“So we have one option,” I say, surprising myself with how calm I sound. “We own it. Completely.”
The moment the words leave my mouth, I feel a strange lightness. For months I’ve been terrified of this exact scenario, but now that it’s here, the decision is crystal clear.
“If we’re doing this, we do it right. Full statement. No apologies.”
Marco’s eyebrows shoot up. “No apologies?”
“None,” I say firmly. “I’m not sorry for who I am. I’m not sorry for loving Theo. I’m only sorry I didn’t have the courage to say it sooner.”
Ray slides a legal pad toward me. “Then let’s draft that statement.”
I pick up a pen and begin to write.
I look at the statement I’ve drafted, then glance back up at Marco and Ray.
“Before we release this, I need to call a full gym meeting. Everyone who’s left deserves to hear the truth from me directly, not from some press release or gossip thread.”
Ray nods. “Already done. Knew you’d want to do that. They’ll be here in twenty.”
“All of them?” I ask, surprised.
“Everyone who’s still with us,” Marco confirms. “About thirty fighters total.”
Twenty minutes. The clock on my wall suddenly seems too loud, each tick reverberating through my chest. I stand and walk to the window, watching the parking lot fill with familiar cars and trucks. These people trust me with their careers, their bodies, their futures. And I’ve been living a lie.
I revise the statement, crossing out words, rewriting entire paragraphs, then finally scrapping it all and writing something simpler:
Yes, I’m in a relationship with Theo Winters. Yes, I’m bisexual. My personal life doesn’t change my ability to train champions. Anyone with a problem can find another gym.
I stare at the words. Too blunt? Not enough? I add more:
I built this gym to be a place where fighters become the best versions of themselves. That hasn’t changed. What’s changing is that I’m finally being honest about who I am. This gym’s foundation has always been respect, hard work, and loyalty. Those values don’t depend on who someone loves.
To the sponsors pulling out and the fighters leaving—that’s your choice. To those staying—thank you for your loyalty. It won’t be forgotten.
Kaine’s Fight Club will continue producing champions. The only difference is now we’ll do it authentically.
I hand the paper to Ray. “How’s that?”
He reads it carefully. “Short, direct, unapologetic. It’s you.”
Marco checks his watch. “They’re waiting.”
He squeezes my shoulder once on his way to the door. “Te tengo, hermano.” He’d said the same words to me at the hospital after my knee injury. I haven’t thought about that night in years.
I take a deep breath, folding the paper and sliding it into my pocket. Twenty minutes have never passed so slowly. My heartpounds like I’m about to step into the ring for the biggest fight of my life.
Because I am.
I scan the faces surrounding the ring. Some avoid eye contact. Others stare in shock. A few—fewer than I expected—look disgusted. But most just look... confused.
“This doesn’t change a damn thing about how this gym operates,” I continue, my voice echoing off the walls. “I’m the same coach who pushed you past your limits. Same guy who held pads while you puked in trash cans. Same fighter who built this place from nothing.”
My knuckles whiten against the ropes as I grip them harder.
“I understand if some of you feel I lied to you. Maybe I did, by omission.” The admission costs me, but it’s necessary. “I convinced myself it was nobody’s business who I slept with. But I was really just afraid.”
Jonah catches my eye and gives a slight nod. Beside him, Micah stands taller.
