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It had been five years.
But it felt like yesterday.
The rap music didn’t drown out the swooshing of jump ropes and the thwack as they beat against the floors, or the tap-tap of fists connecting with heavy bags. Every noise reverberated through me—the cracking of glove to bag, knuckles to helmets—and I shut my eyes and hung my head for a second.
Don’t do this, I told myself. Turn the feck around.
My left hand curled into a fist at my side as I looked back up.
I couldn’t turn around. I couldn’t leave.
I ignored the stares of fighters as I began to walk straight for one of the practice rings set up in Donovan’s gym.
There were two guys inside, throwing jabs at each other. I kicked off my shoes, dropped my sweats and stepped out from the legs, my shorts brushing lightly against my knees as I did, and then peeled my shirt over my head and flung it on a chair.
One guy stopped moving and lowered his guard when he saw me pop over the rope and step inside. He had blond corn rows and a chest covered in tats.
“Either of ya willing to spar with me?”
“Adam McGregor. You’re back, eh?” The corn rows guy stepped in front of me.
“Yeah.” I raised my guard, and my attention shifted to my knuckles, finding the evidence of what I’d done to Anna’s ex-boyfriend. “Yeah, I’m back.”
The guy grinned. “Well, shit. I’ll throw down with ya.” He came straight at me, and I dodged his jab and spun around quick, sneaking in a sidekick to his ribs.
“You sure you can take me?” I asked as I noticed people begin to crowd around the ring.
“The fuck I can.” He leaped at me, and we battled a few minutes before I knocked him to his back and wrapped an arm around his neck, locking his feet with my legs in a rear naked choke hold.
He tapped out, and I released my grip and pushed up from the ground.
I shook my head, energy zinging through me. My heart pounded, and a slow roll of excitement gathered inside me as I opened my arms and looked out to the crowd of fighters who had gathered. “Next?”
“You’ve been out of the game five years, and you think you can walk up in here and act like you’re goddamn better than everyone?” someone hollered from the pack of people.
I cocked my head and waved him up. “I’d be happy to prove it to you.”
But the guy didn’t budge.
I looked down at my hands, and Anna came to my mind—the look of fear and disgust on her face . . .
“I need to train. Is there anyone here who wants to spar? I promise I’ll take it easy on ya.”
So I was a cocky bastard when it came to fighting. At this point, what the hell did I have to lose? The only person who’d given me hope was off-limits, as she should have been from the moment we met.
“I’ll help you train.”
I looked at the fighter. It was Tommy, one of Donovan’s lackeys.
Oh, hell yes.
* * *
“You’re going to ruin your perfect ears and get these cauliflower ones like mine. Not sure how you managed to keep yourself looking so damn flawless all these years, but you keep fighting as much as you are . . .”
I stopped the heavy bag from swinging and lowered my fists at the sight of Les on crutches. “I have perfect ears, huh?” I laughed, almost forgetting where I was and why I was there. “What’re ya doing here?”
“Now, shouldn’t I be the one asking?” Les cocked a brow.
