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“What the fuck are you expecting me to do?” I ask as I look around the gym.
All the guys around us are going about their business, either training or prepping for the fights today. Chase has two rings set up, and the billboard set up between them shows that there’s eight fights scheduled for today and four tomorrow.
“Casey,” he says without any further words.
Like that’s supposed to give me any clue of what the fuck I can do.
Damn, this isn’t going to be easy. It’s going to be a fucking ordeal no matter what I do, and I deserve it to be horrible. Even in my drunken haze these last few months, I knew I was neglecting the outside world, and I knew there would be consequences for doing it too.
Especially if I didn’t drink myself to death beforehand.
“Where’s Casey?” I ask, trying to ignore the deep sour feeling come up from my stomach.
“He’s going to be here in about half an hour. His grandparents are having a rough time getting him to do just about anything,” Dale says quietly, and then turns to give me a look that I know I deserve. “It hasn’t been easy on them. Losing their only kid and having their grandkid fall into a well of depression and misery. No one should ever have to bury their own child.”
If Chase and Bear were to both hit me as hard as they could, I don’t think it would feel as bad as what Dale just said to me.
“I…” I start to say, but don’t even bother finishing.
Dale’s heard all of my excuses. He and I both don’t need any more of them.
“Tommy’s dad is in the hospital too. He’s not doing too good. So everything is now on his mom. She had to bury her child, her husband’s health is in the shitter, and her grandson is fucking falling apart at the seams,” Dale says to me as he stops to look out across the gym.
“I’m fucking here, Dale,” I growl at him quietly. “I get the fucking message.”
“I’m not sure you really do.”
Dale turns to me. The usual piss and vinegar is gone from his face. He’s not giving me any blustering or the usual callousness.
No, he’s looking at me with genuine anger.
“I’m here. I’ve got no fucking clue what to do, but I’m here,” I say.
“Good enough, I guess. I mean it’s not like someone’s future is on the line. Some kid’s who’s lost everything and everyone,” Dale says before he turns toward the sign hanging in the back.
On the sign are the names of fighters and who they’ll be up against.
God, what I wouldn’t do for a drink right now. Just a sip of rum or bourbon. Maybe a quick visit to the Jeep would be a good way to calm the nerves…
“Go look over Mia Collins and Blake Gorlewski. I need to see them with a fighter’s eyes. They’re new and I want to know if they have any raw talent,” Dale says in a much more normal voice.
“I’ve never done anything like that—” I stop for a moment, trying to figure out what good I’ll be looking at someone.
“You’ve fought enough to have eyes on a fighter. Look for the little things. We’ve got some raw talent in here and I want to see who will be going on to bigger things,” Dale says.
“Um, I don’t know anything about girls, Dale,” I mutter quietly.
“I didn’t either, but they’re just like us, except meaner,” Dale says with a loud laugh.
Fucking dick. He’s going to enjoy watching my discomfort.
Turning away from him, I look up at the board and see the two names. Blake is in the Middleweight class and Mia’s a Bantamweight.
“Where are they at?” I ask as I look around the gym.
“I saw Mia running to the locker room with a hand over her mouth, and Blake is over there working on the bags,” he says as he nods toward a guy who doesn’t look much older than eighteen.
Looking back to Dale, I ask, “Was she puking because of you or nerves?”
