Page 14 of Everest

“You’re not wrong. Boxing saved my ass when I was young and kept me out of trouble most of the time. It gave me something to work toward. And that’s what these kids need—discipline and structure. We can provide them with a fight they can win without ending up behind bars or dead,” Charlie states.

And that’s what this is all about. Some of these kids, who will walk through these doors, are one bad choice away from being swallowed by the streets. Gangs, drugs, violence, it’s all out there waiting for the next victim. This gym and the boxing program are a chance to show them they don’t have to end up another damn statistic.

“Have you ever stepped inside a ring?” Charlie asks.

I chuckle, wiping my mouth with a napkin. “Not like you did. My fights weren’t exactly sanctioned.”

Charlie grins. “Humor an old man. Let’s see what you got.”

I shake my head, but I’m already moving, following him to the ring. “You sure about this, old man?” I tease.

“I ain’t dead yet.”

Donning gloves, we step into the ring, tap fists, and move. We spar lightly, testing each other. Charlie throws a jab, and I block it, moving in close with a controlled hook that stops short of impact. His grin widens. “You got control. That’s good.” He steps back and rolls his shoulders. “You ever thought about training these kids yourself? I could use the help.”

I exhale. “Not sure I’m right for the job.”

Charlie stops moving and gives me a serious look. “You show up, put in the time, and set an example already. The kids respect you. Most of all, they believe in you because they can count on you. That’s half the job done right there.” Charlie claps me on the back, his voice laced with conviction. “You’re already changing lives, Everest.”

I reflect on the kids I’ve worked with over the years. Opening this gym is about breaking down barriers. We may not changeeveryone who walks through our doors, but if we can improve even one person’s life, every effort and time is worthwhile.

I look at Charlie. “Count me in.”

We let that end our impromptu sparring, roll up our sleeves, and finish the last bit of work in the gym.

Night settles on the city by the time we complete today’s tasks, and finally, we can officially open the doors in a few days. And now, all I want to do is go home, sit on the couch with a beer and a cold slice of pizza from the refrigerator, and watch television. “I’m headin’ out,” I tell Charlie, who has his keys in hand.

“I appreciate the help today.” He flicks the switch on the wall, and the overhead lights turn off.

I nod. “Anytime.”

“The club coming to the grand opening?” Charlie asks.

“Wouldn’t miss it.” I walk toward the door, with Charlie following behind me. We step outside, and I wait while he locks the door.

“Stay safe,” he says, then heads to his old beat-up truck.

“You too, old man.” Then I wait for him to climb inside and drive away before heading to my bike.

I glance around the mostly quiet parking lot and notice Jace, a kid from the youth center who is barely eighteen, caught up in conversation with a couple of men between the building and a dumpster. The bastard on the left looks familiar. Beneath the dim glow of the streetlights, I see the bruises his face is sporting from the beating I gave him a few nights ago. But it’s the cast on his arm that solidifies his identity.

This motherfucker has a death wish.

My blood turns hot, and my boots hit the pavement hard as I close the distance. “Yo, Jace.”

The kid startles, his eyes wide like a deer caught in headlights. “Everest, I was just?—”

“Go home,” I cut him off, my tone sharp, but I keep my eyes on the drug pushers. “Now.” I bark at the kid. Jace doesn’t argue. He mutters something under his breath, then takes off.

The second pusher, an ugly son of a bitch with a rat face, watches Jace jog away and clicks his tongue. “That’s a shame. The kid had potential.” He then glares at me.

I stare the motherfucker down, knowing he’s out here on the streets recruiting. “Yeah? So do graveyards.” My attention shifts to the wiry prick I dealt with earlier in the week.

He steps forward, his busted lip sneering at me. “You should have minded your business.”

I already see it coming, the shift in his buddy’s stance and the slight hitch in his breath before the motherfucker reaches for his waistband. When his fingers brush the handle of his piece, mine is already aimed between his eyes.

He freezes, and his greasy friend stiffens beside him. I disarm the bastard, sliding his gun behind the waistband of my jeans for safekeeping.

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