Page 8 of Southie
I pulled my jacket tighter around my body, hoping to warm up a little. “Is it that obvious? What gave me away?” I asked, returning her warm smile.
I wasn’t dressed for the weather, so she’d probably seen me shivering underneath my thin coat.
“Well you’re not dressed for this kind of weather, sweetheart. You’re shivering.” She tugged at the arm of my thin coat. “And now that I hear that accent of yours, you’re not from around here. Somewhere south?”
She snickered, and I shook my head, laughing. “No, ma’am. I’m not from here. I just moved from North Carolina a few months ago. Still haven’t gotten used to the Boston weather yet.”
The bus pulled to my stop, and the nice, elderly woman rose from her seat with her cane in hand. We both exited the bus into the frigid night air. It wasn’t weather an elderly lady should have been out in, but neither should I.
“Well, make sure you get some warmer clothes and boots, honey. Sometimes the winters here are harsh and the bus ride will always be cold.”
“I sure will. Thank you, Mrs…”
“Daugherty. Angelica Daugherty. And you are?”
“Camilla Jennings.”
“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Camilla. I’m sure we’ll see each other again if you ride the bus. You hurry along now and get to wherever you’re going. Make sure you’re not out in this neighborhood at night by yourself. Everyone in Southie isn’t as welcoming to outsiders as I am.”
Outsiders?
I nodded and waved. “Okay, Mrs. Daugherty. I’ll see you around.”
She waved her hand and trekked through the snow in the opposite direction.
I hiked toward the gym as slowly as possible. It took less than fifteen minutes from the bus stop to walk to the gym on any day, but in this weather, it would take longer.
The wind had picked up, swirling snow through the air. Frost crystals coated the bushes and exposed metal of the bike racks along my route. A thick layer of pristine snow covered cars and buildings. While it was late, and snow fell steadily, people in heavy coats and colorful scarves meandered throughout the streets of South Boston.
With my breath fogging the air and the snow shimmering under the city lights, I moved as fast as possible, slipping occasionally on the snow-covered sidewalk that was now at least ankle deep. I pulled my light jacket tighter around my body. It was so lightweight, it barely did anything to block the windchill.
This is ridiculous. I’m going to be sick or break something. With my luck, it’ll be both.
Forty minutes later, I stepped through the doors of Premier Boxing, relishing in the heat against my body as soon as I cross the threshold.
Winter in Boston is going to be brutal.
I dodged fighters hitting heavy bags, punching speed bags, and jumping rope, trying to make it to my father’s office before he stopped me.
He barked orders to the fighters while he stood ringside. Whenever he was in the gym training fighters, he was in his element. He lived and breathed fighting. It was his dream to train the next champion of the world. Hopefully, they distracted him long enough for me to slip into his office without him seeing me.
My father was a former Golden Gloves champion boxer who’d turned pro at twenty-two. A few years into his professional career, the World Boxing Association gave him a title shot, and he became the Light Heavyweight Champion of the World. He held the title for more than a year before injuries suffered during a fight forced him to retire.
However, giving up something he loved to do had caused him to become bitter since he’d had no other choice but to end his career early.
After retiring, he started training fighters, and then he decided to open his boxing gym. Now fifty-six, he’d made a name for himself as one of the top boxing trainers in the country. He hoped Premier Boxing would become one of the leading gyms in the country and produce some of the best fighters in the world.
My father intimidated me when I pissed him off, and his anger overwhelmed me. After the death of Mama, he aimed his frequent outbursts of anger at me. Today would be no different, but I hoped he waited until we were alone.
I’d piss him off today by being late, but it was unavoidable. He’d asked me to shoot promotional photos for the gym, but I stayed later at school to finish up some images to add to my portfolio. I should’ve been here two hours ago but lost track of time. Then the weather made it impossible to be here any sooner.
After I sold my collection, my art professor recommended I add more photographs to my portfolio because the high-profile client who’d bought the collection would no doubt garner more attention to my work and more potential clients. I hoped my professor was serious because the way things were going between me and my father, Boston might not be my home too much longer, or at least I wouldn’t be living with him if I remained here.
“You’re late!”
Shit!
His voice boomed throughout the busy gym. Everyone, including me, stopped what we were doing. His eyes remained on the fighters in the ring as he waved a hand in the air for everyone to continue.
