Page 38 of Falling for the Forbidden Fighter
Louis might not believe it, but he’s a fighter.
And now, he gets to choose his fight.
EPILOGUE
LOUIS
Two years later…
It’s time for the rush.
This is what it’s all about, getting deep in the weeds, fighting through every moment. Sweat builds on my face, and I wipe it clean with a rag as I slam down a fully loaded cheesesteak, wrapped and ready.
“There’s yours, Jerry,” I call out through the window. “Extra peppers.”
Jerry, the old guy who runs the speed bag like no one else, steps up and grabs his cheesesteak with a big smile on that weathered face.
“Thanks, kid,” he says. “See you.”
It’s six thirty, sunset.
Outside Don’s gym, hungry fighters swarm my truck. No one has an appetite quite like a fighter.
I bang out orders, falling into my flow state. My speakers play Philly rap none of these guys ever heard before I started parking my truck here a few nights a week. Even without Don’s fighters, plenty of people show up from around Albuquerque.
Twelfth Round Cheesesteaks—the only legit cheesesteak in New Mexico.
I’ve never owned a car, but I’ve got a food truck. And t-shirts. And business cards!
All because of her.
The back doors on the truck open. Catherine smiles at me before climbing in. She throws on an apron over her teal scrubs, kisses me on the cheek, and starts loading up orders.
“Sup, baby,” I say. “How was your day? Good patients?”
“Always. That nice old lady who had the hip replacement is moving much better. I got her up the stairs today.”
“That’s my girl.”
We handle the rush like it’s nothing. By the time eight rolls around, I tell the rest of the line that we’re sold out. They groan, of course, but I give them little discount cards for waiting.
Catherine encouraged me to look into culinary school after the Ruiz fight, but it didn’t feel like me. All those books and classes and teachers. I don’t know… I got to do things my own way.
I invested every penny of the money I won into this truck, equipment, and perfecting my cheesesteak. We get the hoagies straight from this company in Philly, and I source my ribeye from local cattle ranchers here in New Mexico.
Catherine, my angel, my wife, supported me through it all.
I could have failed. All that money could have gone down the drain. But she didn’t care. She saw how committed I was and let me know every day that I didn’t have to worry.
“This is your fight,” she told me. “And I’m in your corner.”
I got a lot of calls after Ruiz. Highlights from my fight, the knockout, were everywhere for months.
Coaches. Sponsors. The World Boxing Association. They all gave me the same spiel, hammering me about letting all that talent go to waste.
Not once was I tempted.
I’m still around the sport. I help Don and Ricky out in the gym. They’ve even got a new fighter who looks promising, and I come put him through the ringer with them for fun. I work the bag. I spar. It all keeps me in shape.
