9. Chapter 6
Chance
I ’d walked into Knock’s with no expectations of how this all would go. Most gyms had the same sort of crowd, the same people in different bodies. But after teaching my first class, I could safely say I hadn’t been expecting this .
From what I’d read of the gym’s fighter profiles and schedules, every single professional and aspiring fighter signed to Knock’s had shown up to this morning’s class.
Each had their own pre-training regime, as most of us did, some even offering help to the amateur fighters by wrapping their hands or touch sparring with them to warm up.
It was quite a sight to see—an entire community coming together for me .
Granted, I’d never lived anywhere outside the city before, but it was well out of the norm for all of the gyms I’d ever been in.
Then I saw them work.
I had to admit, I’d known Al was good, but I didn’t know he was this good.
The man was sixty-nine-years old and still managed to hold pads for anyone who showed up to class from what I’d heard.
And after holding for some of those guys during my own class, I don’t know how he wasn’t crippled from it all.
We finished the session with some sparring and combined conditioning.
No one complained, no one let out as much as a whimper.
Not once. I’ve trained in bigger and better gyms than Knock’s before, and yet somehow these people had the most grit and tenacity out of all of them.
We were heading out of summer and into winter, but that sunlight still warmed the metal walls of the gym up into a fucking sauna.
But no one complained, no one batted an eyelid at the heat burning from the tin walls.
Yeah … people who thought martial arts were sexy were straight up wrong.
We’re all stinking, sweaty messes.
Now, that particular statement certainly was not applicable to Mari. Female fighters have never particularly been my squeeze, but there was fucking something about her …
Perhaps it was the fluidity in which she threw her strikes, or the malice that launched them.
She moved like water, flowing and controlled.
How could so much power come from such a tiny lady?
Maybe it was the crease between her brows when she concentrated, or the blush of effort on her cheeks under her dusting of freckles.
It could have been the curve of her waist, or that ass of hers that should require a license to carry—
Alright. That’s enough there, big fella .
Point is, I’ve seen professional male fighters throw down with less destruction than Mari in a pads session. As much as I hated to admit it, it was, by far, the hottest thing I’d ever seen.
I sat at my desk, freshly showered and changed into my last pair of clean shorts, and began sorting through the paperwork mountains Mari had left. I read the contracts, waivers, client profiles, class schedules, trainer profiles—all of it. Twice.
I fumbled through my keys to find the small crimson red one on the metal ring, the one that fit the top drawer of the filing cabinet. I sighed and scoffed at myself for my sudden, stupid sensitivity.
It’s just a drawer, mate. It’s not like all of the monsters will come crawling out.
After yanking the drawer open, I pushed all of the contents to the very back, as if the farther back they went, the closer they were to just fucking disappearing.
My jaw tightened as that familiar tremor in my hands returned.
I gripped the contract files tightly and shoved them into the drawer before slamming it shut and locking it immediately.
“Here you are, dear.” Marilyn’s sing-song voice fluttered through the door along with her.
I spun around, planting an easy smile on my face for the older woman in front of me.
Her kind eyes, a warm hazel in colour, shone brightly behind her glasses, which were vibrant red today.
She smiled and shook her head slightly to clear some of the white hair from her face.
Her arms were wrapped around a big grey tub.
My mouth opened to offer to carry it when she placed it gently on my desk.
“What’s all this?” I asked, moving away from that haunted fucking filing cabinet. An old perfume aroma followed her, clinging to the lemon-yellow matching outfit she wore. Even her sandals had those little yellow fake diamonds on them.
“Your washing, dear. JJ said you were running low on clothes, so I popped some of them in with the gym towels and whatnot.” She adjusted her big lenses and looked through the pile, as if making sure it was all there.
“Oh …” I mumbled, dumbfounded at the act of kindness from a woman whom I had spoken less than fifty words to.
“I hope that was alright,” she said, and I paused, hearing a faint sound of metal clinging and quick footsteps.
“No, no! Of course that’s alright! Sorry, Marilyn. I didn’t realise anyone else was here.”
She laughed. “It’s a rare moment when this place is empty. Gus and I are usually around somewhere during the daylight hours.”
“Gus?” I asked.
Marilyn grinned. “Gus! Gussie!” she called. “Come here, buddy!”
