Redemption

by Shey Stahl

  “Well then, I’m clearly not some people.”

  I winked and then put my shirt on. “I’ll be back soon.” Leaning in, I kissed her cheek softly. “Stay here and get some sleep.”

  “Don’t have to tell me twice.”

  The feeling running gave me was indescribable. It was unlike anything, even boxing, in a sense that my mind was usually blank. I never thought about anything, never listened to music and rarely spoke. I enjoyed the serenity it provided, the clouds of my breath in the cool morning air and the only noise, my breathing.

  Three miles into it, my legs burned, pushing beyond comfort, but I kept going. My runs started around four every morning, before the sun even peaked over the city, and the only people walking around were the homeless.

  With six weeks to go before the fight, I was well into my training and interval running. I would start with a two-mile run, sprint one hundred meters and then shadow box for three minutes. After that, it was running backwards for two hundred meters, sprint for one hundred meters, following up with shadow boxing for another three minutes. I repeated that for around five or six miles every day.

  A fighter had to be able to not only maintain strength and power during the three-minute rounds, interval training was the way I could train for going 12-rounds in a ring.

  Road work was only half of what I was doing. The rest took place in the gym, which was where I went directly after my run. Most fighters have a training camp, as they called it. The camp consisted of key players designated for getting the fighter in shape. You had the trainer, the manager came by often, as did the promoter.

  I had a new manager this time, Gordy, since my previous manager and best friend growing up, Wes Callahan, disappeared after the fight with Ray Lucas. I knew one thing, don’t work with friends. Don’t trust them either. It seemed everyone was on your side when you were on top. Fall to the bottom and they’re gone, scattered like the pieces you were left in.

  Lately, since I’d began sparring with other fighters, we had a physician around, and motivators, anything you could think of inside of a gym to prepare me.

  During a fight, though most of the people chosen to be in your camp came to the actual fight, only three men were allowed beside the ring. A corner man, who was Adam, the second, who aided the corner man and the cut-man. He closed wounds and assisted.

  So, while the basement was filled with these guys all day, every day, there was Tallan as well, watching me. She’d stay in the corner after her workout, laptop beside her making notes and observing me carefully, as if I was the starring lead in her every fantasy. I guess I was now, wasn’t I?

  I had six weeks until the fight and sex was absolutely off limits. No biz now as Adam would put it. Did it stop me from thinking about it? Fuck no. Tallan stayed over at my apartment a few nights a week and she had to actually sleep on the couch because I couldn’t keep my goddamn hands off her. It made me laugh because I never had that problem with Stella. When I was in training, I resisted with no hesitation.

  Around Tallan, she so much as walked by and my dick was hard.

  Maybe it was the newness of the relationship, or the fact that she was taking an interest in everything from my training to my life. I kept reminding myself that she was writing a book and wanted to know strictly based on that but it wasn’t. Tallan cared and was interested in what was making me happy.

  Which was fighting. Some may have thought it was a way to make a living but to me it had nothing to do with money. It was my life, and Tallan was witnessing it when she saw me in this form: a man focused intently on one goal.

  But was I as focused as I assumed I was?

  Adam thought otherwise.

  “Stop staring at her,” Adam said, pushing a heavy bag into me when he caught my eyes on Tallan as she reached over the counter to refill her water bottle.

  It knocked me sideways a foot, my footing slipping. “Hey, it’s your rule. Your fault.”

  “Bullshit.” Adam held the bag steady as I looked down at my stance, ready to work the bag for a few rounds. “Your daddy never got his dick wet before a big fight. I saw him go four months with none.”

  “I know that’s a load of shit.” I took one shot at the bag, this time throwing my power into it and knocking Adam back.

  He smiled, stepping away to let me work.

  Some would ask, why abstain from sex before a fight? Most fighters, before they enter into a training camp, were under the impression that was a myth. It wasn’t. Self-deprivation was what made fighters hard. Made them bitter and hunger for more, their desire to win. And you had to sacrifice it all to get to that point.

