by Shey Stahl
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyrights
Quote
Part 1
Chapter 1 - Fight Card
Chapter 2 - Boxers Handshake
Chapter 3 – Challenger
Chapter 4 – Chin
Chapter 5 – Bell
Chapter 6 - Dirty Fighting
Chapter 7 – Be First
Chapter 8 - Outside Fighter
Chapter 9 – Pull Counter
Chapter 10 - Promoter
Chapter 11 – Challenger
Chapter 12 – Accidental Butt
Chapter 13 - Go to the Scorecards
Chapter 14 – Pull
Chapter 15 – Puncher’s Chance
Chapter 16 – Go the Distance
Chapter 17 - Kissed the Canvas
Chapter 18 – Foul
Chapter 19 - Knockout (KO)
Chapter 20 - Barnburner
Chapter 21 - Clinching
Chapter 22 - Heavyweight
Chapter 23 - Count
Chapter 24 – Hitting on the Break
Chapter 25 – Kidney Punch
Chapter 26 - Inside Fighter
Chapter 27 – Mandatory Eight Count
Chapter 28 – Bob and Weave
Chapter 29 - Hook
Chapter 30 - Dive
Chapter 31 - Decision
Chapter 32 - Knockdown
Chapter 33 - Lacing
Chapter 34 - Power Punches
Chapter 35 - Below the Belt
Chapter 36 - Sucker Punch
Chapter 37 – Seconds Out
Chapter 38 - Southpaw
Chapter 39 – Roll with the Punches
Chapter 40 – Point Deduction
Part 2
Quote
Chapter 41 – Caught Cold
Chapter 42 – Blow-by-Blow
Chapter 43 – Card
Chapter 44 - Blow
Chapter 45 – Corner Man
Chapter 46 - Rounds
Chapter 47 – Brawler
Chapter 48 – Take a Dive
Chapter 49 – Gate
Chapter 50 – Hand Wraps
Chapter 51 – Split Draw
Chapter 52 – Lead Right
Chapter 53 – Rubber Match
Chapter 54 – Picking off Punches
Chapter 55 – On the Ropes
Chapter 56 – Rabbit Punch
Chapter 57 - Buckle
Chapter 58 – Saved by the Bell
Chapter 59 - Bleeder
Chapter 60 – Shoe Shine
Chapter 61 – Body Punches
Chapter 62 – Main Event
Chapter 63 – Toe-to-Toe
Chapter 64 – Glass Jaw
Chapter 65 - Clinch
Chapter 66 - Undercard
Chapter 67 – Bareknuckle Boxing
Chapter 68 – Throw in the towel
Chapter 69 - Ringside
Chapter 70 – Combination
Chapter 71 – Stick and Move
Acknowledgments
About the Author
BOOKS BY SHEY
This book is a work of fiction. Names, sponsors, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination and are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, dead or living, is coincidental.
Redemption copyright © 2020 by Shey Stahl
Published in the United States of America
The Trainer first edition © 2014 by Shey Stahl
The Fighter first edition © 2015 by Shey Stahl
All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without the prior written permission of Shey Stahl.
Boxing terms are copyright of: http://www.ringsidebygus.com/boxing-terms.html
Cover Design by © Sommer Stein with Perfect Pear Creations
Cover photo provided by © Wander Aguiar
Editing and Proofreading provided by Hot Tree Editing
Interior Formatting done by Shey Stahl
AUTHORS NOTE:
This book was originally The Trainer and The Fighter. I combined the two books into one, Redemption, because I felt it was one story broken down into Part 1 (Tallan) and Part 2 (Destry). I’ve also added bonus content into this new version.
Enjoy!
I hated every minute of training, but I said, I don’t quit. Suffer now and live the rest of your life as a champion.
~ Muhammad Ali
A fight card or card is a program of boxing consisting of all the boxing matches that take place during a boxing event. Fight cards consist of a main event and an undercard of the rest of the matches.
Ring. Ring. Ring.
Jared and I looked around our apartment for the noise. No one used their home phone anymore. We used cell phones. So—when one rang—what did we do?
We stared at it like it was a bomb.
Jared blinked rapidly. “I think it’s for you.”
“For me?” Awkwardly, I stared at the device as if I had no idea how to even handle it. I didn’t. It had a cord attached to it. “Why do you assume it’s for me?”
“Because I’ve never given that number to anyone.” Jared tipped the phone toward me, his other hand bringing his beer to his lips. “Answer it.”
No one called me anymore unless it was Jared. And for no other reason than the fact that he couldn’t text for shit, so he called. And he was sitting next to me, so it clearly wasn’t him.
Taking the phone from him, I roll my eyes, curious as to who was calling me. “Hello?”
There was a distant hum on the other line before a raspy voice asked, “Is this Tallan Spencer?”
“Yes….” Shit. Had I gotten a parking ticket? Wait… I don’t have a car.
Another long pause before, “It’s Silas.”
“Silas who?”
He chuckled, damn near offended. “Cade… I’m sure you remember, yes?”
Silas Cade?
Holy. Fucking. Shit.