The quick footsteps got closer and a big, black-furred dog poked its head around the corner. His tall, pointy ears stiffened up to the sky as he tilted his head at me. A second later, a long, dopey tongue fell out the side of his mouth.
“Say hello, little man.” Marilyn smiled down at the dog, who immediately flattened his ears tightly to his head and trotted over to me.
Gus was by no means little—his head reached about mid-thigh on me.
But as soon as he got to my legs, he tucked his tail under, sat down, and leaned with his entire being straight onto me.
I smiled at the dog, reminiscent memories pushing at the edges of the box I’d forcibly shoved them into in my mind.
“He sure likes you.” Marilyn broke my chain of thought, her jewellery jingling as she crossed her arms.
“What a friendly boy you are, Gus,” I cooed, scratching the spot near his ear that dogs with big ears like him loved.
“He’s come a long way from where we started with him,” she gushed.
“GUSSIE BOYYYYY!!”
That echoing, booming voice could only belong to one lunatic. The same lunatic I called my best mate.
When he appeared moments later, Gus play-bowed at JJ and began doing gentle zoomies around the office area. JJ gasped and dramatically fell to the floor, not even trying to catch himself.
“What the—”
Marilyn held a hand up to me.
Those quick, tip-tap footsteps came pattering over, only stopping when Gus launched himself onto JJ. The grown-ass man on the floor laughed and giggled like a child as Gus, still with his ears pulled back, licked every inch of his face, pinning his chest to the ground.
“How long have you had him for?” I asked Marilyn. Looking at the size of her, her old and frail figure, there was no way she could handle a dog as big as Gus on her own.
“A few years now, though the public only know about the last two.” She shot a look at JJ, who was now spooning with Gus.
“And why is that, Nana dearest?” My best friend smirked, looking like a mischievous cat who just knows he’s been caught doing the wrong thing.
“No, no, Jaxon. I will let you tell that story.” She winked at JJ’s feigned shock at the usage of his first name.
I raised my eyebrows at him in amused question.
What did you do, you mad bastard?
“Mari and I may have heisted Gus from his previous shit-cunt owners,” JJ grumbled, scratching Gus’s belly.
“You two stole a dog?” I confirmed.
“Sure did, Chancey boy.”
“And this didn’t bother you?” I asked Marilyn.
She held her hands up in surrender. “You’re crazy if you think I had any chance of somehow reversing what they did,” Marilyn laughed and sat on the grey loveseat. Gus saw her seated and immediately abandoned JJ in favour of snuggling up on the couch with Marilyn.
“Pussy-whipped traitor,” JJ sulked.
“Ah, I knew it would be this one she got rid of.” Marilyn pulled a file out of the rubbish bin next to Mari’s desk. “The most important one.”
Reaching out in front of her, she nodded her head for me to take the file.
I opened it, finding a multi-page handwritten letter from none other than Elijah Trevino—my fucking hero .
“What is this?” I asked, lightly skimming through the pages.
JJ sat up, though his gaze stayed on the floor. “The last letter that the great Elijah Trevino wrote before he lost his damn mind.”
Any breath in my lungs whooshed out as my entire world slowed. Lost his mind?
“No need to be so crass, JJ dear.” Marilyn frowned. “Though he is right about it being the last letter he wrote.” She began softly stroking Gus’s fur, avoiding anyone’s gaze but his.
“I thought he just retired?” I could remember the day clear as ever.
The commentators on UFL 430 had announced it during the break between fights.
The tribute highlight reel they had played was incredible.
All of the people in the pub I was in had been out of their seats, applauding, cheering, whistling, crying. Elijah Trevino had made history.
“He did, just not voluntarily.” Marilyn sighed, pushing her glasses up her slim nose. “Did you watch UFL 425?”
I nodded. UFL 425 had turned out to be Elijah’s last fight.
The main event had been Elijah Trevino vs Dustin Spades.
They’d beaten the absolute brakes off each other.
Dustin Spades had come out with the decision, and Elijah Trevino could barely stand when they were announcing it.
I remember one of his coaches, who I now recognise as Al, had been standing behind him to hold him upright.
“The damage he took in that fight sped up the process of something that was a long time coming,” she said cryptically.
I raised an eyebrow, urging her to continue.
“His team of doctors put him into a medically-induced coma for four days to allow his brain uninterrupted time to heal. The public doesn’t know about this, as Mari forged his signature for the procedure to go ahead.”