by Jessica Ashe
“That won’t bring in anywhere near as much as a fight,” Gayle replied.
“Yes it will,” I insisted. “We’re talking about people with tons of disposable income. You can charge them upfront, and I bet a few will become members as well.”
“This gym isn’t exactly cut out for office types,” Duke said. He did at least sound like he was considering it.
“That’s part of the attraction. This is a rough gym, with a real fighter teaching the classes. Advertise them as authentic self-defense. None of that choreographed disarming nonsense that looks more like a dance than a fight.”
“You don’t have the patience to teach people,” Gayle said. “You’ll quit the first time you get a client who isn’t in perfect shape.”
She had a point. I’d never been a patient student, and I couldn’t see me being much better as a teacher. But this time I had an incentive. Anything to get out of all those fights.
“Keep some of the fights in the calendar,” I said. “If the training doesn’t work out then I’ll compete in those fights, but I guarantee you’ll make more money from me training people here. You’ll want to cancel those fights yourself. It’s a no-brainer.”
It was a no-brainer. In fact, it seemed so obvious, that I was surprised Gayle and Duke hadn’t thought of it themselves.
Shit.
An uncomfortable feeling spread from the pit of my stomach. That feeling you get when you’ve just slapped down a load of cash in poker, and seen a smile spread across the face of your opponent. I’d been played.
“I suppose we could try it out,” Gayle said slowly, weighing the words on her tongue. “What do you think?”
“Cancel the next few fights,” Duke agreed. “And start advertising. I’m willing to give this a shot.”
I took a closer look at the names on the calendar below the big X marks. I had never heard of most of these people. And how did the fights get organized so quickly anyway?
Yep, they’d played me. This was what they’d wanted all along. Duke knew that if he mentioned me training people I would refuse to do it, so he had me come up with the suggestion all by myself. On second thought, it had probably been Gayle’s idea. She was the brains of the outfit.
I could have probably called them out on it, but Duke had a point. I did need to earn my keep here, and teaching a few classes was better than fighting once a week. At least this way I could stay in shape and avoid injuries.
I’d never find another gym willing to give me so much flexibility. I owed Duke. He got paid off my success, but that hadn’t repaid the faith he’d placed in me five years ago.
I left Duke’s office, and stared at the window where Nora had been a few minutes ago. Empty. I’d make sure Duke placed a few large posters right where she had been standing. If she walked by again, I wanted her to know she could get one-on-one time with me whenever she wanted.
In reality, I was more likely to get a load of middle-aged men working out a mid-life crisis than a woman like her, but a guy could always dream.
Perhaps it was for the best if she stayed away. I didn’t need the distractions. I had two months to prepare for the biggest fight of my life. I couldn’t let a nice piece of ass get in the way of that.
Opportunities like this didn’t come around too often, and I was determined to make the most of it.
Chapter Six
Riker
I walked home quickly, practically running to keep warm. When I’d left this morning for the gym it had been warm enough to walk out in a t-shirt, but I’d left late and the cold night air of winter was now punishing this morning’s stupid clothing choice. A gang of kids were huddled at the bottom of the steps to my apartment building, but they soon parted as I approached.
Those brats had kept me awake last night, but I didn’t have the energy to deal with them now. They were just kids. I’d been like them once, not all that long ago. I’d done much worse than just hang around on street corners.
I stepped inside the building expecting to feel the rush of warm air on my skin, but the heating was broken again and the place was almost as cold as outside. These days, it was more surprising if the heating actually worked.
I ran up the stairs up to the eighth floor to keep warm, and switched on the space heater as soon as I stepped into my apartment. It wouldn’t do a lot of good, but it was better than nothing. They didn’t have heaters in prison, so I appreciated any small luxuries.
In many ways, my life hadn’t changed a lot since prison. You couldn’t put a price on freedom, but I still lived in a small cold space, and I spent my free time working on making my body as strong as possible.
Just like in prison, I still had my mind set on beating Tyler Young. That creep had insisted on a fist fight as a bit of late night entertainment, but then stabbed me in the side with a pair of rusty scissors. The wound hadn’t been serious, and I hadn’t caught anything from the blade, but I’d been determined to get revenge on that cheating scum ever since.
He’d left prison before I could catch up to him, and somehow he’d landed a spot in the UFC. If I could get spotted by the organization, I might just get my rematch. Until then, I just had to hope.
One difference from back in prison was that I now had complete control over my physique. If I worked out and ate well, my body got bigger, leaner, and stronger, without fail. It was a stark contrast to other areas of my life where I felt completely powerless.
Duke and Gayle organized my life for me. Even my idea today hadn’t really been my own. They told me where to be and when. What choice did I have? I was grateful for the work. Many of my friends from prison hadn’t been so fortunate.
I’d stayed late at the gym to help Duke sort out the equipment for the first combat class I was teaching tomorrow, so it was already past nine in the evening.
My brain suggested that it might be a good idea to relax tonight, and just chill out in front of the television. I dropped to the floor and started doing push ups, before my body started to think that sounded like a wonderful idea.
