Chapter 17
Max
The sports network interview dragged on for two hours.
They’d done their homework. I’ll give them that.
They opened with the Ferraro fight—the fourth-round knockout, the crowd, what I was thinking when he hit the ropes.
That part was easy. I could talk about the fight all day.
Then they moved to Barreca. The callout.
Whether I was ready. Whether the jump in competition was too much, too soon.
I gave them what they wanted—confidence without arrogance, respect for the opponent, and focus on the work.
I’d warned Bob and Henry beforehand. My childhood was off-limits. That didn’t stop them. “Your rise has been unusually fast for someone with limited recorded fights before turning pro. Where were you getting your experience?”
There it was. They wanted to dig into something I wasn’t going to share.
“I grew up in foster care,” I told them, the practiced line to keep from giving more.
I’ve kept my walls so high for years that I’m used to the rehearsed lines to keep people from prying.
The lights were too bright. The chairs too comfortable in a way that made you want to slouch.
I sat straight the whole time. Old habit.
Don’t show them anything they can use. Then they asked about family.
My shoulders settled into something deliberate.
I looked at the camera. Then, at the interviewer.
Then at the camera again. “My mother passed, and my father wasn’t in the picture. ” Was all they got out of me.
I picked up my water. Took a sip. Put it down.
Next question.
Each time they angled for more, I redirected to my training regimen, my first amateur bout, anything but the memories I’ve spent years boxing away.
Carlos and I walk out of the building, our shoes hitting the hot pavement that reflects the blazing sun.
“You look good, son.” He smiles, patting my shoulder.
“You’re living your dream. It only seems like it was yesterday that you broke into my gym with your guns blazing, ready to take on the world.
I knew in those moments you had potential. You have heart and respect the game.”
My dad taught me at a young age how to box, and I’ve never spoken about it to Carlos or anyone else.
My dad was a hell of a boxer. I might have been too young to know, but his friends, like Rico, and others, have said he could have gone pro if he hadn’t stopped to raise a family.
His priorities were always my mom and me.
I only wish he’d kept those priorities when my mother passed.
As young as I was, probably around four, my dad bought me my first pair of gloves.
He’d taught me my stance. He said, “That’s it, Max.
” He clapped his hands. “Look at you.” My chest puffed up with pride at my dad’s praise and the smile of a man so proud of his son.
“You’re a natural. Always remember, a man who has heart and plays with heart will make it to the top.
And you always respect the game. We use our fists to fight in the ring, not to bully or cause harm to others.
” I had shoved all this in the back of my mind because he lost heart and respect; he used those fists on his son.
I laugh. “It was easy to break into.” The sound dies in my throat as I recognize the cherry red Mustang heading toward campus.
I took it to a shop to have it repaired and repainted after Rainey backed it into a pole.
I can’t help myself—I have to follow her.
Our conversation the other day ended so abruptly when my phone rang, and the guilt’s been eating at me since.
Without really thinking it through, I ease the truck into the left lane and keep her taillights in view.
“Where are you heading?” Carlos asks, pulling out his phone.
“Sol is in front of me.” I point. “I need to talk to her real quick.”
“Leave her, son. She asked for space, so give it to her.” Lately, Carlos’s advice has been shit.
I sigh and take a left turn, but from the rearview mirror, I can see her park, and of course, her angle is off.
My lips turn into a slight smile. Damn, I miss her.
Carlos had advised me to give her time. I thought she would come around by now.
When I saw her, she seemed to be doing better without me.
Even Leo has said she’s improving. Honestly, I’m happy for her.
I just wish I didn’t feel like I was disappearing.
“Giving a woman too much space could be dangerous. After all, we had been apart for years,” I tell Carlos, driving up to his gym. I don’t park. I pull up to the doorway.
“I know you don’t want to hear this, but maybe this is a sign you two are not meant for one another.”
I hit the brakes, causing Carlos to jerk back. Is he fucking kidding me?
He lifts his hands. “Just saying, son.” He shrugs. “You both have grown up, and you’re not children anymore. Maybe it’s you who has to let go.”
I’m bewildered, and my jaw unhinges.
“Don’t forget about the dinner.” He slams the door and walks into the gym.
I shake my head in confusion and hit the gas.
Of course, we have both grown up. We’re in our mid-twenties.
Everyone is always ready to give their input when they haven’t lived in your shoes.
I have lived in over thirty homes, and I’m so incredibly happy Sol didn’t live the same fate I did.
Her life might have been fabricated, but she didn’t have to live and sleep in different places.
I knew from the very beginning that the truth was going to shatter her, but she couldn’t continue living a life of lies.
I also knew there was a chance she might push me away.
What she is going through is not something anyone can bounce right back up from.
This is why I have given her weeks of space.
I don’t know what she’s going through, although I wish she would trust me enough to tell me.
I heave myself out of my truck, parked in its designated spot, and trudge across the asphalt toward my office.
I’m already ten minutes late for my meeting.
We had a breach at one of the locations where we have security set up.
