Chapter 6 #2
“But you let him touch you in the second because you hesitated.” He hands the towel back to the corner man. “You were thinking instead of reacting. In this sport, a half-second is the difference between a highlight reel and a hospital bed.”
I swallow, knowing he’s right. That moment in round two—the doubt, the hint of something personal bleeding into the fight—almost cost me.
Mack folds his arms across his chest. “You fight clean when your head’s clear. When it’s not, you drift.” He leans in, lowering his voice so only I can hear. “Figure out what’s sitting in there,” he says, tapping two fingers against my temple. “The next guy won’t miss.”
He steps back, then finally gives me the tiniest nod.
“Good work tonight. Don’t get comfortable.
Comfort is where fighters get exposed. Reynolds called me about a card in Harrisburg two years ago and said I should watch the tape.
" He picks up his bag. "That's the fight that told me you were worth my time. "
He doesn't wait for a response. He just walks out.
And just like that, the win feels different.
Not smaller. Sharper. Earned—but with unfinished business.
ANDI
When Luke’s name rings out across the room as the unanimous decision winner, I can’t contain my elation.
As the referee raises his hand high in the air, a bright smile spreads across his handsome face.
The first thing I notice about it is the lack of arrogance.
This smile, the one he wears in this moment, is the real Luke Woods.
The man he tries to hide behind his super-macho facade.
Every boxer has a degree of arrogance, pride, and conceit. They couldn’t climb into the ring otherwise. That level of commitment and courage is uncommon, so they’re afforded some tolerance for their cockiness.
But cockiness is not what I see in him right now.
He has every reason to be proud, thrilled, and boastful after winning that match.
What I see is humility. It’s satisfaction in a job well done, coupled with modesty and appreciation for what it took to reach this milestone.
He also has a clear sense of the hard work ahead before he can claim complete victory in this sport.
What I see is a man who has learned a profound lesson from a challenging test.
When he exits the ring, his eyes dart around until they land squarely on mine again.
He stretches his arms out to the sides in an invitation, and I eagerly accept.
Even though I know he’s bruised and battered after his fight, I feel he needs this as much as I do, so I rush to him.
His outstretched arms close around me, and we hold each other tightly until the crowd’s noise fades.
His voice is low, barely above a whisper, and his lips brush the shell of my ear as he speaks. “I couldn’t have done this without you, Andi. None of it. Saying ‘thank you’ feels inadequate for all you’ve given me. But it’s all I have right now.”
“This was all you, Luke. You put in the time, blood, sweat, and tears. You earned this win. I’m happy to be in your corner, and I’m so proud of you.”
He squeezes me a little tighter before letting go, and we each take a step back.
“Mack has a strict post-fight rule. Shower, eat, and sleep tonight—in that order. Then take the next week off from intense training so your body can heal fully. You’re only allowed to do light jogging, swimming, or stretching for the next couple of days to ease soreness.
You’d better get going before he sees you’re still here.
” I jerk my head toward the exit, urging him to leave before he incurs Mack’s wrath.
He hesitates—another half-second of second-guessing himself—but it’s there. He doesn’t want to leave me.
“I’m fine. Go home, Luke.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He winks, then heads to the locker room to change clothes and gather his belongings.
“Andi Morgan, you know what I think about you dating a fighter,” Mack’s rough voice cuts through my thoughts.
“I’m not dating anyone, Pop.” That’s the truth.
One of his eyebrows lifts as he silently challenges my answer. “Let’s make sure you don’t forget it.”
Mack, Luke, and I walk out of the venue together, then part ways in the parking lot.
Over the past six weeks, I’ve spent so much time training, conditioning, and working with Luke to get him ready for today that I’ve neglected many of my duties at the youth center.
When I glance at my watch, I realize the center will be empty, but there’s always work to be done.
I’m far too keyed up to go home and do nothing, anyway.
Inside the center, the alarm disarms with the code I changed last month. The building smells faintly of disinfectant and lemon cleaner, quiet and still after hours.
I drop my keys on the desk in the front office and scan tomorrow’s attendance roster before turning on the lights in the commons area. The new art supplies came in yesterday, but the shipment was short two cases. I make a note to call the vendor first thing in the morning.
The bills sit neatly stacked in the tray beside my laptop. I reconcile accounts, adjust allocations, and approve payroll for the part-time staff. The numbers always tell a story if you’re willing to look at them long enough.
When I walk the empty halls, I don’t just see rooms.
I see potential.
I pause in front of the mentoring board, running my fingers over the names of kids who haven’t shown up in weeks. Those are the ones I worry about. The ones who slip quietly through cracks no one else notices.
I know what it’s like to be the kid no one stays for.
Tonight, watching Luke choose discipline over pride gave me an idea. Maybe belief changes trajectory more than programming ever could. Maybe the difference isn’t funding or structure.
Maybe it’s commitment.
I make a note to adjust next quarter’s mentoring format before shutting off the lights. The emergency exit signs hum softly above me. I always make sure that they work.