  Even sex.

  It wasn’t so much to do with the physical aspects as it was mental. You couldn’t have any distractions and for most fighters, sex could be distracting. It was proving to be to me, but it was also providing a certain amount of drive in me. Something to look forward to.

  In the gym, when I wasn’t training, I was mentally preparing for the fight of my life. I hadn’t lost an ounce of focus in the last six weeks when it came to what I was working toward.

  My title.

  Adam gave me a nod when it was time to quit for the day. “Done, man.” And then he gave another nod to Tallan, who was waiting for me. “I mean it. Keep it in your pants and out of hers. You need to stay focused on what you’re working for here. It ain’t pussy.”

  “I know.” I shrugged him off, walking past him.

  “Do you?”

  When I heard that, I turned to face him, my stare livid. “What?”

  How dare he fucking question me?

  “I didn’t say anything before, thinking once you were in the gym, you’d knock this shit off, but you’re not. It’s clear she’s a distraction.” Adam laid the towel in his hand over his shoulder, watching my reaction as he continued, “You cannot be distracted this time. There’s a lot on the line.”

  This time? This fucking time?

  My jaw worked back and forth, my fists clenching and he knew damn well he’d set me off. “If you want to keep your job, don’t question my motives.” It wasn’t mature of me to say that. Adam was looking out for me, but lately, I took offense to anyone who questioned me or what I was trying to prove here. If anything, it was driving me forward.

  Adam sighed. “It’s not a question of your motives, Destry. It’s a question of where your loyalty lies. In your pants, or the ring.”

  Whether I wanted to admit it or not, there was some truth to it. So where did my motives lie?

  A lead right is delivered in place of a lead jab, but is harder to execute because it has to travel across the distance of a fighter’s body to land, so it has to be thrown quickly and catch an opponent off-guard.

  My motivation was me gaining back what had been taken. What I let go of. So, I became one-tracked and diligent, never looking up, one hundred percent focused on the goal at hand.

  When I wasn’t sparring after my morning run, like today, I watched the films of Lucas in the ring, and even the one with us at the Garden. I broke down everything about that fight looking for his weakness, frame by frame. He couldn’t force a clinch to save his ass and I knew that could potentially be his weakness. An angle I could use. Clinching in boxing meant you wrapped your arms around your opponent attempting to keep your elbows in and your hands defensively high.

  Adam, who was sitting beside me, pointed to the screen. “You see how he backs away? He can’t clinch. He’s terrified of fighting an inside fighter.”

  “Why is that?” Tallan asked, genuinely curious and engrossed in the film and the world of boxing.

  It was hard for Adam to allow her to sit here with us, but I told him flat out, if he was going to train me, she was allowed all access to this. Adam explained to her what clinching meant as I studied the film and his techniques. Lucas didn’t like to be forced to respond. He wanted to control the fight. I had to be aware of when, and how, I could stop the action in the ring and clear my mind. Clinching would allow me to do tha
t. By watching those films, I’d essentially found his biggest weakness.

  After the films, I sparred.

  We had some trouble finding sparring partners because no one wanted to get in the ring with me. I was insatiable, never getting enough, and most guys couldn’t go twelve rounds with me, even if it was sparring.

  We searched for sparring partners that resembled Lucas’ style, height and the way he threw a jab.

  The idea of sparring wasn’t necessarily all about strength and conditioning. It was about muscle memory and remembering the way that jab felt and the way Lucas would land that right hook when you least expected it.

  Having guys like Henley, Mugsy and Rush as my sparing partners in the ring was what I needed, as hard as it was. When I would least expect it, they’d pop me with a right out of nowhere.

  I didn’t blame them. They were doing their job but I was constantly leaving the gym with my eyes swelling up or ringing in my ears.

  Tallan was always trying to baby me and nursing my wounds in the cutest way. She was so fucking hard to resist when she’d make me lay my head in her lap and ice my face or hands.

