Chapter 1
Jamie
I slam my fists into the heavy punching bag, pouring my anger into every punch, pretending that I’m hitting Ethan Kane.
Yeah, I don’t actually know what the jerk looks like. Doesn’t matter. I can still picture his smug billionaire smirk. My jabs land on his imaginary face, making me feel better about wasting my entire morning waiting for him.
I was in his fancy-ass private gym right on time for our six o’clock training session, but he didn’t even bother to show.
“You okay, Jay?” Uncle Vito's voice is unexpected, cutting through my anger. I didn’t hear him come up behind me.
I throw one last punch before steadying the bag, my chest heaving. Sweat drips down my back.
When I turn, my uncle is standing with his burly arms crossed over his faded t-shirt, his eyebrows raised in question.
He’s been running a kids’ boxing class on the other side of his gym for the past hour.
While I punched the bag, I tuned out the kids’ voices and his patient instructions.
Behind him, the small group he’s been teaching are all lined up and shadow boxing.
I shake my head, breathing hard. “I’m fine.”
He squints, his expression disbelieving. “You’re about to punch a hole in that bag. So talk to me. What’s got you worked up?” His voice is raspy from taking a few too many hits to the throat, but his tone is gentle enough to make me soften.
I’ve heard that tone a lot over the years, including when I showed up on his doorstep at twelve, when I was sent to juvie at fifteen, and when I got out two years later. It’s always patient. Always accepting. And it always breaks through my defenses.
"Remember that job Balthazar recommended me for?” I ask, unwrapping my left hand. “Training one of his poker buddies who was going to be competing in a charity boxing match?"
My uncle nods, one eye on the kids. They’re still shadow boxing like they’re supposed to, but he can’t leave them on their own for long.
“I was supposed to start training the guy this morning,” I say.
“Only his royal assholeness couldn't be bothered to show up. At first, his assistant asked me to wait for him. Then, after three hours of sitting around, she coldly informed me he didn’t need me anymore because he’d pulled out of the charity match. ”
“No wonder you’re mad.”
I finish removing my left hand wrap and start on the right. “Rich people suck. They think everyone else's time is worthless."
Uncle Vito drags a hand down his unshaven chin, his gray stubble making a scraping sound against his palm. "I'm sorry that happened, Jay.”
I shrug. “It’s okay. I’m mostly mad because the job doesn’t exist anymore, and that money would have helped patch the roof.” I glance to the side of the gym where empty buckets are waiting to go under the leaks when it rains.
He shakes his head, his expression sad. “The roof is too far gone to be patched, and it’s too expensive to replace it.”
“I’ll make it happen. Just give me a little time.” I speak firmly, hoping he won’t argue.
But he gives me a look that makes my heart sink. “Moving the gym to a newer building?—”
“I don’t want to move to a newer building! Tell me you don’t want to move, tío. You love this place as much as I do.”
I scrunch my hand wraps in one fist, squeezing them tight. Maybe I shouldn’t have taken them off. I need to keep punching the bag to burn off the restless frustration that’s building back up.
Reaching out to the punching bag, Uncle Vito runs one large hand fondly over the battered leather. “Of course I love this place.” He sighs, and I take note of the dark hollows under his eyes. “But we need to be sensible, Jay.”
“We can put up with the leaks until I have enough money. And I’ll get it, I promise.”
One of my favorite kids in my uncle’s class, a girl called Felicity, unleashes a fast combination.
Her enthusiastic punches make her wheelchair jolt back and forth and her braids bounce.
My throat tightens as I remember learning those same moves.
Felicity once told me the gym was her safe place.
The place she felt strongest. I’d told her I’d felt exactly the same way at her age.
Hell, I still feel that way.
Uncle Vito drops his gaze, scuffing the toe of his boxing shoe against the floor. After a moment, he lifts his head. "Your father turned up here this morning,” he admits in a low voice. “He was looking for you.”
My jaw clenches. “Great. Just what this shitty day needed. Extra shit.”
“I told him he wasn’t welcome, and to stay away.”
“Thanks. Hopefully he’ll listen.” I smile at my uncle. “Want some help with your classes?”
“Nah. This is the last one for today, and we’re almost done.”
I glance at the clock on the wall above my uncle’s trophy cabinet. “Then I’ll take a shower before I set up for my wrestling match.”
Uncle Vito was turning back to the kids, but he pauses. “You’re wrestling tonight? What time?”
“I’m just about to confirm with my opponent. I’ll tell him seven o’clock.”
“You sure you don’t want me to wait around and eyeball the guy, make sure he’s not sketchy?”
“No need.” I reach out to give his arm a reassuring squeeze. “Go home and relax, tío. I’ll be fine.”
He drops his hand over mine and squeezes back for a moment, his eyes crinkling with affection. The old boxing-glove tattoo on his forearm is so faded and blurred it’s become shapeless, but I could draw it from memory, just as it used to look twenty years ago.
“Be careful, Jay, okay?" he says.
"Always.” I grin. “And hey, maybe tonight's opponent won't cry as much as the last one."
He chuckles. “Yeah. Try not to hurt him too bad.”
One of the kids in my uncle’s class lets out a wail. “Ouch! She hit me!” Another protests, and the noise level quickly rises.
My uncle hurries back to them.
I send a quick text to tonight's opponent to confirm our match, then head up to my small bedroom in the gym’s attic to clean up and get changed.
I’m glad I have a fight tonight. It’s just what I need to let off some steam.