It wasn’t like I didn’t love my job. I fucking loved boxing. It was my passion, my whole life, but I was over the boring, enraging shit—the opponents that were awful and gave the sport a bad name, the guys that should have hung up their gloves after they peaked in high school, the fact that it was about money and not the love of fighting anymore. I was burning out, and I was only twenty-five. I knew something was going to have to give soon, but I didn’t know where my breaking point was finally going to be.
I made my way into the locker room and stripped out of my robe and trunks in front of the mirror next to the steaming shower that was waiting for me. The long vertical scar on my chest was a blaring reminder of why I fought so hard, why I would never take what I had for granted, why I needed to suck it up and stop being so damn jaded. I’d gotten a second chance nearly ten years before, and I was not going to let that have been in vain.
Chapter 1
Griffin
Ten years earlier
The gymnasium was jam-packed with tons of kids from my school, our archrivals, and as many parents of the athletes as possible. Growing up in New York, there were three sports that were a way of life: wrestling, boxing, or hockey. When I was little, my dad tried to get me into hockey, but I absolutely hated it and was a klutz on the ice. So, I bit the bullet and traded in my stick and skates for a speed bag in the garage and a pair of boxing gloves. Best decision I had ever made. My older brother was already the rookie for the New York Otters, the team my old man coached, so hockey was theirs. Boxing was all mine.
Before I knew it, my match was about to start. I waved to my mom as I began to stretch. She was giddily clapping and waving from the bleachers, yelling, “Yay! Griffin!”
Martha Hayes was a woman of good breeding and class—always proper, dressed to the nines, kind, but snobby. She was as supportive as she could be, and really tried to act like she cared about boxing or hockey. Despite her best efforts, we all knew she wished we played golf and went sailing on the weekends. Instead, she dealt with bloody noses, scraped knees, and smelly workout gear. Her life probably would have been so much better and simpler if she’d had daughters instead of sons, but we all have to play the hand we’re dealt.
“Are you ready, son?” Coach Redding grunted as he slapped me on the back. “This is going to be your year, Griff. That state championship is only a few fights away.”
I was his golden goose and he was milking me for all he could. He had his heart set on riding out my talents all the way to winning the first title of his coaching career. Yes, I was the one fighting for it, and yes, my name was going to be on the trophy, but the way Coach acted, you’d have thought it was his victory, not mine.
“As ready as I’ll ever be.” I threw in my mouth guard and slithered through the ropes.
Tapping gloves with my opponent, Vick Lundergan, I felt more intimidated in the ring than I ever had before. I was the youngest guy on the varsity team and even though I was small and stealthy, most of the guys I was matched up against had reach on me for miles. They all liked to be outside fighters, and I needed to bring them in to do some real damage. Vick was at the top end of our weight class and I was considered a bantamweight. I wasn’t completely sure it was a fair fight, but that didn’t matter—the match was already starting.
This bout was going to take everything I had. Vick’s dukes were up and he was dancing around me like a damn ballerina as I waited. I wasn’t about to waste energy on chasing him, and he was doing a great job of tiring himself out unnecessarily.
One quick jam to my cheek and I got him hard with a cross right in the ribs. I could hear my coach hollering from the side to keep him in close. I went in for a one-two, missing completely as his glove got me right in the bread basket and then with another hit that made me see stars. The wind was knocked out of me. Damn kidney shot. I staggered back, trying to catch my breath as he came at me again. His glove crashed directly into my left ribcage, and I heard the bones snap instantly as I cried out. The referee flew to my side, holding me up.
Everything started to fade as Coach leaped to my aid. “Griffin? Griff? Are you all right?”
I tried to respond, but nothing came out. I was dazed, falling faster and faster into nothing.
Utter.
Complete.
Darkness.
It blanketed me as the pain took over every cell in my body.
“It’s only a few busted ribs.” I tried to comfort my mom as she sat at my bedside, crying.
“Is he out for the rest of the season?” She wiped the tears from her cheeks as she looked over at my doctor.
He shut off the x-ray light, turning to face her. “I am afraid he is going to have to sit the rest of the matches out, yes, but he should be right as rain come the start of next year’s season.”
“See, everything is going to be fine. I will be able to fight again next year.” I was more saying it to comfort myself than anything else. Being so seriously injured was a hard pill to swallow, but there was nothing I could do about it.
My mother’s sobs started to get louder as she whimpered, “I don’t know what we are going to tell your father.” Her hands flew in the air as the dramatics took over her.
“Why don’t you tell him the truth? How any times did he get injured during his hockey career? I think if anyone is going to understand, it’ll be Pop.” I hated how concerned my mom was about what my father was going to think. Who gives a fuck if he’s mad? I was actually hurt for crying out loud. Isn’t that all that actually mattered? Not if my old man was going to be frustrated by the crappy situation?
Taking a tissue from the doctor, my mom blew her nose and then looked up at him. “Will he be able to work out and keep up his strength?”
My mom was dead set on finding a silver lining to bring home with her to comfort her husband once he started raging out about his son being laid up for a season.
Fucking ridiculous!