  “So Ray, he’s an orthodox fighter?” Tallan asked that night after Henley had popped me pretty good.

  I stared up at her, taking her hand that wasn’t holding the ice to my face and kissing it. If I couldn’t show her sexually how much she meant to me, I had to be touching her when I could. “Yeah, an orthodox fighter leads with their left, jabs with their left and throws a power punch, like a hook, with their right.”

  “All right.” She considered that, and then asked, “And with you being a southpaw, you lead with your right and throw a power punch with your left?”

  I smiled and sat up on the couch beside her. “Yep.”

  Tallan pulled her legs up to sit crossed legged in a pair of my baggy sweat pants. “Why are you smiling?”

  “You’re cute.”

  “I’m hot.” Pulling at the hoodie, she fanned herself. “Do I really have to wear this in the middle of summer?”

  Yes, unless you want me to attack you.

  We had some rules now, which included her being fully clothed all the time. Scooting away another foot to the opposite end of the couch, I took the remote in my hand so we could watch a movie. “Yes, it’s for your safety. Now stay over there.”

  Tallan huffed out a breath moving a pillow in her lap. “You’re so mean.”

  Was I being mean? I suppose in some ways I was being mean because this was all about me.

  At some point, I had to show her that just because I was intent on one goal, didn’t mean she still wasn’t everything I thought about outside of fighting.

  MY WAY OF showing Tallan I cared was taking her to dinner Sunday night. I even invited Jared and his girlfriend, Catie. Apparently, they were now an official item. I hadn’t realized their becoming a couple was such a big deal until Tallan informed me Jared hadn’t had a girlfriend since college, before she met him.

  I liked Jared and it didn’t bother me one bit that Tallan lived with another man. If anything, it made me feel better to know she had someone looking out for her when I couldn’t be.

  Part of me wanted her to move in with me but not before the fight and I also didn’t want to rush our relationship any more than it had already been rushed.

  “It’s about time I saw you outside of the gym.” Jared shook my hand as we sat down at the table. He and Catie were already seated next to the window at The Pink Door.

  I didn’t bother telling Tallan I used to come here with Stella nearly once a month because I didn’t want to make her feel uncomfortable. Well, that all but went out the fucking window when a waiter remembered me. “Is that you, Destry?”

  Damn it.

  “Yeah, it’s me.” I didn’t make eye contact with him in hopes he’d leave.

  Don’t say anymore. Just say hello and leave. I begged him silently, but knew it wouldn’t go over like that.

  Thinking back to the Stella who had a heart of diamonds and bled gold, well, she loved the fancy shit, so when we’d go out, we spent a lot of money and waiters remembered us. I became their best friend because it wasn’t unheard of to drop a $200.00 tip like it was nothing.

  Times had definitely changed but I was more afraid of the waiter asking about Stella.

  His grin touched his eyes the way it always did. I couldn’t for the life of me remember his name either. “Where’s that pretty girl of yours?”

  Fuck. What an asshole.

  Placing my arm around Tallan’s shoulder, I pulled her into me, her chair screeching on the tile, drawing Jared and Catie’s attention to us. “You mean this beauty?”

  The waiter looked like a fish out of water, gaping for a reply when Tallan raised her hand to his. “He traded up recently. I’m Tallan, and you are?”

  I smiled proudly beside her, relaxing with a deep breath.

  “My name’s Nate. I’ll be your waiter tonight.” From then on, old Nate was all business and more than happy to take care of us.

  Jared set his beer down with a thud on the table and then clasped his hands together in front of him. Beside me, Tallan and Catie talked about her book and the ideas she had for publishing it. While I heard pieces of what she was saying, it was nice to catch up with Jared. “So, tell me about this fight, man.”

  Chuckling, I set my water down, knowing the night would turn to this eventually. We’d ordered food and I could tell by Jared’s eyes he’d been dying to ask about it. “What do you want to know?”

  “Do you think you can beat him?”

