Fighting for It

by Jennifer Fusco

  “I didn’t run.” He kicked back, sinking his body deeper into the sofa, and then stretched his bare legs out on the coffee table. “I increased my heart rate in other ways.”

  A door slammed from behind them. Daniella turned toward the sound coming from the bathroom. The blonde from last night walked into the room, wearing nothing but a T-shirt that barely covered the waistband of her hot pink panties.

  “Are these your keys?” Daniella said to the girl with a deadpan stare.

  The blonde shook her head and her blue eyes widened.

  Daniella swiped the keys from the table. “Meet me at Stamina in fifteen minutes.”

  His abdominal muscles tightened. “Where you going with those keys?”

  Daniella bit her lip, probably to keep from saying something crass, turned away from him, and started to the door.

  He sat up. “Daniella, where are you going with my keys?” he shouted.

  She ignored him.

  Man, he could take a lot of things, but being ignored wasn’t one of them. “Ears clogged?” He knew he was being rude. Dammit, he wanted a reaction.

  She pursed her lips and he remembered what she used to do with those lips. How hot they felt touching his. The places they’d been on his body. For a split second, maybe she was remembering what it felt like, too.

  She stopped and glanced over her shoulder at him in a way only Daniella could. The woman stirred things inside him that shouldn’t be legal. She was sex on two feet. “I’m going to Stamina, and I’m taking your keys. So get off your ass, put your running shorts on, and meet me there in fifteen minutes.”

  Her voice jabbed him in the gut, and he snorted. “Why would I do that?”

  She started walking and didn’t look back until she got to the threshold of the door. Then she turned again and gave him that stare, that sexy, fucking serious-as-hell stare, and said, “Because, Jack, you need a win.”

  “Who was that?” the blonde asked, moseying over and sitting down beside him. She slid her legs over his and rested her hand on his thigh.

  He swallowed hard and stared at the floor. “My manager.”

  “That woman is your manager?” Her lips pulled up at the corners. “You’re joking.”

  He passed a hand across his brow. Christ. His head throbbed like he’d just been ten rounds in the ring. The last thing he was doing was joking.

  “Boxers don’t have women managers, do they?” the blonde kept chattering, straightening out her T-shirt.

  “I do.”

  “Since when?” She gave him a puzzled look, continuing her lazy assault on his thigh.

  “Since now.” His gut rolled. He wanted to move her hand from his leg, but having to endure the wrath of one woman was enough for one hangover.

  She shrugged. “I don’t get it.”

  Sometimes neither did he.

  He didn’t understand a lot of things. For one, he didn’t understand his need to pick up girls only to take them home and forget their names. One look at Daniella standing in his living room told him it was a pointless pastime. He didn’t understand why his heart hadn’t raced since the last time he saw her. One look at her with her hand propped on her hip and his pulse went into overdrive. Nor did he understand the way his body heated when Daniella entered the room. Hearing the sound of her voice ignited a slow burn inside him.

  Explaining that Daniella was his new manager was easy. Figuring out why she affected him the way she did was another story.

  “So she’s, like, your boss or something?” the blonde asked, pushing the subject.

  He grunted.

  “Man, that’s messed up. Won’t other guys think you’re, like, a wimp or something?”

  Christ. If he’d wanted this many questions, he’d have turned on Jeopardy! He shook his head. Truth was, maybe if he gave a shit about Little Miss T-shirt, he’d explain that boxers were a lot like racehorses. They had trainers and managers and contracts. Tightly written contracts that were bound and legal, and in his case, inherited until they were broken, exhausted, or sold.

  He raised his hand and moved her legs from his.

  “Just because you’re pissed off, don’t take it out on me.” The blonde brought her knees up to her chest and tucked them under the hem of her T-shirt. “I mean, shoot, if I boxed I wouldn’t be bossed around by some woman. That’s not even . . . manly.”

  His jaw locked.

  The blonde flipped her hair over her shoulder. “Did you get assigned to her because you lost your last fight?”