“After the bones are healed, Griff will be able to start with physical therapy and then will be back in the gym, hitting the heavy bag before you know it. Luckily, teens are resilient. Your boy will have nothing to worry about.”
“Thank you, Rudy.” Mom faked a small smile.
“If you’d like to call your Mr. Hayes and have him come down, I would be more than happy to explain this to him, if that would make you more comfortable.” Dr. Rudy Dunkin had been our family’s doctor for as long as I could remember, and with the amount of money my mother’s family had dumped into the hospital over the years, we got all kinds of special treatment. Case in point, Dr. Dunkin was in a polo and golf pants because we had his personal pager number and my mother had insisted on calling him in on his Saturday off.
“He’s away for work right now.” It wasn’t like Dr. Dunkin didn’t know who my family was, but I didn’t want the special treatment because my father and brother were famous hockey players, or because my mom’s side of the family was dripping with more money than they knew what to do with. I was in pain and wanted to get my ass home and onto the couch.
“All right, the front desk has all your discharge paperwork and aftercare instructions. Be sure to take it easy and let those ribs heal up before you start back at the gym.”
I hopped off the table and cringed from the pain of that simple motion. “Don’t worry, doc. I ain’t trying to mess up my recovery.”
“That’s good to hear, son. I’ll see you back here in a couple weeks to check on your progress.”
Chapter 2
Griffin
A few months later
“What do you mean he has to have a heart transplant? He had a few broken ribs, that’s it. They were supposed to heal on their own and then be done with.” The look of terror on my mother’s face while she shook in her seat as we were talking to Dr. Dunkin and his young colleague was a sight I would not soon forget. She looked so defeated, hiding under her lavender poncho. My father stood like a statue behind her. He had mastered the art of being stoic years ago. Frankly,
he was an ass, but it was what it was. There sure as shit was no changing that man.
“As Rudy explained to you over the phone, the infection has spread to his heart, and unfortunately, there is little else we can do.” The young doctor hung her head as she put a kind hand on my shoulder. “You’re young and, for the most part, healthy—we will find you a donor, I am sure of it. Just have faith. You will get better.”
I knew she had no fucking clue if she was going to be able to help me, or if a donor organ would become available in time. Also, the icing on the shit cake sank in hard—for me to live, someone would have to die. How was that fair? In the wake of someone’s tragedy, I would find restoration. That just didn’t seem right to me at all. How could it?
“How long are people usually on the waiting list?” My father’s gruff voice bellowed through the small room.
Before Dr. Dunkin could answer, my brother burst into the room, completely out of breath.
“I got here as fast as I could.” Gavin’s face was red as he stood huffing and puffing in the doorway. He was dressed in sweats and stank to high heaven. It irked me that he was pulled out of practice because of me. I hated feeling like a burden.
“Mom, I told you not to call him,” I growled.
Our mother shrugged as Gavin took the seat next to me. “How could you expect her not to? We’re family, little bro.” The concern blanketing my entire family was started to choke me. One injury—a few broken ribs—had turned into an infection, which had turned into me needing a freaking heart from a dead guy at sixteen years old—this shit was fucking unbelievable.
My cold sweats were irritating the shit out of me, my mom’s blubbering was making me uncomfortable, and now I had my father’s look of disappointment and my brother’s unwavering support filling the rest of my tiny hospital room. It was all more than I could handle.
“Don’t you have practice to get back to?” I glared at my father. It wasn’t like I was a priority in his life. His team came first—it had since he was a player, and did even more so now that he was the coach.
Gavin shifted, looking over at me. “They can handle practice without us.”
My father grunted and I wanted to scream. After taking a slow breath, I muttered, “Thanks.” It was all I could think of to say. I wanted to be alone, but they needed to be with me, more to ease their own minds than to comfort me.
Olive
A few weeks later
My world stopped.
I couldn’t breathe.
How can this be happening?
I stood in the foyer of my home staring blankly at a police officer that was explaining an accident to my stepmother. He was talking about how an incident with a forklift at my father’s jobsite had him in critical care at Flushing Hospital.
I could hear them, could understand what the words they were saying meant, but I did not know how it could be real. There was no way my father was as badly injured as the officer was claiming. He was supposed to be taking me to work on my car at his garage in a few hours; how could he miss that? He never missed spending time with me. He would never be late.
Hilary, my stepmom, started talking to me, having to repeat herself a few times before her words actually registered in my brain. “Olive, grab your coat honey. Liv? We need to go to the hospital.”
I shook my head, frantically trying to clear the jumbled mess as best as I could. I felt tears rolling down my cheeks and neck, and my voice was weak when I responded. “Okay, be right down.”
I bolted up the stairs on shaking knees, trying to keep reality at bay. My father was fine. He had to be. There was nothing else that could make sense in this world.
***
Walking into Dad’s room where machines were breathing for him and keeping his heart beating felt like an out-of-body experience. I could have sworn it was a terrible dream I was going to wake up from as soon as my alarm clock sounded and saved me, but the blaring noise that soon broke through my consciousness was not the clock radio on my nightstand in my bedroom; it was an alarm sounding the end of my father’s life.
