Hard Rider

Instead, I just got in my car and drove away.

Troy

Blake circled to his left and faked a takedown attempt. I stayed light on my feet and moved with him. He threw a punch and I slipped it just in time to land a right hand of my own to his body. “Ooof,” he wheezed. The air went out of his lungs the same way a balloon deflates.

He doubled over to catch his breath and I wrapped an arm around his back to steady him. “You okay, big guy?”

“That was a hell of a shot, Troy. Remember, we’re on the same team, okay?”

“I know man, I’m sorry. I think I’m just a little wound up from last night.”

“Oh yeah,” he said through a grimace. He’d straightened up now but he still was holding his hand over his ribs. “Was it a girl, or a bad night at the bar?”

“Girl,” I whispered. “She’s got a rare ability to fuck with my head.”

“I thought that might be the case. Okay, I’m good. Let’s go again.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, c’mon, just remember we’re not in here fighting for the belt. It’s just a sparring session.”

Blake got back in his stance and I assumed mine. He was the best guy in the gym outside of myself, but he just wasn’t on the same level. I craved stiffer competition, but this was my home gym—it was where I learned the sport—and I couldn’t force myself to train anywhere else.

As I danced in and out, I caught Blake with a few sharp jabs. He gamely shook them off and kept coming forward. I hit like a Mack truck, but the real problem for my opponents was they just couldn’t keep up. I was too fast; too slick.

“That all you got Motherfucker?” he said over his mouthpiece. Blake loved to talk shit even though he knew it would cost him when he sparred with me. He just couldn’t help himself.

“Are you for real?” I laughed as he threw a looping left hand that I easily ducked. “You were just telling me to ease up, and now you’re asking for more?”

I took two shuffle steps to the right and then bounced back left. He swung and hit nothing but air.

“You heard me,” he challenged. “That first shot just woke me up. It got me in the mood for more.”

“You might be nuts,” I said, pumping three more jabs and a right cross that clanked off his forehead, “but I’m gonna give you what you want.”

“Give me your best shot. I may not be the most talented guy out there, but I got heart.”

“There’s nobody on the planet who is gonna give you an argument of that. You can hang in there with the best of ‘em.”

As we circled each other, I noticed Ray and Larry Donoway talking to a man in a suit who I’d never seen before. They all seemed to be watching my sparring session with Blake intently. Larry owned the gym, and though he didn’t come by often, I’d never know him to have much patience for a guy in a monkey suit.

“Who the hell is that guy?” I asked Blake as he shot in for another unsuccessful takedown attempt.

“Beats me,” he said, scrambling back to his feet. “I saw him wandering around the locker room before you came in. I think him and Ray were talking about you.”

Blake threw a left that caught me by surprise and clipped the end of my nose. It stung like crazy and made my eyes tear up. “That one landed, didn’t it?” he barked.

“Only because you distracted me.”

“You gotta be ready for distractions if you’re gonna make it big, Troy.”

“Don’t tell me anything, Blake.” I smiled and made him pay for his disrespect with a three-punch combination that sent him tumbling into the wall.

“Okay, okay, we’re done,” he yelled, waving me off and spitting out his mouth piece. “You’re a mean bastard when you wanna be,” he whined.

“And you’re just confused,” I laughed again. “Sooner or later you’re gonna learn your lesson Blakey.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Who’s gonna stop me?”

He yanked his glove off his hand to reveal an extended middle finger and then threw it at me. I leaned back and let it fly past my face. “Can’t even hit me with that, can you?”

“Get outta here, Golden Boy. I think the suit over there wants to meet you. Better go see what he wants.”

I reluctantly took Blake’s advice and hoisted myself over the cage’s wall to the other side. Larry, my trainer, and the unknown man eagerly hurried over to me.

“Troy, come over here young man,” Ray said in his slow, ambling way. “This is Mr. Gold, he’d like to meet you.”

I looked to Larry for further explanation. “Mr. Gold is a promoter for the M.W.F.C. He’s in the area scouting talent this afternoon.”

The Mid-Western Fighting Championship was the largest regional promotion in the country. Many of the guys who made it to the top first went through regional circuits like the M.W.F.C., in fact, the current champion of the world in my division was an alum.

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Gold,” I said, sticking out my gloved hand. He took it and shook it heartily.

“Please, call me Dave, and I have to say, you’re one hell of a fighter Troy. I’ve been talking to your training partners and the staff here all afternoon and they all say you’re the best guy in the gym. After watching that little sparring session, I have to say, you have a legitimate talent, son.”

He was a heavyset man with a puffy face and cheeks that rivaled Santa Claus’s. When he spoke, he seemed on the verge of passing out. That didn’t quell his excitement, though. He punctuated every sentence by flopping around the thin wisps of blonde hair still left on his head.

“That’s an honor to hear, Sir,” I said humbly. “There are a lot of great fighters at this gym and I’m proud to be a part of the team.”

“That’s very good-”

“But you’re right.”

“Excuse me, son?” His hair seemed to hang suspended in mid-toss.

“I said, you’re right about me being the best. I’m not just the best here, though. Go up north, or down to Texas and you won’t find a fighter with the same skill set as me. There’s nobody in ten states who can compete with me right now.”

Larry and Ray tightened up, but I remained relaxed.

“Is that so?”

“You’re damn right it is. And I challenge you to prove me wrong.”

He seemed to ponder this for a minute. “Well, hell, that’s good to hear. Most guys just tell me about how lucky they are to have the chance, but I like hearing from a confident fighter. All the great ones had that trait.”

I nodded.

“Shit, well, I was gonna schedule a trip back here for your next amateur fight but I think I’ve already seen enough. Whaddaya say I get a contract drawn up and you start fighting in the M.W.F.C.? I can have you in the cage on your way to your first paycheck in a few short months.”

Mr. Gold waited intently on my answer. Larry and Ray were only a little further away from the edges of their seats. I thought about the time I’d spent here and how many hours I’d put into training. Signing a contract like this would be a huge step toward the dream.

“Would I still be able to train here?”

“Absolutely. Of course, we’d want to get a couple of coaches in here to help you work on other aspects of game, but, yes, you could stay right here at your home gym.”

Larry nodded his reassurance. “Ray and I have already discussed this with Mr. Gold. It would be a boon to the gym as well. When everyone sees that a fighter from here has signed with the M.W.F.C., they’ll want to come train with us.”

“It’s a good thing,” said Gold. “It will raise the talent level across the board and bring in better fighters for you to test yourself against.” He wiped the back of his hand against his sweaty forehead. “If that’s not enough for ya, we hold our biggest annual show right here in Chicago. You’d be fighting in front of the hometown crowd.”

This all came out of left field, but I was ready for it. I deserved it. So did my trainer and all the other guys. If it

could bring all of them even a little bit of exposure, then it was worth it.

You could hear a pin drop. The other fighters had stopped their drills or given up their assault on the heavy bag. Every eye in the place was on me, waiting for an answer with bated breath.

“Draw up the contract.”

Riley

“I can’t believe I let this happen.”

My workspace was even messier than usual and I hadn’t been able to get a thing accomplished all week long.

“Calm down,” Casey said. “You didn’t do anything wrong. Stuff like that happens when two hot people get together.”

“What?” I yelled. “That is never supposed to happen. We have to maintain the utmost professionalism when we’re with a client. What was I thinking?!”

“I know you’re upset,” she said, glancing at the door. “Try to lower you voice a little bit. You’re freaking out on me.”