  “No.” He wasn’t talking about that fight. Not to the blonde or anyone else.

  “Does she even know what she’s doing, managing boxers?” She reached for the remote.

  “She does.” He added another subject to his mental list of things he didn’t want to talk about. He’d have a hard enough time convincing Mike and the rest of the guys at the gym that Daniella knew her shit, let alone explain her knowledge of the sport to Bar Fly Barbie.

  Screw Daniella for putting him in this position. She needed to go back to where she came from and stop hanging around the gym, wasting his time.

  Jack grabbed the remote control and tossed it to the floor. With all the talk about Daniella filling the room, the blonde he’d been so keen on hours ago started to lose her luster.

  She stared at the remote lying on the carpet. “If you don’t want to hang out, I guess I’ll go.”

  He stared straight ahead at the black television screen, unblinking. “See ya.”

  She huffed, got up, and found her jeans lying in the same spot on the floor where she was all too eager to shed them the night before.

  “I’ll see you later,” she said, reaching for her purse. “When your mood’s improved.”

  “Sorry, Christy.” Jack stood up as she left, knowing there was no point to it other than he wanted to show her some respect for staying over, even though they both knew it was a one-night stand.

  Wonder how many one-nighters Daniella had had since she left town?

  Probably none. She was too good for that kind of thing.

  “It’s Misty.”

  “Huh?” he said, wondering why she hadn’t left yet.

  Jack waited for her to leave. Where did he put his running shorts?

  “My name is Misty, not Christy.” The blonde’s voice echoed through his apartment.

  Whatever, he thought, which was followed by one hell of a door slam.

  Chapter Three

  Daniella tried to avoid the Vegas Strip, but construction detours forced her to take a left at the MGM Grand and follow it straight past Mandalay Bay. Her car sped under the overpass and kept going straight until she reached Sunset and followed the road straight to Stamina. If she’d been thinking rationally, instead of being enraged at all things Jack Brady, she’d have loaded him up and dropped his lazy butt someplace south of Pahrump.

  His hangover could use more than a twenty-minute run to clear itself. A lot more.

  Her car eased to a stop in front of Stamina. The place looked empty. Locked. There was no choice but to wait for Shakes, who had promised he’d meet her here at two thirty. She rolled her tanned wrist over and checked the time. Shakes was late. Surely he’d show. But with the off-track betting open twenty-four hours, Shakes would be tempted to find himself sidetracked. Maybe if he’d spent less time over the years betting on anything that ran, fought, or scored, he wouldn’t find himself still taking care of Stamina in his golden years. That was the problem with living in Las Vegas; everyone was addicted to something.

  Ten minutes later Shakes pulled up, still driving his old Buick, the same faded green boat he’d driven for nearly twenty years. How that car, like Shakes, kept going was a miracle.

  He got out of the car and smiled at her.

  The white EVERLAST logo on his T-shirt sat in the middle of his chest like a target. His jeans sagged the way they did on old men, but he didn’t look dumpy. In fact, he’d lost weight. He looked healthy, or at least he appeared to be taking better ca
re of himself. He’d let his beard grow out, a full tuft of snowy white hair contrasted against his dark skin. At the sight of him, her heart lifted and the corners of her mouth pulled into a smile. Abraham Shakes outstretched his arms. Daniella walked right into them as if she were hugging her father.

  “Good to see you, Dani,” Shakes said. “It’s been too long. Way, way too long.”

  “I know. I’m sorry.” She averted her eyes to the tops of his scuffed shoes.

  “Sorry it had to go down like this. Too damn sudden and fast.” He released her after giving her one last squeeze.

  She read the sympathy on his face and emotion deep in his eyes. Tears formed just looking at him. The memory of answering Shakes’s call only to find out that he hadn’t dialed her number until after her father was dead centre in her mind.

  She wiped the thought away. “It’s okay. We’ve got a lot to do.”

  “Come on in, hon,” Shakes said gruffly, “Let’s get started.”

