Page 54 of Their Broken Legend

I sneer, saying, “Yeah, well, I’m better.”

He doesn’t disagree, but returns with, “Maybe next year, son. This year you need—"

“No. This year.” The words come out hard, stern, curt, and I wanted them to. “Now. Hook it up with his trainer.”

He rises to his full height and heads towards the double doors, unassuming in his slow stride but power in his presence. He simply says, “No.”

Just like that.

‘Cause he’s the damn head.

Clay’s the Don.

Max does what he wants.

Bronson rules his own world.

And I fucking follow…

“Do you miss her?” I blurt out, because in that second, hurting him seems a fair trade for his blatant dismissal. And being silenced is my condition while not sharing is his, so I’m simply reminding him where we fit.

“Cut your damn hair,” he barks, leaving the room under dark silence.

Rage gathering, I turn back to the screen and hit play, my eyes drilling holes through the flickering images of Chuck. I’ll text his coach and the head of the City District Boxing Association in the morning and organise the damn pairing myself.

I don’t need Luca Butcher’s permission to face off a worthy opponent. More than that, he has a fan base and sponsorship. I have, too. There is money in this fight. They’ll see that.

It’ll be a showstopper.

A fight to remember.

CHAPTERSEVENTEEN

kaya

I’mcross-legged on the mattress, my Sylvanians sprawled across the bed like a critter bomb went off on the sheets. I check a bear’s little outfit over. It’s worn and dusty, having been in the loft up until recently, when my phone buzzes with a message. I pick it up from beside me and—

I swallow over a lump, my eyes jumping to the plaster wall behind the door that has little flaps of paint curling around the crack Xander caused. I stare at it before I read the text from Kenno, hoping it’ll somehow bring me comfort.

I brave the message.

Kenno:

Nothing yet.

Fuck.

Exhaling hard with reliefanddisappointment, I go back to removing fluffy grey fibres from the little bear’s clothes like some kind of fucking weirdo.

A knock drags my gaze to the door, widening my eyes and quickening my heart to the possibility it’s Xander. He’s one of the only people who knows I live here.

I jump to my feet and fly across the space, twist the handle, cracking it to the restraint of the chain, ready to make a joke about my safety and strangers when—

It’s not Xander.

An older man with a pitch-black beard, wearing jeans and a white shirt that is too short, scowls at me.

I peek through the gap, readying myself to slam it on his way-to-close face. “Yes?”

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