Nurses and doctors rushed in, a slow-motion blur as my stepmother screamed and I dropped to my knees.
“You need to let the doctors do their job. Please step outside.” A nurse was wrapping her arms around me, trying to get me to my feet, but it was futile. I wailed on the floor as they put paddles to my father’s chest.
Reluctantly, Hilary and I finally were forced into cold, plastic chairs in the hallway right outside of my father’s room. One of the doctors came out, melancholy drenched his features as he spoke to us. I was in a daze—barely able to wrap my head around what he was saying. Shocking my dad worked. They got a faint heartbeat, but it was obvious things weren’t going to be good. He was brain dead—at least that was what he explained to us.
“I’m so sorry.” The doctor’s head dropped, and I clung to Hilary as we both wept.
“There’s nothing that can be done?” she asked desperately, her voice cracking through the sobs.
“Unfortunately, his body is slowly shutting down, and there is no brain activity.”
The words were harsh and cold. My father was a great man—kind, caring, hardworking—and now he had been reduced to a corpse that was being mechanically kept alive for his organs to be harvested.
“Can we say goodbye?” I didn’t know what else to do, wanted to at least have a moment with him.
The doctor nodded and Hilary looked at me. “How about I go in first and then you can take as long as you need?”
With a tight hug, she left me in the corridor to watch as she cried at her husband’s bedside. Hilary was a great stepmom, loved me more than she had to and never treated me like I wasn’t her own daughter. I had never been more grateful for her than I was in that moment.
Once Hilary was finished, I took a seat next to my father’s side. “I am going to grab a cup of coffee,” my stepmom muttered as she exited the room.
We were alone, just like we had been for the first seven years of my life. I had always thought it would be my dad and me against the world forever. It’s crazy how fast things change.
“Daddy…” I sobbed as I spoke. “I love you. I will always be your little girl. You’re my hero, my rock, and now you will be my angel. Thank you for always being such a wonderful father.” And then I broke. I was uncontrollably crying and shuddering, holding on to his hand for dear life. I didn’t want the moment to end. I didn’t want to actually say goodbye.
Hilary’s faint voice came from the door. “Liv, it’s time.”
I stood, kissed my father’s cheek, and said, “This isn’t goodbye. This is see you later. I love you, Daddy.”
Chapter 3
Olive
Present day
“Hey, Liv!” I heard Shaw call through the open office door.
Wiping the grease from my hands, I trudged over to him. His grimy hand covered the receiver of the office phone while he whispered, “Hank Collins is calling again.”
I rolled my eyes, taking the cordless. “Hank? Now to what do I owe the pleasure of hearing your voice again today?” I cooed into the smelly plastic, trying to not sound annoyed that this particular customer was becoming a royal pain in my ass.
Hank cleared his throat loudly. “Just calling to check up on my tractor again. Been two whole days here, Liv, and you know what a farmer is without his damn tractor? This friggin’ hay ain’t going to bail itself.” The condescension that oozed from his tone made me want to reach through the phone and strangle the life out of him.
I took a deep breath, counted to ten, then responded, “Now, Hank, we went over this just yesterday. The part isn’t coming in until tomorrow at the earliest. If you hadn’t ignored your regular servicing, we wouldn’t be looking at a cracked radiator, but I’m not pointing fingers. You know what a mechanic is without her parts?”
“Damn useless.” He snorted before making the most detestable spitting sound on the damn planet.
“You’re ri
ght on that one.” I sneered and spoke through gritted teeth. “Once it’s delivered, I will have that part in as fast as my fingers can go. Until then, you need to sit tight and deal with using one of the other three tractors on your farm. I am sure one of them can keep you busy while you wait.”
With a huff and a few choice words, he ended the call and I turned to Shaw. “Patience is a virtue that man will never master.”
I rubbed my temple and Shaw tossed my headache medicine over to me. I threw back my head, gulping down two pills and a bunch of water. Long days and nights with barely any sleep and countless hours spent under the hoods of vehicles were starting to catch up to me.
“I would have told him to go fuck himself. He is a patronizing prick that needs to stop calling.” Shaw spit into the paper cup on his desk as he started sifting through some of the paperwork he had been neglecting. “When are you going to bite the bullet and finally hire a damn secretary?”
I knew it had been time for far too long, but money was tight and we were getting by running the garage with just the two of us. “We’ve been over this. Can we not get into it again?”
Shaw and I had been friends ever since I could remember, and when we’d graduated from mechanic school together, it had been a no-brainer for him to come work for me when I turned my father’s workshop into an actual moneymaking automotive repair shop. He was the closest thing I had to family, and he knew how hard it would be for me to trust anyone else with my baby.
“All I am saying is that it would be damn nice to have someone else fielding the calls from our idiot customers and doing the ordering so we could do less of that bullshit and more of the actual work that pays the bills.”
Taking a seat, I threw my boots up onto my desk. “I’ll go over it with the accountant at the end of the month, happy?” The Copenhagen smile that spread across his face infuriated me. “But, I won’t hire anyone while you’re still chewing that nasty shit.”
The Shots On Goal Series Box Set Page 22
