by Dani Dundee
Even that role was gone now. Not that he was anywhere close to retirement yet. No, he’d be in the gym until he took his last breath—that was for damn sure. No one, save God himself, could make him walk away from the very thing he’d built. Knockout wasn’t just a gym, it was his home.
But it was all changing, and it wasn’t for the worse. Jamison was making it better. Taking what he’d made good and using his championship status to build it into something great. They had clients coming in from all over the country to learn how to fight. Money was liquid in their pockets, and it all pointed to a better life.
Just like Don, Jamison hadn’t grown up with much. From a family of criminals, he’d taken a bad path in life until Don had stepped in and shown him a different way. Now, the man had a wife, a baby on the way and, as soon as he told him his decision, enough money to ensure they wouldn’t want for anything.
Where did Don fit into all this? Hell if he knew. Just as he considered Jamison his son, he was well aware that Jamison thought of him as the father he never had. So maybe, he supposed, that kinda made him a grandfather of sorts.
He sure had enough gray hair on the old noggin’ to pose as one.
Wasn’t entirely sure the wife was in agreement, though. Ally was a good woman—kind, thoughtful, caring. But they hadn’t exactly gotten off on the right foot. He’d taken out his years’ old resentment for a wife that hated his career with the idea that she was cut from the same cloth. All that cringing and squealing anytime a drop of blood hit the mats was signal enough that she wouldn’t be sticking around long.
Boy, had she proven him wrong.
Not only had Ally stuck around, she’d latched onto Jamison with a kind of ferocity that could not be challenged, and she was proving to be not a distraction like he’d once assumed, but an asset.
Just as he and Jamison busted their asses making Knockout a prime spot to train, she busted hers making sure it ran smooth and efficient. A year ago, he’d have told anyone with an ear that women didn’t belong in this establishment, their sensibilities too soft and sensitive to handle the kind of brutality that came with the sport, but she obliterated that idea better than a right hook to the temple.
They might not always see eye to eye, but Don was no idiot. She was something special, and he was damn glad she’d found his boy. He’d never seen Jami happier or more focused. She’d seen him through some of the darkest times in his life, the most recent being the loss of use of his hands. The trauma had been devastating, ending his career in a heartbeat. He didn’t think the man would ever recover from it, but the news of a child and the support of a good woman had started him off on the right track.
Don about shit his pants when Ally suggested Spencer—Jamison’s old friend the chronic gambler and screwer-upper of everything he touched and the very one responsible for ending his career in the ring—take a job in the gym. To take a lead position as a mentor to a youth program she’d come up with.
He expected all kinds of hell to rain down on their heads when Jamison heard the news, but to his surprise, he hadn’t ripped the walls from the foundation. Instead, he’d considered it a fresh start—for him, for his friend, for the kids in the neighborhood. For all of them.
It kind of felt like a Rat Pack reunion or something. All of them under one roof again. Like some kind of big, happy family.
Don stared at the slit of a window cut into the cinder block wall and felt his lips twitch. Or maybe it was just gas.
Shaking his head, he shifted some papers on his desk into a folder and dropped the lot into the bottom drawer of a filing cabinet. There. Done. Time to see what was happening out front.
Hefting himself from the rollaway chair, Don stretched his limbs, feeling the minor ache of arthritis in his joints. Opening the door, the noises of the gym was music to his ears—weights clanking. Grunting. Whirring machinery. Thuds and smacks coming from the ring. The distant hiss of showers running.
His feet followed the long stretch of hallway until it broke out onto the main floor. As expected, Ally was front and center manning the desk. When her determined stare met his, she cracked a half-smile and he tipped his head in acknowledgment.
No longer broken, just strained.
Spotting Jamison ahead, his muscled arms draped over the lower rope of the ring where two men sparred, Don sidled up next to him.
“How’s it going?”
“Damn Josh won’t listen to a thing I say,” Jami rumbled, then with a voice that echoed through the building shouted, “Get your fucking hands up before I come in there and show you how it’s done! For fuck’s sake, my mother can hit better than that!”
Josh, an amateur fighter looking to make it big, wiped sweat from his brow and jerked his head in a nod.
Don smiled. He remembered when Jamison was in that ring and he was the one issuing the threats. Good times. Clapping him on the shoulder, he told Jami, “Reminds me of someone I know. Don’t worry, he’ll get there. Just keep drilling it home.”
Huffing his annoyance, Jamison pushed off from the rope and paced over to the wall. Bending down, he picked up a bottle of water and...fumbled with the cap.
Goddamn, it twisted his chest to see the man struggle with something so simple. Every time he witnessed something like it, Don wanted to strangle Spencer. Of course, he was just the vehicle. It was Jamison who’d ultimately put himself here, but that didn’t make it any less difficult to stomach.
Without offering to help, Don reached out, took the bottle from him, and twisted the cap off. When he handed it back, it was without comment and without eye contact. No big deal.
Jamison cleared his throat. “Thanks.”
“You still doing therapy?” Don grunted.
“Four times a week. It’s getting better.” Holding his free hand out, he flexed fingers scarred from too many surgeries aimed at restoring functionality. “Doc says a few more and I should be able to make a tight fist again.”
