Chapter 4
Kas
The gym I train at is not doing good. In fact, it’s doing bad, really fucking bad.
“I’m telling you, man, the gym is barely breaking even. Why do you think Davina is pushing you to accept these fight offers?” Dash says in a hushed exclamation.
I take his phone from his tattooed fingers and position it close to my eyes. In front of me is a blurred photo of a spreadsheet that he took in haste. Each numbered cell hosts data fashioned into a steady decline, and the profits shown are only just keeping the gym afloat.
“I doubt Bill knows. Dav, well, you know how she is. She deals well under pressure co-owning the gym with Bill, but she’s, what? Almost eight months pregnant? I’m just freaking out, man,” Dash continues, twirling a blond hair within his unkempt beard—a sure sign of stress is when he forgoes his biweekly shape-up.
“Why are they heading toward a loss? What’s changed?” I question.
Masculine grunts and clanging weights reverberate off the gym walls as we speak.
“Maintenance, repairs,” Dash says, pointing to a bucket catching water just a couple of feet outside of the ring. “Next to no memberships, the gazillion other fitfluencer gyms that are popping up left, right, and fucking center. Nobody wants to join this dump to be coached by a partly retired old dude who hasn’t been relevant since the 1980s.” Dash gulps and sucks in air through clenched teeth. “Oh my god, the gym is so done.”
“Relax on Bill,” I say, defending my coach. Though Dash’s rant sounds harsh, Bill would agree. He’s a typical grumpy old man so over the gym stuff, he barely shows up to the establishment he co-owns. “And the gym is not done, we’ll come up with a solution.”
Dash fists his hair in frustration and paces the area of the boxing ring.
“If only there was a solution ... Oh yeah! You could just accept the SFL fight that’s constantly being offered to you.” Dash crosses his arms sassily and gives me a disapproving look.
“Well, sue me for not wanting to engage in a bout with Fletcher fucking Ward,” I say.
Toxic SFL fighter, Fletcher Ward, has been begging me to be his next opponent after catching my name in the mouths of those close to him. He’s like a vampire, sucking up victories against amateur fighters to keep himself relevant and ensure that his ego and pockets are well fed.
Plus, accepting his offer means lowering my standards and interacting with a fighter who put his last opponent into a coma after breaking the rules and elbowing the back of his skull.
I down my bottle of water and scrunch up the plastic waste, throwing it into a nearby trash can. “Or I could just write a check to the gym? I have the money,” I say, ripping another water out of my duffel.
“Yes, you’re the gym’s greatest donor, but your contributions are accepted as business only because Davina manages you and Bill trains you. They would never accept your money like some charity case.”
Dash stalks around the edge of the ring and waves at a regular member entering the gym with a wide smile.
“How would you know that? I haven’t asked Davina if she’d accept a check,” I argue.
Dash’s smile drops when he refocuses on my words. “Maybe you could help the gym by accepting the fucking fight!” he shouts impatiently.
Dash looks warily around the gym, scratching his nape uncomfortably when a few gym-goers look over their machines at us.
I slip through the ropes and point at him in warning when I’m on the ground. “You need to calm the fuck down,” I mutter through gritted teeth.
Dash unstraps the Thai pads from his forearms to reveal a tattoo that looks fresh among the others making up the sleeve on his arm.
“This is why I’ve had nervous shits for the past few days. I can smell a layoff coming from a mile away,” he says. “Last to join, first to leave. This is the consequence of being a personality hire.”
“You’re not a personality hire, you’re the only hire,” I correct.
This gym isn’t big by any means, which is why the only other employees apart from Dash are the owners, Bill and Davina. If the gym is lucky, some extra hands are provided by Bill’s stepchildren, other reliable gym members, and at times, me.
The squeaky door leading to the back office opens and Davina emerges. Her tablet and laptop sit on her forearm with a glasses case balancing on top. She wears her trusty black tracksuit and keeps the top half unzipped to make room for her very pregnant stomach.
Dash and I look at each other. I smirk at him, and he shakes his head.
“Do not fucking ask her about the finances,” he hisses, exiting the ring.
I barely make it a step forward when Dash launches himself at me. His weight collides with my back. I bat at him with my water bottle, which I eventually ditch for my hands when he hooks his arm around my neck like an ape. I take us to the dusty gym floor and plant my foot against Dash’s cheek.
“Get your grippers out of my fucking face!” he sputters, batting at my ankle. I end up accidentally kicking him in the crotch as our tussle continues. “Ow! My balls!”
“Let me speak to her,” I grunt as I push Dash, he clutches his junk and rolls away.
“No fighting outside of the ring!” Davina shouts, her husky voice adding bass to an already loud bellow.