Immediately, I stood and tried to move myself into a more private part of our small apartment. Wasn’t possible, so I huddled in the corner between the cabinets and the fridge like a child sticking their nose in the corner. “Why are you calling me?”
Silas Cade? Silas fucking Cade?
“I… uh….” There was another pause from the other end, as if my words had offended whoever was playing this joke on me. And then he laughed at me.
There should be no reason why Silas Cade would call me, of all people. Unless hell had frozen over. And it hadn’t. I would have known such things. “No way,” I finally told him. “Is this an April Fool’s joke someone’s playing on me?”
He made a low breathy sound. “Are you calling me a liar?”
“Yes. Because the Silas Cade I know is all over the radio these days and wouldn’t be calling his high school fuckbuddy he hasn’t spoken to in over five years.”
That came out a lot harsher than I realized, didn’t it? It should though. You see, I knew one Silas Cade and he was the boy—and at sixteen—who’d owned my fucking heart. He’d also ripped it out when he left two years later to follow his dreams of having a music career and never talked to me again.
“Ah, c’mon,” he drawled slowly. “You were more than a fuckbuddy, honey.”
Liar!
I didn’t say anything to that. I wasn’t sure what to say at that point. I was dumbfounded he was even calling me.
“I know it’s been a while,” he went on, “but I’m gonna be on tour in Seattle in six weeks. You still live there?”
My heart jumped in
to my throat. Was he sending someone to kill me because of the secrets I knew? Like that he once snorted cocaine off my tits? For the record, I did not partake in said event. I was just simply an innocent bystander. Clearing my throat, I stared at the paint peeling on the wall. “Yeah….”
And then he hit me with it. “Would you want to meet up after the concert? I can get you a backstage pass.”
Seriously? Like… seriously?
Without thinking, I answered, “Sure.” Maybe from lack of blood flow to my head, because I was breathing heavy, I wasn’t sure, but I blurted the first word that came to mind.
“Really?” He sounded surprised.
“I could change my mind.”
He laughed, the soft sound ringing through the line. Without realizing it, a smile tugged at the corners of my lips. Jerk still managed to get a reaction out of me.
And he always had such a beautiful laugh.
“Okay, so I’ll be in touch then.” Silas sighed, as if he forgot to say something important. “The concert is May eighteenth at the Key Arena.”
“Okay.” Thinking about it now, it was crazy that Silas, a kid I grew up with, was playing at venues like that. And even harder to believe I owned every song he released. Okay, maybe not that hard to believe.
“Bye, Tallan.” His hoarse voice resonated through the phone, so perfect and rough when he said my name. The way the sound rolled off his tongue made me want to beg him to say it again. Or moan it. That’d be good too.
“Bye.”
When I set the phone down, I blinked slowly and tried to decipher the last five minutes. A rush of excitement pulsed through me and as shitty as it was, Silas still owned my heart and I’d do anything to be with him again.
Anything.
Despite knowing it wouldn’t go anywhere, the idea of seeing him again had me giddy. I’d like to think I’d gotten wiser at twenty-three years old, but it was, after all, Silas Cade, and if I had just one night to show him a good time, it could potentially bring him back, right?
“Who was it?” Jared asked, drawing me from my thoughts back to reality.
I gave Jared a look, one he knew well. “You remember Silas, right?”
“You mean the virgin stealer who broke your heart and is now a famous rock star?” He pointed to the radio. “The guy singing that song? That guy?”
I nodded, listening to the sexy rhythm strumming through the radio. “Yes. That guy.”
“Nope.” His eyes snapped back to the television trying to find that show Naked and Alone. “Can’t recall who that is, actually.”
“Well,” I sat down next to him on the couch, “the one and only Silas Cade, love of my life, is coming back into town and wants to meet up with me… me!” An inner grin, hell, a fucking outer grin, lit up my entire face as I told Jared my news.
“Why?” A look of disapproval passed over his face. “Are there not groupies available in Seattle that night?” Jared knew what this was and wasn’t sugarcoating it for me. He never did. “A one-night booty call at his old stomping grounds… yeah, that has life-long commitment written all over it.”
“Shut up.” I pushed my hand into his face. “Don’t rain on my Silas Cade parade.” I set the phone on the table in front of us, trying to calm my breathing a little.
He rolled his head to the side, away from me. “Don’t tell me to shut up. I’m being smart here.”
It’d been so long since I heard from him, I wasn’t sure how to react.
Well, my mind didn’t know how to react but my body, just hearing that melt-your-panties-right-off-your-body voice of his, had its own mind and was doing all sorts of funny things to me. My body flushed, my nerves soared, and I just sat there staring straight ahead, wondering if that had just happened.
Oh. My. God. My body!
It wasn’t in the same shape as it was five years ago. Twenty pounds heavier and this god of rock was expecting to see the old Tallan with the smoking body from high school.
Um, yeah, that’s a fucking problem. Silas would be expecting the girl he left. The one with the long lean legs and flat stomach. Definitely not this girl, with the little tummy roll and the flabby legs. We won’t talk about the arms and ass just yet.
Six weeks… six weeks to get back into the condition that Silas remembered. That was doable, right?