Yes, it was late, but if you took one night off then before you knew it you were taking two nights off and then three. It was a slippery slope. I didn’t get this physique by sitting in front of the television.
I didn’t count the push ups. I never did. If you counted them then you knew how many you could do, and it was too easy to get into the habit of doing the same number every night. I tried to tune out and listen to my body.
My arms and upper back would tell me when I had to stop. They would shake a bit at first, but I could always push through that for a few more. Only when I was physically incapable of raising my body one more time would I call it quits. Even then, I tended to feel guilty, always questioning myself and wondering whether I could have done more.
Once done with the push ups, I rolled over onto my back and lifted my legs into the air, bringing my chest up to meet my knees for some ab work. There weren’t many ab exercises that challenged me anymore, but eventually my stomach did tire, and I collapsed back down onto my back.
I dreaded the last exercise of the night. Not because it was particularly challenging, but because this was when my mind always decided to punish me.
I rested on my elbows and went up into a plank position. As before, I zoned out and didn’t think about how long I could hold the pose. Instead, I thought about everything I’d done wrong in my life. All the people I’d harmed, and the ones I couldn’t protect from harm. It was a long list.
Punishing myself now wouldn’t bring back the loved ones I’d lost, but once a night I did exactly that anyway. It was a small price to pay.
At some point, the shaking in my arms became too much, and I fell down face first onto the cheap carpet. If I did get signed up by the UFC, the first thing I’d do is get the hell out of this dive.
Dinner would have to consist of a vegetable smoothie with protein powder mixed in. My body always felt cheated if I didn’t have chicken or fish, and I’d go to bed feeling empty, but th
ere wasn’t time to cook.
The protein powder gave my muscles most of what they needed, but it couldn’t replace the taste of succulent chicken or fresh fish. Not many people would think it to look at me, but I was actually a half-decent cook. You had to be to maintain a decent body.
I lived on a diet of white meat and vegetables, and rarely ate junk food. People threw around phrases like “your body is a temple,” but in my case that was pretty accurate. Plenty of women made the pilgrimage to worship there, and they often yelled out to their god when down on their hands and knees.
After an unsatisfying liquid dinner, I did attempt to relax in front of the television, but I quickly grew tired and decided to get an early night. The next few months were going to be intense. In addition to training every day, I now had to teach combat classes twice a day. Duke was making me earn my keep now, and it wouldn’t leave me with a lot of free time.
Despite the cold, I climbed into bed naked. My body refused to sleep with any item of clothing on my body. The thin windows didn’t do much to keep out the noise from outside. The kids had already moved on, but there was still a constant stream of cars, and the general noise you got from a busy neighborhood.
It didn’t bother me that much. If you can sleep in prison, you can sleep anywhere. Most nights in prison had one prisoner or another shouting and screaming until he got the attention he so desperately craved, usually followed by some time in solitary where he could yell and scream all he wanted.
Even prison had been an improvement on the conditions I’d grown up in. A drug-addicted brother, a drunk for a father, and one of the most dangerous neighborhoods in the entire country, didn’t make for many quiet nights.
Believe it or not, my current place was a big improvement.
Or perhaps not.
The sound of a gunshot split the air, followed closely after by the noise of about a hundred birds all taking flight at once. Two more gunshots rang out and then silence.
There was no panic. People in neighborhoods like this didn’t panic at the sound of gunshots. The police would be along in a minute, sirens blaring, so I set my alarm for six AM and tried to drift off to sleep before that happened.
Before sleeping, I spent more time punishing myself for past mistakes. Who needed prison when your own mind could punish you much more effectively.
The gunshots were a stark reminder of those I’d lost to violence. My brother. My friends. I couldn’t bring anyone back, but that never stopped me feeling guilty for being alive.
Guilt. The emotion that drove everything I did in life. Guilt for being alive. Guilt for making it out of the downtrodden neighborhood I grew up in and into a slightly less downtrodden neighborhood.
Not even the good deed I’d done for Nick could make me feel better. I’d made a sacrifice for him, but what good had it done?
I forced my brain on to more positive topics. Like Nora. My heart rate sped up immediately. No, on second thought, thinking of her would not help me sleep.
Eventually, my mind let me drift off to sleep. Tomorrow held promise. I wouldn’t admit it to Duke, but a part of me was excited by the thought of teaching people how to defend themselves. Maybe I could actually do some good.
Maybe that would help me sleep better at night.
Maybe…
Chapter Seven
Nora
I couldn’t wait around any longer.
I’d known about my real dad for months, after finding my mom’s old love letters among her things, but it had taken that long for me to convince myself this was the right thing to do.
I’d been down to the gym a few days ago, but hadn’t had the nerve to walk inside. I’d still been high off my meeting with Riker, and had even imagined seeing him inside the gym. It probably wasn’t a good idea to meet your dad when you’re still so high from last night’s sex that you’re hallucinating.