  He unlocked the door and opened it. But before Daniella stepped inside the cinder block boxing gym, he removed the key to Stamina and placed it in her palm. Her heart drummed in her chest. It was only a key. Nothing to get emotional about. But if that were true, why did she fight to hold back tears? She crossed over the threshold and the scent of sweat and stale air took her back to the last time she’d been there.

  Nearly ten years ago. The summer before she’d left for college.

  “You don’t have to go in if you don’t want to.” Shakes gestured toward her father’s office. The place where he had found R. L. slumped over his desk.

  She nodded. Yeah. She might wait a few days for that.

  Walking deeper into Stamina, her heels clicked against the concrete floor, and the full-size boxing ring came into view. It still looked the same. Black ropes, blue canvas. The structure was flanked by floor-to-ceiling mirrors that ran the length of the gym. She walked deeper into the space, still not believing that she was really here. Not a thing had changed. Behind the ring, the heavy bag still hung near one corner and the speed bag in the other. Her father used to make all his boxers use the heavy bag as a staple of their training. The bag made to simulate a body, help build coordination, and improve power. The speed bag improved, well, speed.

  She smiled, remembering what she knew. God, as hard as she tried to forget this place, she couldn’t. Boxing was in her blood.

  Shakes followed her past the ring and over to the area along the wall where the free weights, jump ropes, and medicine ball resided. “One thing about Stamina, this place never changes.”

  She allowed her eyes to survey the room. “You’re right.” Then she turned to face Shakes and said, “I’m not here to change anything. Just make what we’ve got even better.”

  Shakes’s eyes widened. “You’ve got a lot of work ahead of you, if that’s the case.”

  She put a hand on his arm. “Don’t worry, Shakes.”

  “I ain’t worried that you won’t be able to do it, I’m just concerned about who you have to do it with.”

  Of course they were talking about Jack. It seemed like every conversation regarding Stamina had something to do with Jack Brady.

  She let out a slow, calming breath. Thoughts of Jack wouldn’t get her worked up again. She needed a cool head to put her plan into action.

  Her father always preferred Stamina and the guys in it to anything else in the world. Nothing would please her more than honoring him by bringing back the glamour of boxing to the gym.

  “I’m glad you decided to stay and keep the gym running. Stamina does a lot of good around here.”

  Tension crept into the back of her neck. She lifted her hand and rubbed the spot to ease her tightened muscles. “I know it won’t be easy, but we can do it.”

  Concern marked Shakes’s face. “Have you seen Jack?”

  She let out a sigh and nodded. “It wasn’t pretty.”

  Shakes nodded. “He’s been like that for weeks. Maybe with you being a sports psychologist and all, you can help him with his comeback.” He paused before muttering, “Damn shame.” Shakes shook his head.

  She was game if Jack was.

  “Do you know where my dad kept all his financial papers for the gym?” Daniella asked. “The bills, insurance records, things like that? I’d like to take a look at everything.”

  Shakes nodded. “In his office. I’ll go get them.” He turned and walked toward the office, his shoulders slumped with age.

  She moved to the wall and turned on all the lights in the breaker box. The fluorescents illuminated with a hum and shined off the concrete floor. A small chuckle bubbled up from deep inside her throat. The idea of her training Jack to put Stamina back on the map sounded, well, ridiculous. But when she walked inside, she knew she had to do it. Her whole childhood was spent in this gym. She spent hours every summer listening to her father schedule bouts for his boxers on the next fight card. Her involvement in her father’s business was another lifetime ago. She’d grown up, moved on, and he had passed. Now was now. He was gone.

  And she was back.

  She took in not only the space and the ring, but the mental images of the men who had filled them. Making a success out of Stamina was her paramount goal. Regardless of her own reservations about not being taken seriously in a male-dominated industry, how was she supposed to earn respect when she was forced to deal with Jack?

  She bit the inside of her cheek. No. She didn’t know if any respect would be given to her based on her father’s legacy, but she wasn’t about to let Jack Brady stand in her way.