The elevator announces my arrival with a ding, and I hurry down the corridor, only to freeze in my tracks at the sight of Leo emptying his desk drawers. “What are you doing?”
He tilts his head at me with a scowl, and his nostrils flare. It’s not one of Leo’s normal features. He’s always smiling and cracking jokes to mask whatever it is he’s going through. “I quit,” he says. “You’re an asshole.” He shoves a photo of his mother that was on his desk into the box.
“What the hell are you talking about?”
He laughs, shaking his head. “How could you?”
I make a confused face at him. “What are you talking about?”
Leo shakes his head one last time. Then walks out the door. What is going on with him? The last time we talked was on Friday. He left his desk empty. He’s never looked at me like that.
My assistant waves me over at the foot of the door. “Are you coming?”
I groan. I’ll stop at Leo’s place later.
Two hours later, I’m out of the door from the meeting and get to my car.
I asked two of my employees if they knew what was going on with Leo, and they both shook their heads.
Turning the signal lights toward his apartment, I notice his parking space is empty.
Putting the car in park, I dial his number, but it goes straight to voicemail. He must have had a bad day.
The campus is close by, so I decided to go see if Sol is still there. I thought about what Drake had said. If I normalize it for her, then maybe it would help her see herself as Sol.
My heart thunders in my chest when I see her red car parked in the same spot.
I ease my Nova into the vacant spot next to hers, tires crunching over sunbaked asphalt.
Slipping out of the vehicle, the heat hits like a furnace blast—110 degrees at least—my polarized Ray-Bans barely protecting me from the merciless desert sun.
I wipe the sweat trickling down my forehead.
My cotton dress shirt clings to my back like wet paper.
I unbutton my shirt, leaving only my black t-shirt on.
It so happens Sol is talking to two girls near a statue.
Her crimson sundress, the exact cherry red shade of her restored Mustang, catches the afternoon light like a flame.
Damn, the way the fabric clings to the slope of her hips and flows at the dip of her waist, moving slightly when she laughs.
With her unaware of my presence, I linger in the dappled shadow of an old oak tree, my shoulder against its rough bark, waiting as the conversation winds down.
The two girls with high ponytails, wearing university shirts, finally wave their manicured hands in farewell.
I push off the old bark tree, eager to talk to her. I freeze when I hear the prick’s voice. What the hell is he doing here? “Rainey—Sol, I mean. How was class?” Professor dickhead asks. She must be in his class if he knows her by her other name. She must have told him to call her Sol.
I can’t hear what she’s saying. Sol’s voice is soft, but she does smile, and her hands move when she talks. My blood pumps hot with fury with every step until I’m behind her. Sol jumps, startled when she feels my body brush hers. The professor’s smile falls when he sees me.
I peer down at Sol. “Hola, mi amor.” She gives no warmth in her eyes. It rattles my insides, but I don’t show it. I’ve become accustomed to keeping my mask on. I don’t mind her seeing it, but the asshole watching us, I do.
“Well, I better go.”
Sol nods to him.
“Take care. See you in class.” He glares at me.
She has him for a class again, as I assumed. My blood pressure spikes, and my fists ball up to my side. The urge to knock him out is there. The way his gaze zooms into her breasts says he’s still lusting over her. Sol is too oblivious to see.
She waves at him, then turns sharply on her heels, heading toward her car. What the hell has changed since we last spoke?
“Hey, what’s going on?”
She stops and glares at me. Then points, shakes her head, and spins on her heels. Her face is shiny and as red as an apple, given how hot it is, but I’m pretty sure it’s because of how pissed she is at me.
“Baby.” I lay a hand on her shoulder when she fishes for her keys.
“Fuck off.” She tears my hand off her.
I’ve seen her pissed at me, hurt with me for how I walked out on her, but this face she’s pulling is different. It’s like she’s disgusted with me.
“You know, Cano, I thought you were different. I didn’t think fame would change you.” She unlocks her door, gives me one last sweep of my body, and slams the car door shut. I’m so bewildered by her words that my mouth is still open.
Sol’s car rumbles to life. I rap my knuckles against the window, half expecting her to drive away.
Instead, the glass slides down. Those shaped eyebrows of hers lift slightly, though the rest of her face remains locked in that familiar glower.
Behind it all, I catch the telltale shimmer of unshed tears.
“I don’t understand what you are talking about.
” My phone rings, and I cancel the call.
“What has you upset? I’ve given you the space you asked for, Sunshine.
” It rings again. Mierda. I cancel the call.
Annette keeps calling for a fucking photo shoot we have today.
Not together, but at the same location. I don’t even know how she’s calling.
I had blocked her number years ago. “Are you upset because I’m here? ”
“You’re right. I asked for this. I just—” She swallows, then a broken laugh slips from her lips. “Just don’t look for me. I guess he was right. It was what you needed.”
Before I can answer her, the window rolls up, and she’s backing out.
Who is he? What is she talking about? Running my fingers through my hair, I groan in frustration. My phone dings with an incoming text message from Drake. When I open it, the color drains from my face. She must have seen it.
Goddammit.