“What’s up with the gym’s finances?” I ask Davina mid-jog before Dash can protest.
He comes running up to the reception desk only seconds after I ask. “He doesn’t know what he’s talking about,” Dash rushes out, keeling over to catch his breath. “You’re such a fuck, Kas.” He pants with his eyes squeezed shut and cups his crotch.
“Dash, do you think I wouldn’t know if you snuck into the office? You offered to do admin. You hate doing admin,” Davina says with a suspicious look over the top of her glasses. She directs her attention to me, her sharp bob jostling with the movement. “The gym isn’t doing well, it’s at a point where it’s unsustainable as a business.”
She puffs her cheeks with a staggered breath. I’ve known her for around a decade, pretty much as soon as she purchased the gym with Bill. I know when she’s calm, and right now, she’s panicking.
“I can write a check. Tell me how much you need.”
Davina sighs and drags her hand over her tanned face. “I said it’s unsustainable. You can dish out every cent you have, kid, but it’s useless if we can’t maintain the profits. Plus, it’s not your responsibility to keep us funded. Paying me to manage you is enough,” she says firmly.
Dash grunts from my side, obviously satisfied hearing Davina partly repeat what he’s already told me.
“I have the money, I give you the money. It’s as simple as that. I don’t care if it’s gone, even if it’s just to deal with the gym for the rest of your pregnancy,” I explain.
Davina considers my offer for less than a second before shaking her head. “If we have to shut it down, we shut it down. I’ve spoken to Bill already.”
Dash paces in front of the reception desk. “So if the issue here is that we can’t maintain profits, the SFL fight would still be a solution to this. Kas debuts in a fight with Fletcher Ward, Kas becomes famous, the gym gets a cut, the gym gets a name for itself, members start signing the fuck up, and we’re all good. Or am I just shouting into the void?”
“The void,” Davina says. “I’m not forcing Kas to participate, alright? There’s no guaranteed success for the gym either.”
“We can’t at least try?” Dash presses.
I wasn’t interested in the fight an hour ago when I didn’t have any knowledge of the gym potentially going under. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t considering it now. I’m torn between saving the gym or saving my sanity from Fletcher Ward.
“I’ll think about it,” I say.
Davina swivels on her chair at breakneck speed, and Dash regards me with wide eyes.
“Seriously?” Dash says.
Davina rubs her stomach and swaps her desk chair for a bright blue gym ball she keeps close by. “Not a no,” she muses.
“Not a yes either. I’ll think about it,” I repeat.
Davina opens up her laptop and navigates to a full document filled with bullet points and charts. “In the meantime, I’ve been brainstorming some things we could reintroduce to bring in some new members. Do you guys remember Women-troduction ?”
“Terrible name,” I mutter.
“You’re bringing it back?” Dash beams.
Back when I used to work here, the afternoons would be reserved for the women’s-only session hosted by Davina. Or as she likes to call it, Women-troduction .
“I’ve been thinking about it. I’ll need you both to help me out, though.”
Me? Helping out?
“I don’t even work here,” I say.
Fighting locally and becoming a self-taught stock investor has managed to fill my pockets. I don’t need to work at the gym anymore.
Dash snickers. “He’ll be busy playing 1960s housewife or investing in fucking stocks like a Wall Street dude.” He pretends to be hunched over with a frying pan and then acts out typing on a laptop. “One cup of sugar, some vanilla extract ... ah yes, the stock market is crashing, time to mine internet coins!” he jokes in a sniveling tone.
I roll my eyes with a smirk. “It’s called having hobbies and an income, what would you know about that?” I say to Dash and turn to Davina. “Count me out of Women-troduction .”
Davina clicks on another file, opening up a giant image of two sets of abs. She slowly zooms out of the photo and both of the torsos look all too familiar.
“Ha!” Dash shouts. “Look at us!” He nudges me and I stare at Davina’s laptop with a scrunched nose.
“Is that me?” It’s not just an image, it’s a poster titled Women-troduction: ft. Two Hunky Helpers.
“Not bad.” Dash hums, impressed with his topless form.
Davina’s graphic design skills leave much to be desired. You can tell she was an MMA promoter in the ’90s based on the neon font and garish design of the poster.
“Guys, please. Where’s the love? Where’s the empathy? Look at me,” she says, placing both hands on her stomach. “I’m in no state to lead the session. How am I meant to do high knees if I can’t get the knee high?” She lifts her leg from her seated position and her stomach prevents her upper thigh from getting high enough to raise her knee.
All I can do is sigh.
Dash barks out a laugh so loud, I itch my ear. “See you on Thursday, man.” He slaps my shoulder as he walks past me.
I’ll promote the session, but there is no way in hell I’m going to host it. That, I can be sure of.