Chapter 2
My phone buzzes in my pocket as I push the door open from the medical center. I take it out, knowing it’s my brother, Javier. He offered to take me to the doctor before heading to the boxing gym.
Javier: What did the doctor say?
Rey: What do you think? It’s getting worse.
I pocket my phone when I open the passenger door of his truck, hop in, and stare straight ahead. He knows I no longer want to talk about it if I don’t give him good news.
I scroll through my phone and create a new playlist of every song I like, organizing them by genre and workout days. On the way to the gym, it gives me something to do and keeps my brother from prying into my feelings.
From the corner of my eye, I watch my brother tap his fingers on the steering wheel, but I ignore him as I tap each song, building my playlist. He knows there is nothing to say. Nothing anyone can do. I don’t even know why I bother going.
After twenty minutes of tense silence, he pulls into our gym’s parking lot. I take my time getting out of the truck, allowing him to walk ahead.
I close the passenger door and fill my lungs with fresh air, giving myself a minute before stepping inside to get ready for the beating I’ll give my body to get my aggression under control.
Boxing is what I’m good at. It’s the only thing I know. It’s my therapy. The way I learn to cope when life throws shit you can do nothing about.
Boxing has been everything growing up. Some boys have fathers, and some have stepfathers. Some have a father figure to look up to who understand what they’re going through. Me, I had no one. It’s not because I’m difficult. It’s because they will never know what it is like to be me.
When I get punched in the face, it hurts like hell, but I get back up, learn from it, and fight back. It is the best lesson any father can teach their son. I learned that lesson through pain. I learned that lesson in boxing.
After changing my workout clothes, I leave the locker room and nod to guys already training as I pass. I make a detour to the office, where I find my brother pushing papers around in frustration. The dust motes float in the light from the sun streaming through the window as he picks up the messy stack of sign-ups for the new members who joined the gym last week. I take a seat.
He gets up, shuts the door, and twists the rod to close the blinds. He walks around me and sits in the chair behind the desk. He grabs a stapler to fasten four papers together, places them on the desk, and slides them forward.
I lean over the desk, read the heading, and roll my eyes when I see it’s a job application. He grabs three sheets of paper where each paper is cut evenly at the bottom and moves like strings from a pi?ata. The gym’s phone number is printed on each strip so it can be pulled off. He could have posted it online for job seekers on one of those websites, but this way is still effective. He wouldn’t post it without my consent because he cares how I feel and wouldn’t do anything behind my back since we’re business partners.
He looks up at me, waiting for me to give him the go- ahead. Instead, I ignore him, walk out, and slam the door behind me. When I reach the punching bag, my phone vibrates before I place it on the bench.
Javier: Avoid it all you want, but we need to hire someone.
Rey: No.
Javier: Why?
Rey: It was supposed to be the two of us. You and me. That’s it. I don’t want to babysit someone while I train and run the gym. You know how I feel about bringing people into our business.
Javier: Come back to the office. Let’s talk about it.
I close my eyes, not wanting to talk about this now. Not now. My head begins to pound, and I can feel the vein in my temple throb. My phone vibrates again, and I glance at the screen.
Javier: Come on, Rey. I need you to train me, and the office looks like shit. You can’t do both. I won’t have time to help you train the other fighters in my downtime, and you know it.
He has a point. We don’t have much time to get him ready. We are also obligated to the other fighters who have paid good money to train in our camp.
Rey: Fine.
It’s not like I can interview people.
After a minute, the throbbing stops, and I refocus. My phone vibrates again. I glance at it before I place it on the bench to begin my workout.
Javier: I promise to hire the best person I can find. No te preocupes.
When he speaks Spanish, he reminds me of our mother. When we moved to the States from Puerto Rico, she would leave me notes written in Spanish to calm me down—a reminder of my childhood and where I came from.
Javier says not to worry, but that is exactly what I do when I place my headphones over my ears and begin to hit the speed bag after I press play. The faint beat of the music keeps me from losing my mind, though the worry spreads inside me. Who would he hire on short notice? Where does he plan to find this person? Can they be trusted?