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Ethan shakes his head and turns away from me. He walks away, as if forgetting he’s angry with me and calls out over his shoulder, telling me to, “Stick around for a while.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chase
This last week has been pretty rough on me, not just with the training but with keeping a tight focus on everything leading up to this match. I want to obsess over every little detail, something I don’t usually do. I usually let Dale handle a lot of the little things with the fights. He's my manager for a reason, I have never been that fond of that side of the business. I don't like doing the scheduling for interviews, weigh-ins and all the other shit that’s just for show. I’m here to fight, and with all the hard work I put in, earn a large sum of money. Every little penny goes into the bank. I may have a few toys, but I’m seriously saving for when I don't make money fighting anymore.
Not fighting anymore... To say I am not going to fight again is strange and alien feeling. This is what I do, it’s like real estate with my father, it’s in my blood. I love this sport with all of my heart and with all of my fucking soul. I love everything around it. I love training, and I love teaching the newcomers to the sport, and I love teaching kids. I don't like losing, but it’s a part of the sport as well, and I try to reinforce this with the new guys so they don't stop trying their best after a loss.
But I’m tired, and I’m very aware that I’m hitting an age where I can be considered past my prime. I've fought for a long time and I am proud of how far I have come, but I might be getting close to being done. I think about it almost as much as I think about Avery.
I swing open the back door of the gym and shoulder my bag. The sun is still up and I can't see a single cloud in the sky. It’s another beautiful night. I guess I am going to go home and enjoy the silence of being completely fucking alone.
Completely fucking alone, I hate those words right now.
“Hey, Reaper!” a voice shouts at my back. Turning around, I see four guys advancing on me quickly.
I don't even bother raising my hands in a questioning manner, this is one of those times where I look into someone’s eyes and just know they are coming for me. Why doesn't even matter. I bellow out, “Dale!”, as loud as I can before throwing my arm up to block the punch of guy number one. I block that punch and the second one he snaps out at me.
It’s the other guys’ punches I don't block because I can’t.
I hunch my body and turn to the side, trying to limit how much of my body is exposed. My arms come up in the classic boxers block and backing up, I try to get to the wall as fast as possible. If they circle me, it's fucking over.
It’s bad enough that there’s four of them against my one, what punk ass bitches. Not a single one of them could bring me down by them self. But now I can see a glint as a blade flashes in the light. Fucking great, just what I need. I’m already outnumbered and one of the assholes brought a knife to this fucking show.
“Ah, so it’s that kind of deal boys? Well, knife boy you first,” I say as I motion to the punk. I bellow out, “Dale!” one last time before the guy charges at me.
Turning to the side, I narrowly avoid a slash of the blade at the last moment thanks to luck. Seriously, it was a fucking miracle. Then I lash out with my fist and connect solidly with the side of the punks’ head. Fucker is barely fazed though, he must have some fighting experience. He pulls back from me and switches his knife to the other hand.
Time seems to slow as I focus on the blade coming for me while his friends are trying to punch me at the same time. I take the blow to the head and thankfully push the blade past me. What almost brings me down is a hard blow to my ribs that robs me of my breath. Fuck, someone’s hit me hard enough it actually fucking hurts.
“What the fuck!?!” I hear as I see them pull back for another go. Then I see punk ass knife boy fly past me and hear a sickening thud as his head connects with the wall. The others are quickly pushed towards the side of me as Dale, and what looks like an army of half-dressed men, charge out of the gym doors.
“Someone call the cops!” I hear a shout as tons of guys circle the four thugs.
“What the fuck?” I bellow at them as I edge up to the first guy who tried to hit me. The guy with the knife is completely dazed as he lies there, sprawled on the ground by the fucking wall.
Raising their hands, the other guys try to barrel their way past us but it’s not going to happen. Some of the guys from the gym absolutely do not like each other, but this a club kind of thing and they aren't about to let anyone fuck with one of us.
“Time to take a seat gentlemen,” an old man says as he walks into the crowd. He has a wooden baseball bat in his hands and it he looks like he might just use it regardless of whether or not the punks decide to stick around.
***
“Chase, we need to get that rib looked at,” Dale says as he prods my side.
I wince and lower my arms, it's a bit easier to breathe that way and I don't hurt as much. Fuck me! It’s fucking fractured, I know it. I’ve had this before, and I pulled out of a match because of it. Fuck!
“Nah. I'm good,” I say with a grin. It even hurts to do that.
“No, you’re not. That ribs fractured at the least, look you are barely...” he growls.
“Dale. I'm good,” I say quietly.
“But…”
“No buts Dale, I'm good. I’m fighting tomorrow as planned. Everything is fine.” That’s all I will say. I know he won't want me to fight but I have fought with worse injuries. Normally, that just means I won't take a fight again so soon. Never done it with a fractured rib though. It's going to make things rough. I need to breathe to fight and right now just breathing is a painful chore.
“What if...”