Jesus, the kind of shit he took for granted. Don swallowed tightly and made some jerky movement with his head that may or may not have passed as a nod. “That’s great. You’ll be able to get back in the ring then.”
“I’ll never be able to fight again,” Jamison said with a note of defeat in his voice, “but at least I’ll be able to climb in there and show these punks what a real punch looks like. It’ll be good to get in there again,” he said, his gaze drawn back to the men grappling with each other.
“You can say that again,” Don agreed, following his line of sight to the place he’d spent too many years playing spectator for. But enough of the woe-as-me bullshit. He’d come out here for a reason.
“Listen,” Don said, drawing Jamison to the side. “I’ve been thinking about something and...” He stalled out, considering his words for the hundredth time, but no matter how many times he ran it through his head, his mind was made up. “I want to sell you my half of the business, drop out as a partner.”
Jamison’s eyes shot open wide. “What? Have you lost your mind?”
“I’ve put a lot of thought into this, so shut your mouth and listen,” Don barked. “This place is raking in cash and I’m only one man. I don’t know how many years I have left, but I’ve got enough to be comfortable and I want you and your family to be set for life, and I’m just holding you back. So I’m signing it over. The place is yours.”
“You’re out of your damn mind if you think I’m taking what you’ve spent your life building.”
“Stop being a stubborn ass and just accept what I’m giving.”
Jamison’s dark eyes burned with resistance. “No. Will it to me if you want, but as long as you draw breath, we’re co-owners.”
“Damn it, just let me do this one thing,” Don snapped, his head filling with heat. “When was the last time I did something nice?”
“You brought Ally that sub sandwich yesterday when she was having one of her cravings.”
Don’s eyes rolled to the ceiling. “She was seconds from a rampage. Someone
had to calm the beast before she ran everyone out of the building.”
A smirk spread across Jamison’s face. “You can hide behind that sour puss all you want, but I know you still got a heart in there, old man.”
“Fuck off,” Don groused. “As far as you’re concerned, I’m the damn Tin Man. Now say you’ll accept my share of the company or I’ll have the lawyer serve you with papers anyway.”
“Hell no. I already told you, it’s not happening.”
“Damn it, boy—ah!” Crippling pain shot up Don’s arm and into his jaw. Clutching his arm to his side, he hunched over, gasping for breath. Distantly, he could hear Jamison’s worried voice calling to him, but he couldn’t unclench his jaw long enough to form a response.
His blood rushing in his ears, his vision swimming with black dots, Don’s thoughts turned sluggish. He was having trouble...trouble...
Two words came to him clear as day just before he lost consciousness: heart attack.
He was having a heart attack.
***
CHAPTER TWO
As Don crumpled to the floor, something inside Jami’s head just...burst. Lunging, he barely managed to get his arms under the man’s shoulders before he landed face first on the concrete floor.
“Oh, my God!” Ally was at his side in an instant, her voice in his ear the only thing grounding him. “What happened?”
“I don’t know.” Jami’s voice strained as he struggled under Don’s dead weight to turn him over.
Dead weight. Jesus, he’d better not be dead.
A surge of panic thundered in his chest as the thought struck him. “Get back, in case he has a seizure,” he said, pushing his hand out to block her from getting any closer. Jesus. He’d better not have a seizure. “And call an ambulance,” he told her as Don’s face blurred in a wash of unshed tears. “Call a fucking ambulance.”
Vaguely, he was aware of Ally leaving his side and returning forever later. “They’re on their way. Is he breathing?”
“I don’t know.” His fingers went to Don’s neck, pressing into all that soft, finely wrinkled flesh. There, a faint but steady beat. “He’s alive.”
It was all a bunch of movement and noise after that. Members crowding around them. Hushed voices. Speculation. None of it got through. Jami was too busy freaking the hell out.
“Don? Can you hear me?” Ally’s dark head crossed his line of vision, blocking his view of Don’s face as she bent over him. “Open your eyes if you can hear me.”
This couldn’t be happening. The man wasn’t even sixty yet. He wasn’t old enough to go down like this. No warning. Just collapse. What had caused it? Low blood sugar? An aneurism?
She shouldn’t be so close. Ally needed to back off in case...in case. Grasping her arm, Jami towed her back, putting her out of harm’s way again. “Stay there, Ally.”
“But maybe I can help,” she protested.
“The last thing I need is to worry about something happening to you and the baby,” he snapped, then immediately regretted it as her expression flattened out and she did what he said.
Sirens blared in the distance, and a wave of tension mixed with relief traveled through him, slackening Jami’s muscles. They were coming. Help was coming. Jami gathered Don close to his chest and waited.
Minutes that felt like hours later, a troop of men in uniform filed through the doors. Pushing Jami aside, they got to work doing their thing while he stood by with his heart lodged in his throat.
“It’ll be okay, baby,” Ally soothed, her arms going around him, her belly pressing into his side. He wanted to hold her, grab on and take what she was offering, he really did, but his arms were currently busy holding himself together. If he let go, even for a second, he feared he might literally fall apart.
