Chapter 2 #2
When Andi holds out her hand, I hesitate. Not because I don’t trust her, but because I know she’s about to see everything I’ve been trying to prove. Then I hand it to her, because backing down would be worse.
She had every right to skewer me in front of every man in the gym for the way I treated her.
But she didn’t. She did just the opposite—she let me keep my dignity.
For a moment, my gaze lingers on her longer than it should, and I catch the gentle, steady way her eyes rise to meet mine.
There’s an unspoken understanding in that look, a heat simmering just beneath the surface of her calm.
I notice the faintest scent of her skin—warm, clean, tinged with something sweet that pulls me a half step closer without thinking.
My breath hitches before I mask it, but something between us tightens, alive and electric.
She has just earned every bit of respect I can give her, and I fully intend to give it to her.
Her touch is steady, professional, and confident.
She checks my wrist, my fingers, the joints I’ve punished over the years without complaint.
Yet as she presses along my knuckles, for the briefest moment, her breath hitches—so quiet I almost miss it.
She holds herself so tightly poised, but I catch her jaw clench just before she quickly masks it.
Then she asks another question, deliberately sharpening her focus rather than pulling away from me.
Her questions hit closer to home than I expect, and when she says everything matters, I know she’s right. That’s the part that stings.
I compliment her voice because it’s the only thing I can offer that isn’t posturing, and she accepts it without letting it derail her. That should irritate me, but instead it grounds me. Her presence soothes me.
From the stage, the way she looked at me made me sure she was singing it only for me.
The words of “I’m With You” still ring in my head, and I don’t even like Avril Lavigne’s music—chick music.
But I hear it in Andi’s voice, and I wonder whether the words have meaning for us.
We don’t know each other, but as cliché as this sounds, it also feels like we do.
Then the not-so-jolly giant of a man shows up.
I'm so lost in thoughts of her hands, her voice, how she looked at me when she sang those words, and how she looked at me when I walked into the gym today that I don't realize there's a giant standing about a half inch from us.
And that giant is pissed. He's apparently upset with me, as he questions Andi about why I'm so close to her.
When he steps in close, too close, everything in me wants to rise to the challenge. I’ve never been good at backing down. Pride is a reflex. But Andi handles him without fear or apology, and I realize this isn’t about protection. It’s about authority.
From the corner of my eye, I see Andi’s hand move to Will’s arm, and he finally looks away from me.
She speaks to him again, and I see him relax a little.
He likes her. There’s no doubt about it.
But he wants to protect her more than anything else, and right now he sees me as a threat to her.
When Will issues his indirect threat to me, I am ready to throw down.
No man threatens me and gets away with it.
I’m planning my first move when Andi squeezes my hand and tugs lightly until I look at her.
I can see her barely shake her head, telling me not to carry out my plan to jump the un-jolly giant standing beside us.
She pleads with her eyes and distracts me long enough for Will to walk off with the last word in our silent war of determination.
When I realize he not only got away with threatening me but that I didn’t say a single word in retaliation, I’m beyond furious with her, but even more with myself. Since when do I let anyone pull me back like that?
“What do you think you’re doing?” I keep my voice low, but it’s tight and angry. “Don’t ever step in like that again.” I lean in closer to her face with each word until I’m right in her face. I'm a large guy, and I expect her to be scared and yell for Will to save her.
I’m completely wrong to assume she’d fear me. I watch the fire build in her gray eyes until they take on a gray-blue hue as my words and stance sink in. She closes the little gap I left between us as she hisses her retort at me.
“You do not know who you were about to challenge,” she fires back. “He’s been training here for years and is far more experienced than you are. Mack trusts him. If you’d thrown one punch, you would’ve been bounced out on your ass in a split second.”
“How would you know he’s ‘more experienced’ than I am?” I growl back at her.
“I said far more experienced,” she growls back. This girl isn’t backing down from me even one inch.
Then she continues to shred me with her next words.
“I know why you’re so familiar to me. I have seen you fight before.
It was a year or so ago. Professional rules are different from smaller cards, but Will's been trained by the best, and he's good. I saw your fight with El Toro. You’re strong, but you over-commit on the right.
That leaves you off-balance and defenseless.
Will would have countered you into the mat.
And Will doesn't care if your fighting experience is sanctioned.
He'd read that tell in the first thirty seconds, regardless.”
I glance around the room, checking to see who had heard our little exchange, but thankfully, no one is paying attention. Not even Will. I need a minute to think about my response, but I have none.
If she knew I’d fought El Toro, she must have been there. If Mack trusts her to “check me out,” there’s no doubt she knows what to look for in a fighter. And that adds yet another strike to my ego and confidence.
“Can I do my job now?” When she asks for my other hand, I give it to her without hesitation. Her voice is calm again, with no trace of the anger she just spewed at me.
"I shouldn't have been so harsh, Luke. I’m sorry about that. I had planned to tell you I’d seen you fight before and that I know the rules of the lower circuit differ from those of full-pro boxing, but you have genuine talent.
I didn’t mean to make it sound like a put-down.
If going pro is what you want, I believe you can do it. "
She is so genuine—her tone, her words, her demeanor—all prove she means what she says. No one has ever said that to me. Not like that. Not without an agenda. And just like that, she showed me again that she deserves every bit of respect I can give her.
Again, all I can do is nod at her, hoping that one nod tells her I accept her apology and appreciate her words.
The irony of the situation isn't lost on me, though. I'm not that stupid. I’m the big, powerful fighter, but I can’t even find the words to apologize to this petite, beautiful woman who keeps throwing me lifelines, even though I’ve done nothing to deserve them. Or her.
Standing there, letting her evaluate me with that same calm focus, I understand something I didn’t expect when I walked into Tough Enough.
She isn’t impressed by my size.
She isn’t intimidated by my stare.
She isn’t softened by charm.
She’s deciding whether I belong.
And for the first time in a long time, I want to earn the answer.