Page 76 of A Fighter’s Love

“The bar staff are set up,” he said. “And I’m going to be on the door for the first hour.”

“Okay, that’s good.” She nodded and tightened her grip on her bag.

“Jenny,” he said, catching her arm.

Her belly clenched and she snatched in a breath.

He glanced at his hand stretched around her pale pink sweater, then released her. “Sorry.”

She said nothing.

“Sorry, not just for that…” He nodded at her arm. “But you know…for it all. I fucked up.”

“It takes two people to make a relationship go wrong, Billy. I should never have let it go on for so long. I wasn’t happy. I should have fixed that sooner.”

He frowned. “I know I’ll never get a chance to, not now you’re with Dale.” He paused, closed his eyes for a second, as if the words had been hard to say. “But for the record, I’d do it differently another time around. I was an arsehole when you’d already been through so much shit. That was the last thing you needed.”

“We’ve both been through our fair share of crap.” She smiled sadly. “And now it’s time to move on and find happiness. It will happen for you, I’m sure.”

He huffed. “Well, let’s just get through tonight, huh. A Jackson win would make my bank balance pretty fucking happy.”

“Yes, I’m sure it would.” She turned and walked away. Billy would indeed be happy if Jackson won and it would be mainly about the money, though it would bring kudos to the club. She’d be happy if Grinder didn’t turn up.

After placing her bag in the office and then locking the door, she went to the makeshift bar. Several early punters were drinking pints and talking boxing.

“Hi, everything okay?” she asked the head barman.

He looked up from slicing limes. “Yeah, fine. Brought an extra pair of hands. I figured as the match is a sellout it’s going to be busy.”

“Good thinking.” As she’d spoken several loud voices came from the door.

A group of fifteen or so guys spilled in, clearly looking forward to a few drinks before the match. Given it was also the end of the working week, spirits would be high.

“If you need anything, just shout, I’ll be around.”

“Will do, thanks.” He nodded then turned to a customer.

Mohawk stepped next to her. “Hey Jen, you got money on?”

“No, I’m not a betting girl.”

“Ah, shame, I reckon you’d make some on Jackson. He’s on fire.”

“You really think so?”

“Yeah. Peak form. Michael’s really worked him hard.”

“But Grinder—”

“Grinder’s a dirty fighter, I know. But with McKillen as ref, he won’t get away with it.”

His words calmed her a fraction. “You really don’t think so?”

“Nah, one below the belt and he’ll be pulled up.”

“I hope so.” She stifled a shudder. The thought of Jackson getting a hard whack ‘below the belt’ wasn’t a pleasant one.

“Pint, please,” Mohawk said, signaling a barman.

---