“What’s going on out here?” Having overheard the commotion, Spencer left his class to join them on the floor. But he didn’t need a rundown of what was happening. The paramedics lifting Don’s unresponsive body onto the stretcher was explanation enough. “Holy shit,” he breathed. “What happened?”
“We don’t know yet,” Ally told him when it became clear that Jami’s voice wasn’t going to cooperate. “He just dropped.”
Moving in closer, Spencer laid a supportive hand on Jami’s shoulder and the three of them watched as they wheeled the old man out.
“You should go with him,” Ally urged as they disappeared outside. “So he’s not alone.”
Blinking, Jami looked down at her. “What about you?” So close to the end of her pregnancy, he hated the thought of leaving her side for even a moment.
“I’ll meet you there.”
His expression pinched as he prepared an argument. Something along the lines of the hell you’ll be driving alone, but Spencer stepped in once again, surprising him.
“I’ll go with her. Everything will be cool, man. Just go do what you gotta do. Hurry, before they take off without you.”
There wasn’t much thinking after that. Looking his friend in the eye, Jami thanked him and then grabbed Ally up in a quick embrace, kissed her, then ran out the door.
***
The ER was busy. Jami paced the gleaming waxed floors feeling like a lion pent up in a cage that was two sizes too small. It had been the worst few hours of his life—hours that were going to haunt him whether or not Don made it.
He’d better fucking make it.
On the ambulance ride over, Jami’d watched in stunned horror as Don flatlined and was resuscitated twice. Heart attack, that’s what they were guessing. As soon as they pulled up to the hospital, it was a flurry of words and commands, and then they were moving into the building.
As Don was rushed through a set of double doors into surgery, Jami was directed to wait aside for news.
That was hours ago. More than enough time for half the gym to show up, but he really only cared about three of them. Spencer kept his promise and showed up right behind him with Ally in tow. His girlfriend, Liv, soon after that. Now it was a wait and see deal.
“The girls went to get something to eat,” Spencer said, appearing at his side. “Ally said she’ll bring something back for you.”
Jami nodded. It was sweet of her to want to take care of him, but he wasn’t hungry. Gaze pinned to the doors Don had disappeared behind, Jami asked him, “How you do think it’s going?”
Spencer grunted, folding his arms across his chest and mirroring Jami’s stance—legs spread wide, shoulders back, stern gaze fixed. “Hard telling. He’s a tough old bastard though. Doubt even the devil’d want to tango with his hard ass.”
A faint smile cracked across Jami’s face. “Yeah, guess it’s up to him if he stays or goes, huh?”
“With his first grandkid on the way? Hell if he’s going anywhere anytime soon.”
Feeling warmth spread through his chest, Jami cut his eyes to his friend. “Thanks for that.”
He tipped his head, and then they returned their attention to the doors stamped No Admittance, prepared to wait as long as they had to.
News came before the girls made it back in the form of Doogie Howser. At least that’s what Jami’s first thought was when he laid eyes on the man who looked like he still belonged in high school instead of a white lab coat.
Doogie’s beady eyes surveyed the waiting room briefly before snagging on Jami and Spencer. “Are you Donald Freyer’s family?”
Dropping his arms, Jami took a step forward. “That’s us.”
Closing the distance, the doctor somehow created a private circle between the three of them and began filling him in. “Mr. Freyer has suffered a heart attack. As you know, we had to perform emergency surgery. In order to access the blockage and repair the damage, we had to open his chest. Good news is he did well and has been taken to the ICU while we wait for him to come out of the anesthesia. He’ll need to be monitored for a few days. Once he’s ready to go home, he’ll need someone there who can assist him. I know it’s a lot to process, and we’ll take more time to go over every
thing once he wakes up. For now, just know that he’s doing very well,” he assured them.
Jami’s throat felt raw. His brain...blank, like someone had hooked it up to an electrical outlet and fried it. There was only one thing that mattered right now. “Can we see him?” he croaked.
“Absolutely. Follow me.”
As Jami’s feet began to move, the chill on his left side reminded him that he was missing something. “My wife. She’s in the cafeteria.”
Swinging a look over his shoulder, the doctor nodded his understanding. “Not a problem. I’ll leave a message at the desk to direct her back when she returns.”
Blankly, Jami and Spencer followed him beyond the doors and down so many winding hallways he wasn’t sure where the hell he was anymore, and into a room where a pallid figure hooked up to several pieces of machinery responsible for monitoring his every breath and heartbeat lay cold and motionless. Don didn’t look anything like himself. He looked...dead.
Without warning, the events of the day rose up and hit him, and Jami sucked in a breath. In a rush, he said, “I’m going to be sick.”
***
CHAPTER THREE
“You don’t always have to be the strong one.”
Jami paused in the middle of slicing a sandwich in half to look up at Ally. “Have you seen these arms lately?” he joked.
A small smile cracked across her face, but it did nothing to hide the sadness in Ally’s eyes. All humor bled out of him as Jami continued putting their meal together. It wasn’t much, but after spending several hours at the hospital only to get ten minutes with Don before being asked to leave, neither of them was in the mood for anything heavy.