Now I was more determined than ever. Even so… when I put my hand on the cold, steel door, all the doubts came flooding back.
Maybe this was a big deal after all. In my head, I’d rationalized the entire thing as an educational experience. Sure, I’d be meeting my father, but I’d also be meeting other men and women who’d grown up in poor families, just like the ones I would have to help as a social worker. Many of the men at Duke’s gym were former convicts—the website even bragged about that for some reason.
By this point, I’d pretty much convinced myself that meeting Duke was just a minor inconvenience while I spent two months hanging around with people from another walk of life.
I’d even told Alison I would write a paper on my experiences and try to get it published in a social studies journal. I think we both knew that was crap, but I’d at least take a stab at it.
To me, ‘Dad’ had always been random sperm in a tube, not a real person. Duke hadn’t been a sperm donor. He’d been intimate with my mom at least once, but perhaps more often than that. Maybe they’d even been in love. Knowing my mom, I doubted that very much, but it was possible.
And that wasn’t even the biggest part of this. Not only was I about to meet my father, my father was about to meet me. Did he even know I existed? From my Mom’s old letters, I’d gathered that Mom had told him about being pregnant, but he’d wanted nothing to do with it. What had she told him about me? Anything? Nothing at all?
In a few hours’ time, my life would be roughly the same as it was before. I’d know a little more about my father, but that was it. His life was about to change completely.
It wasn’t too late to turn back. Alison would be relieved, and I could get on with my life. So could Duke. But I’d always wonder. And what if something happened to him as well? I’d feel like shit if I never even met the man.
No, I had to do this.
I closed my eyes, took in a deep calming breath through my nose, and pushed open the heavy door, before stepping into the cold gym.
There weren’t many people here on a cold Monday morning. I looked around for a reception area, but the only office was at the back of the building. Duke was probably in there; just fifty feet away from where I stood. What a terrifying thought.
I headed towards the office when I saw a man doing dead lifts with his back to me. The bar bent under the strain of the weights on either end.
If the bar ain’t bendin’, you’re just pretendin’. Hugh Jackman had been right on that point, but he didn’t look half as ripped as this guy.
The gym hadn’t been open long, but he was really going for it now. A layer of sweat made his skin glisten, as his gloved hands strained to hold the weight for as long as possible.
I could take or leave a nice set of abs on a man, but a big chest and bulging biceps were a weakness of mine. Unfortunately, they were usually attached to men who couldn’t string a sentence together.
I was all for physical attraction, but they had to be able to talk for at least ten seconds without making a fool of themselves. Like Riker. He could hold a conversation. Sure, every word that came out of his mouth made him sound like a tool, but at least he had a brain.
Despite a fondness for upper bodies carved out of stone, that wasn’t where my eyes were looking right now. Instead, they were fixed on his legs as his hamstrings rippled under the pressure of supporting the weight. His legs had muscles I never knew existed. Mine were toned and in good shape, but his were defined, each contour revealing a muscle which was the result of years of hard work and heavy lifting.
I snapped out of my trance as the man dropped the bar and let the weights crash to the floor. The mats absorbed some of the blow, but the floor still shook beneath my feet as what looked like at least four hundred pounds slammed down on it.
His back was covered in scratches that looked like he’d been in a fight, or with a particularly kinky woman who liked to dig her nails into…
No. Surely not.
He turned and looked at me.
Riker. Oh shit. Oh fucking shit.
“What the hell are you doing here?” he asked
angrily. “If you’re after round two then I’m afraid I’m just not that kind of guy.”
I rolled my eyes, and moaned through gritted teeth. How had I let this man, this hunk of arrogant muscle, screw me the other night like I was one of his groupies? I’d had fun—a lot of fun—but my God that had been stupid.
“Get over yourself. I’m looking for Duke. Duke Nott.”
“He’s probably in his office. What’s it about?”
“It’s, uh, kind of personal.”
“Whatever,” Riker replied, clearly not believing that I could be here for any other reason than to see him. “It’s over there.” He pointed to the office I’d been heading to before getting distracted by this prick. This ripped, cocky prick.
“Thanks.”
He didn’t say anything, and just wandered over to grab some weights from the rack. Why did men who looked that damn good never have the personality to go with it? And why did my body insist on craving men I could never stand?
I wandered over to the office and knocked on the door.
A gruff reply came from the other side. It didn’t sound like a ‘yes,’ but it didn’t sound like a ‘go away’ either. I opened the door slowly and walked inside to see my dad sat at his desk.
A strong temptation to greet him with a joyful “hi, Daddy,” washed over me, but he didn’t look like a man with a sense of humor.
“Membership forms are over there,” he said, not looking up from his newspaper as he pointed towards a stack of papers resting on top of a filing cabinet.
“I’m not here to apply for membership,” I said softly.
Duke sighed as he reluctantly put down his paper and looked up at me. Customer service obviously wasn’t high on his list of priorities here. He frowned as he took me in. I probably didn’t look like most of his members. The few women I had seen here were all as heavily tattooed as the men.
