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“Of course you will. If this is meant to be, and you take what you told her seriously, you won’t think anything less of that child. You are going to be a great father to that baby. She is lucky to have someone like you stepping up.”
“I just don’t want to let her down.”
“You won’t. Now, let’s get to work. It’s just me and you.”
I’m glad he decided to change the subject. I need my mind to be cleansed for now. I walk over to the locker where I set my gloves yesterday. That’s what I love about this gym; I can leave something wherever the hell I want and it will stay there.
I get into stance on the mats, spacing my feet the perfect distance and preparing to spar with Howard. It’s almost like sparring with Garrett but Howard packs the heat. He doesn’t play around. He treats me as if I’m standing in the ring against an opponent. After a few minutes of nonstop hooks and takedowns, I crouch to catch my breath. I look up through sweaty eyelashes and make eye contact with Howard.
“When can I get back in the ring? It’s been too long.”
“You’re ready? I was waiting for you to tell me that. I know last time took a toll on you, and shit went downhill fast. If you’re ready, I’ll get Blaize to add you to the list for next week.”
“I’m in.” There is no hesitation. Fighting is my life. I need it like I need the air I breathe. I’ve missed it way too much, and I’m ready.
“Then it’s done. He should be able to get you in without a problem. He asked me the other day where you’d been.”
Now that I’ve distracted Howard, I sweep his legs from underneath him in a swift motion and pin him to the ground. “See, I’ve still got it,” I boast.
“Well done. Now let me up, and let’s go again. This time, we hold nothing back.”
“Since when do you hold anything back?” I ask as he stands.
Before I can blink, I’m lying on the ground helpless. My body is molded into the cool softness of the rubbery mats. That bastard. “I don’t.”
We continue sparring. If I’m getting back into the ring next week, I need to be prepared. I refuse to be caught off guard.
“Give me your best hook, Lance,” Howard demands as he gets back into stance. I throw a right hook but he stops it immediately. “I said give me a hook, damn it. You throw a hook like that in the ring, and the bastard will take you down faster than you can blink. Your arm isn’t bent right, and your footing is off.”
“Fuck,” I mutter. I reposition my feet, shifting my weight to my lead foot so I can pivot and deliver a hook the way I’m supposed to. I have no clue how the fuck I messed that up. I’m usually better with those, and Howard knows it. This time, I nail it.
“That’s more like it,” Howard says, rubbing his sweaty brow. “I knew you had better than that in you. How many years have you been here?”
“Too many,” I mutter.
“Exactly, too many years to fuck that up. The hook is one of the first things I taught you.”
“I got it, man. I just messed up once.”
“Yeah, just once. If you had been in the ring, you would have lost.”
He’s
right, and I don’t want to admit it.
“We have a lot to work on,” he says. “I want to see you practicing your posture, counter-punches, front kicks, leg locks, and submission moves. I’ll help you today, and tomorrow Garrett will be here. Too much time has been wasted and we’ve got to get you ready.”
“Sounds good. Can I get some water real quick? You’re kicking my ass.” I laugh, trying to make light of the situation.
He points over to the water cooler, and I run over, almost drinking every damn drop in the tank, or at least it seems that way. The water is cool and refreshing as it runs down the back of my throat. I could keep drinking it, but I need to get back to work.
I return to the mat and do the first thing Howard told me to work on—my posture. He tries to throw a punch and immediately I block his and retaliate with one of my own. He grins and we go at it again and again, until he finally wears me down and gets a hit in. “There’s the old Lance I know. I was wondering where he went.”
“Oh, he’s here and exhausted as fuck.” I laugh.
“You’re out of shape.” He points to my stomach. I have to glance down but I know he’s full of shit. There’s not an ounce of fat on my stomach.
“Am not. I have a damn six pack, and I don’t mean beer.” I stand with my hand on my hip. “Haters gonna hate.”
