Page 14 of Diverge

“He won’t if you work for him.” Joe doesn’t like to work with people he doesn’t trust, and if he trusts you, once that trust is gone, unfortunately so are you. Thiserrandis running a lot longer than I had hoped. I still have to stop by the gym for a training session with Riley. Wrapping it up, I toss him a phone.

“Call Joe now and tell him you’re switching teams.”

This guy currently works for Joe’s competitor, and by competitor, I mean the other big-shot drug dealer in the city. He’s got new customers who charge him half the price of import which is why Joe wants him on his team.

What better way to do that than to scare him within an inch of his life and then butter him up with the promise of protection from the other guys? He picks up the phone and begins to dial. My part of the job is now over.

I exit the building and get into my car. Cracking my neck, I grab the steering wheel and squeeze, my knuckles going white.

*****

“Where have you been, man? I’ve been waiting for twenty minutes.” Riley walks up to me as I enter the gym. Noticing the blood on my shirt, his eyes go wide. “No. Nate, Coach will fucking flip his lid if he sees you looking like that.”

I don’t respond as I walk past him and make my way into the locker room. Taking off my shirt, I shove it into my gym bag and walk over to the sink to clean my hands. I look into the mirror and instantly feel disdain at the sight of my face.

Dropping my head, I begin to scrub my knuckles until the skin feels raw. I don’t enjoy hurting people. That’s not why I do this. The thing is, the amount of money I get from a job like this is equal to six months wage for someone working in an excellent-paying job. Plus, it’s not like I can just get a job anywhere. No one will hire me with my record. I can’t blame them.

Who would want an ex-con working for them? After washing my face and scrubbing the skin off my knuckles, I remove my blood-stained pants and pull on my training shorts. Grabbing my hand wraps out of my bag, I begin to wrap them around my hands and head into the gym, ready to let out my frustrations.

It’s empty here at this time, but I can see Riley is waiting in the ring talking to Coach Tyson about his next match.

Here we go.

Jumping into the ring, I can feel the atmosphere is tense. Coach Tyson has given his entire life to this gym and his students. His passion for martial arts is unmatched and has been from the moment I walked into his gym as a scrawny teen.

“Boys, the upcoming match is against Jenkins. Riley, you will be sparring with Nate to prepare,” he explains as he exits the ring.

Nodding, I move to the centre of the ring and bring my arms in guard position. Riley does the same. He swings, and I duck, swiftly jabbing him in the ribs. Riley is a great opponent, he’s honest, but he hasn’t been doing this long enough to anticipate his opponent’s next move.

“Riley! Put your guard up!” Coach calls from outside of the ring. Jabbing him again on the other side, I move forward and get a kick in on his thigh.

“Fuck!” He swears as he goes down, and Coach blows the whistle. Coach enters the ring as I grab my water bottle from the post.

“You gotta be quicker, mate. You can’t let your opponent know your next move, and you definitely can’t defend through an entire match. You need to attack,” he explains to Riley. Lifting up my bottle to my lips, Coach turns to me, and his face falls. Snatching the bottle from me, he points to my hands which are wrapped in my white hand straps, my blood seeping through.

“What the fuck is that?” I look away from Coach to Riley and don’t respond. “You’re a grown-ass man, and you’re still using your fists to get what you want? Pathetic.”

Hmm, partially true.

He paces the ring, visibly angry. “What did I tell you the first time you walked through those gym doors, Nate?”

I sigh. I know he’s right in everything he says, but how am I supposed to explain to him that I get paid to hurt people in order to make enough money to save up for Noah to move to the US? Nothing, there is absolutely nothing I can say, so I stay quiet not knowing how else to tackle the situation.

“Let me remind you.” He grabs my shoulder and squeezes. “You can have talent and strength, but the most important is determination.” He quotes Lyoto Machida.

I didn’t know what it meant at the tender age of fourteen when I walked into his gym for the first time, but now it makes complete sense. Nodding, I apologise because that’s all I can think to do.

“Son, I know you don’t fight with grown-ass men outside of the ring, so my best guess is that you’re mixed up in some other shit, but you need to decide if you’re determined to become a gangster or a world MMA champion.”

Looking from me to Riley, he points at the door.

“Now both of you, get the fuck out. This sparring session is over.”

I gather my things from the side of the ring and begin walking to the locker rooms with Riley on my heels. Entering the locker room, I begin to unwrap my hands, blood beginning to pool from the open cuts on my knuckles.

Riley doesn’t say anything as he gathers his things, and just as he is about to leave, he pauses. “Think about what Coach Tyson said.”

We’re the same age, but Riley is the better man. He owns his own construction business and has been managing a team since he was twenty-four years old. Again, different upbringing, but I do take his advice seriously when he shares it. “Don’t waste your fucking talent on some gangsters. Use it to your advantage in something you can be great at.”

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