Panic was starting to set in right in front of Jared. There was no way in hell I was going to freak out in front of him. I didn’t need his sidelong glances of judgment raining down on me.
Six weeks, I could do this. Challenge. Fucking. Accepted.
So, while I had the idea that I was going to look the same, I decided to sneak into my bedroom when Jared turned the TV to the History Channel.
A little history on me and the rock star? Let’s see. I met Silas when I was only thirteen. We were the same age, even shared a birthday. Over summer break when we were going from the seventh to the eighth grade, we formed a friendship over Pearl Jam. When school and life were too much, music became our one thing we always went back to. Silas played the guitar and sang but never gave it much thought until I pushed him a little. He had an unbelievable talent and it was evident early on, if he wanted a career in music, he would have it.
Eventually, he and his friends formed a band. They played all around Seattle in any underground dive bars that didn’t care that he wasn’t twenty-one yet. They say it only takes one hit to get you noticed and that was true for Silas. Four months after, he left for New York, and his first single, the one he said he wrote for me, “Never Knew,” was on the Billboard 100.
Was I depressed when he left?
Well for one, he claimed the song was about me. But, fuck yeah, I was depressed. That motherfucker left me. I was there for him through everything. The band drama, his occasional mix up with drugs, his parents splitting up, his sister dying—all of it.
And what did he offer me?
A fucking phone call to say goodbye.
So why would I go see him after all that? Um, hello. Silas Cade. And I wanted answers. Going to the concert could potentially give me that opportunity, right?
Digging through my closet and the box that hadn’t been opened since I moved into this apartment, I found my old jeans from high school. Pushing aside magazines and year books, I held them up and knew damn well those babies weren’t getting over these thighs. But I tried anyway.
Even lying down on the bed wasn’t getting them on. Butter and oil wouldn’t have done me much good either.
I wasn’t exactly sure how—maybe because I stopped breathing for a whole minute—I got the jeans on. “Yes, finally.”
Only then I had to get up.
Another story all together.
It wasn’t lost on me that this was the shit funniest home videos were made of, I just knew it.
What was worse?
Me trying to stand up with the tightest jeans on. All I needed was Jared to walk in on me at any moment during this state of extreme duress I was under. I wouldn’t have been able to tell him not to come in if he knocked because breathing was impossible.
If I breathed, I was sure the button would have flown off and broken the window.
When I did shimmy my way to a standing position, then I had to actually walk by bending my knees. I should have taken them off, but I needed confirmation on this look though, so I decided to face my fears.
With a good amount of effort, I did the zombie walk out to the living room to get Jared’s opinion.
Worst.
Mistake.
Ever.
“Do these look too tight?” I asked, my voice squeaky and strained.
Peeling his attention from the television, Jared eyed the jeans, his smile nearly making his eyes squint closed as he held in what I knew was going to be the biggest fucking belly laugh known to man. “What are those, spandex or jeans?”
“My old jeans from high school.” It hurt to speak because speaking required breathing and I only got to pick one.
“Why do you st
ill have jeans from high school?”
“I don’t know. Why do you have old porn from college in your closet?”
He leveled me a serious look. “You can’t just throw porn out. It never ages or deteriorates… or gets too big to fit… in jeans.”
“Fuck you, Jared.” I tried to relax my posture, but the button was trying to poke a hole in my belly button. Smoothing my hand down my stomach, okay, muffin top, I sucked in a breath. “Seriously, how do these look?” I must have looked uncomfortable. Hell, I was uncomfortable. It was like someone was squeezing my gut like an anaconda squeezes the last breath out of its prey.
“Tallan, I hate to be honest, but as your friend, and a guy, and someone who feels as much pain seeing you wear those jeans as you are obviously in… those are way too tight. Can you even breathe?”
“No,” I gasped as I unzipped them, lightheaded due to lack of oxygen. “I can’t breathe.”
When I unzipped them, there was a little relief. But it wasn’t enough. I had to get them off all the way. The problem was, they weren’t coming off without assistance at that point. I got them on, just barely, but getting them off would be damn near impossible.
Jared must have sensed the panic because he looked over at me and set his beer on the end table. “What’s wrong?”
“I can’t get them off.”
“You got them on….”
“Doesn’t matter.” I shook my head, nearing tears. How fucking embarrassing. “You should call 911. They’re not coming off.”
I was quite possibly the most claustrophobic person on the planet. And these jeans were making me feel like I was enclosed in a tomb of denim. The shit was getting real and I wasn’t discounting hyperventilating at this point.
When they wouldn’t come off after five minutes of my frantic tugging, Jared began to laugh. I’d lost all sense of stability and reached for the scissors in the drawer.
That was when Jared panicked. “Whoa!” He held up his hands in a calming manner, his palms raised as if he was going to try negotiating with me. “Put the scissors down.”
“I can’t take it any longer!” I held them up in the air with what I only assumed was a very crazed expression judging by his widened eyes. “I’m doing it!”
He stood from his place on the couch. “Here, let me do it then. You’ll cut your fucking leg off.” And then he motioned for the couch. “Try it this way. You sit on the couch and I’ll pull.”