  “Without a doubt.” My answer was as confident as I was lately. I knew I could beat Ray Lucas. That wasn’t the problem. The problem was knowing if everything from the fight to the judges would play in my favor. You could be winning a fight and losing it just as quickly ten seconds later.

  “I’d love to come watch you someday in the gym. I’ve always been interested in boxing,” Jared said, seeming excited to talk boxing.

  “Come by sometime.”

  “Really? I could?”

  “Yeah, anytime.”

  When our food arrived, Jared turned to Catie, picking mushrooms from her veggies without being asked to.

  Tallan smiled, nudging my ribs. “If you ate anything remotely tasty, I’d be doing that too.”

  The two of us looked down at my plate at the same time as I poked my steak with my fork. “There’s nothing wrong with meat.” I winked, removing her hand from my thigh. She was constantly testing my will power.

  “What I wouldn’t give to have a piece of meat.”

  I’ll show you a piece of meat.

  “Five weeks, honey,” I whispered in her ear and then kissed her cheek. “Five weeks and I’m going to show you a piece of meat you can’t resist.”

  Tallan slouched, her eyes on my lips and looking defeated. “Good, ‘cause my vibrator isn’t cutting it.”

  WHAT?

  My fork hit the table with a ping, my knees smashing into the legs of the table when my body immediately stiffened at the image that plagued my brain. It wasn’t exactly a vision or a thought I wanted to be having in front of our friends.

  Tallan giggled when Catie and Jared stared curiously at us. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.”

  She wasn’t sorry. No fuckin’ way she was sorry.

  Jared cleared his throat. “Enough of that. Guess who made an arrest today?” He didn’t wait and pointed his thumbs at his chest. “This guy did.”

  Tallan laughed, scooting away from me when she noticed how stiff my posture had become. Trying to act normal, I picked my fork back up.

  “Was it that lady who stabbed you?” Tallan asked, grinning at him.

  He scowled. “No, some punk in the park dealin’ drugs.”

  Jared regaled us with a story about arresting a sixteen-year-old kid selling meth, and then running from him that left us all laughing and Tallan distracted from her teasing.

  Thankfully, she didn’t touch me the re
st of the night because if she had, I wasn’t sure where my loyalty would have been with visions of her using a vibrator.

  A rubber match is the deciding match in a series of fights between two boxers where each boxer has won a fight against the other. Rubber match usually refers to the 3rd fight in a series, a trilogy. It’s seen as the match that determines which boxer is really the best.

  No sex.

  Keep your hands off her.

  Absolutely no sex.

  No matter how hard I tried to tell myself that, and remind myself of those damn motives and loyalties, I kept giving in. I’d convinced my brain that five weeks would be my cut-off, and then I’d cave and tell myself four weeks. Pretty soon it’d be fight night and I would still be trying to make a deal within myself.

  My problem was I’d gone without for three weeks straight, and Tallan, she’d gone without too. I hadn’t dared to touch her in case I gave in. And then she brought up the fucking vibrator at dinner and I couldn’t stop thinking about it.

  After dinner with Catie and Jared, Tallan came out of the bathroom in the sweat pants I made her wear lately, frowning at me. She looked fucking pissed.

  “Do you want something, honey?” I asked, gently placing my hand over her mouth, the other inside her panties as I leaned back into the bedroom wall.

  Dangerous territory, but I went there with her because after tonight, I wanted her to know that I was thinking of her and because I was gone constantly, it didn’t mean she wasn’t constantly on my mind.

  “I want to come,” she whispered, giving me her weight and leaning into the wall with me.

  Me too!

  I wanted to rip her clothes off and fuck her. That was all I wanted tonight. Fuck everything else. I swallowed, trying desperately to gain some bearings. She wasn’t helping me. If anything, she was testing my endurance.

  What if I slid inside, but didn’t come?

  What if I let her rub her pussy against me, but I didn’t get off?

  If I didn’t come, it didn’t count?