.”

“You got your own?”

Smiling sarcastically, I watch him arrogantly drop his bag to the mats. Kneeling, he unzips the black and white bag and pulls out brand-new gloves, shin pads, head gear, cup, wraps, and a mouthguard.

He looks like a pretentious douche with his bag of brand-new shit, considering most of the people watching us come here with nothing more than initiative and a good attitude.

Most of our clientele are lower income, ratty gloves, maybe even some legal trouble. They come here with too much energy and a desire to put that energy to good use, rather than get arrested.

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