  Chapter Four

  Jack ran for about a mile, mile and a half, the distance between his apartment and Michael Perez’s house. Like Jack, Mike was one of R. L.’s guys, along with Trevor and Bulldog. He wanted to know what Mike’s plans were now that R. L. was gone. Maybe he didn’t know yet. Mike wasn’t much for words, but when he spoke, he always made a lot of sense.

  Jack sprinted up the front steps and knocked on the door. Before his knuckles left the wood, the door opened.

  “Sup?” The space widened and Mike turned around and headed back inside the house.

  “Sup.” Jack followed.

  Mike, already dressed in jeans, had no doubt finished his morning workout, loaded up on protein, and hydrated until his body probably thought it had gills. His body being his temple and all that shit. He kicked it between workouts in his green Oakland A’s T-shirt and whatever jeans he found on the floor. The shirt was at least a million years old. Damn thing was so holey, it could’ve gone to church.

  Mike ate, drank, slept, and fucked on a schedule. That’s probably why Jack liked him so much. The guy had discipline. Self-control. Restraint. All admirable shit.

  Sitting down on his black leather sofa, Mike placed a bare foot up on the table. He kept his eyes glued to the television, a Breaking Bad rerun, the one where Hank gets shot. They’d both seen it a thousand times. Dude needed to quit binge-watching that shit. Mike might be a badass, but he was no Walter White.

  Jack dropped himself onto the sofa. “Can’t stay,” he said as the episode ended and the credits rolled. “Daniella’s in town. R. L.’s daughter.”

  Mike grunted something that sounded like Oh, really.

  Jack rolled his body forward, placing his forearms on his knees. “I figure R. L. gave her everything, even Stamina.”

  “That’s funny. I didn’t know R. L. had a daughter.”

  Jack’s face tightened. “The girl in the photo on his desk, who’d you think she was?”

  Mike gave a nonchalant shrug.

  “She left about, um, ten years ago, maybe?”

  Mike cut his eyes to Jack. “She’s got everything, huh? The gym? The contracts? Does she know her shit?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You sure?”

  Jack’s hand balled into a fist. “I’m sure. Before she left for college she was in the gym more than the guys who trained there. You know that exercise on the pull-up bar, where you lift your kn
ees to touch your elbows, like a hanging sit up?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Putting those into our workout was her idea.”

  “Fucking sadist.” Mike smirked.

  “No shit. But not only that, she’s been watching films all her life, not just the greats—Muhammad Ali, Mike Tyson, Riddick Bowe—but Shannon Briggs and David Price. I guess after a while, she started seeing the same things R. L. did in the ring. She gave suggestions during sparring, smart advice that really worked.”

  “How long have you known her?”

  “A long time. I knew her from high school. She was a sophomore when I was a senior. Later, when I wanted to get into boxing, I talked to her to see if she’d introduce me to her dad.”

  “She hooked you up.”

  “Yeah. I remember once when I was still fighting amateur bouts, my ass was getting kicked because this guy was scoring points on me with the over-under.” He laughed. “She didn’t stand for that shit. From the crowd, she yelled out, ‘Block and push.’ It took a minute for her words to register, but when they did I countered each block with a push to back the guy up a few paces. That bought me time to regroup and set the jab.”

  “Sounds like a good call.” Reaching for the remote, Mike pointed it at the television and took the sound down a few notches. Then he turned his head toward Jack, as if there were more to the story he needed to hear.

  Memories flooded him. Thoughts about the Daniella he knew years ago rushed back. “After she left, R. L. told me he found one of her old notebooks. He was going to send it to her at school, thinking she’d left it behind, but I took it instead. When I opened the pages, I found notes she’d made on all the boxers, with suggestions on how she’d run things if she were in charge. Not just in training but with contracts, future cards. I guess she was getting serious about boxing as a career. She had a lot of respect for the sport. But R. L. was never sure a woman would get the same respect as a man in the fight game. She didn’t need to know how bad the sport could get, how underhanded, how wrong. I suppose R. L. wanted to protect her. He always liked that she chose sports psychology, a safe, clean career. It’s hard to believe she’s back.”