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I stole a glimpse of him as he scratched his chin, his eyes on the ground. “It started at the end of high school. My friend and I decided to join a gym in the city, and we spotted two guys sparring in a ring while we were working out. We were standing there watching when one of the guys called out to us—he told us to come up. He showed me how to throw my first punch.” Adam’s hands turned to fists in front of him as if he were reliving his memories.
I kept quiet, not sure what to say.
“The next time I went to the gym I saw the same guy there again. Donovan Hannigan.”
Hannigan? That was the name of the bar I’d gone to on Friday. Coincidence?
“Donovan taught my friend and me to fight. I didn’t tell my parents because I knew they wouldn’t like it. At first, it was for fun. I’d spar with some of the guys at the gym. Donovan told me he’d never seen someone with such natural talent.”
I reached for his arms and grabbed hold of his wrists, holding them between us.
“Donovan kind of took me under his wing. Da was always out of town, but Donovan was there. The day of my nineteenth birthday, he said he had a surprise for me—it was a fight. A real one. There were crowds of people, and I was almost too afraid to go through with it. But Donovan convinced me to do it, and I won. It had been so easy, too. I wasn’t sure if it’d been dumb luck, at first. But after that fight, I won every other one.”
“Did your parents ever find out?”
“Of course. The bruises, cuts, a few fractures . . .”
“What’d they say?”
“Da threatened to disown me, to kick me out of the business. When I told Donovan about it, he was more than eager for me to move into one of the flats he owned. When I told my parents I was going to move out, they were terrified I’d go through with it, so they basically dropped their threats. I went to college, worked at the company . . . and at night, I trained. I fought.”
Oh God.
“It became addicting, the winning. I was always chasing after the feeling it gave me, wanting more and more. I loved having so many people chanting my name, supporting me. But the deeper I got into it all, the more I learned who Donovan really was.” He dropped his hands from mine as if he were too ashamed to touch me. “But once Donovan gets his grip on you, it’s hard to get out.”
“Did you try to quit?”
“I want to say yes . . .” His eyes darkened, a pain there.
“But you didn’t?”
“Da tried to offer Donovan money to get him away from me. A lot of money. But as I mentioned, Donovan cares more about his reputation than a check. He liked making the money off my fights.”
I struggled to comprehend what he was saying. It felt like there were two Adams. But which one was standing before me now—the fighter or the businessman?
Spine-tingling chills skated down my back as Adam’s eyes caged me in his gaze. His story was going to get worse.
He bent his head forward . . . and I lost him. I didn’t know what to do with my hands. I finally crossed my arms, almost hugging myself to maintain composure.
“Five years ago, I quit. And I didn’t step near a bloody ring since—well, until two weeks ago.”
“Why?” I whispered, the breeze carrying the word from my lips.
“Owen.” He stiffened and looked back up at me. “I should never have been in the ring with him. He was nowhere near qualified enough to fight me. I should have refused to fight him.” He swallowed, the lump of emotion evident. “It only took one left hook—and the way he fell.” His eyes flashed shut. “Something happened to his spine.”
I cupped a hand to my mouth.
“I visited him in the hospital after the fight, worried about him, and they said he’d probably never walk again. The cops were there . . . I spent the night in jail.” He touched his wrists. “And I wish Da never bailed me out. I wish he’d let me feckin’ rot there. I deserved it.”
“But it was an accident! This guy chose to get in that ring with you.” I couldn’t help but come to his defense, despite how I felt about the fighting.
“The Garda—the police—tried to turn me against Donovan. I knew a lot about his business dealings, but I also knew that I couldn’t rat on him. I knew he wasn’t past hurting the people I cared about . . .”
“Jesus.”
“Since I wasn’t allowed back at the hospital to see Owen, my folks went—they told me that Owen was paralyzed. He’d be in a wheelchair forever. And it was my fault. My parents gave him a big settlement, and then I talked to Donovan. I threatened him—demanding that he leave me be.”
“Wow.”
