Bones
Not wanting to fall for her trap of attempting to goad me, I stalked back inside. Resisting the urge to look back and be hypnotized by her raw, gritty beauty, I closed the door behind me.
Of course I wanted to get back into the fight. Real fights. Fights where I could earn again. Fights that earned me respect. Yes, I won last night, but the cash I walked away with wouldn't pay the bills this month after Lotto took his cut. And though my opponent got a good hit, busting my eye open, it really hadn't been a fair fight. It was too easy for me. The venue had been small, and in the past, a fight like last night would have been beneath me and not worth a drop of my blood.
Things changed. Man, did they fucking change.
Was I meant to fight? Should I get back in the game? Maybe. Most likely. Sure. But I really did need to take care of the man who had adopted me off Mexico City's streets. That part was true. I owed this man—my father—everything.
"Son?" my dad called out. "Can you come in here for a moment?"
I sighed deeply and wandered into the kitchen where my dad slumped slightly over the table, clearly suffering much pain. Lotto was nearby, getting him a glass of water and his meds.
I hated seeing him this way. I had always known him as a strong, powerful man, but as the cancer had started to ravish his body, he had begun to crumble. It had been eating him alive, and it killed me to see. I needed to be there for him, much as he didn't want to be a burden to me, but I was more than happy to do it.
"What was that about?" he asked me, slightly winded. "I heard that woman outside."
"Was that the chick from the fight last night?" Lotto asked as he started pouring the meds from the bottles to prepare for my father.
Lotto had been a god damn blessing by moving in and helping out with my dad. Though my dad was like a father in many ways to Lotto, who had no family of his own and had grown up bouncing from foster home to foster home, it was still a lot to ask for. But Lotto didn't hesitate for a second when he knew my father and I needed help. When it came to speaking to the doctors, medication schedules, and overseeing every little detail, Lotto was the one to handle it. He didn't just manage my fighting career—or the career I'd decimated—he managed our lives.
Always the protector. Always the backbone of our operations.
"Oh, that was nothing." I did my best to brush it off, but it was too late for that.
My dad and Lotto might have been eavesdropping. Dad had been trying to convince me to get back into fighting since I returned from rehab, and Ari's visit was only going to make it so much worse if he'd heard any of our conversation.
"You know you should be welcoming her offer with open arms," he said. "You were born to fight, son. You shouldn't be shut up here in this house, looking after me and trying to pay for everything. This just isn't the way your life should be. It's not the story that was written for you."
"I'm still fighting. Lotto and I were at one last night. I won."
Lotto chuckled as he handed a grouping of pills to my father. "Yeah, we're rich now because of it." He looked up at me with a scowl. "We're lucky we didn't get our dicks shot off. Those level of fights are no better than back-alley fist fights. We all know what your father means when he says you need to get back in the game. The real game."
"Yeah well…" I said. "I made my choices, and now I have to deal with the consequences of them."
"Same old fucking story," he shot back as he took a seat while cringing in pain. "You made a mistake. We all do. You shouldn't be punished forever because of it. And that woman came here to speak to you. That seems like a clear second chance to me. You should go to that gym and see what you think. What will be the harm of working out a bit, burning off some energy, and seeing how it feels again? You know if you try out, you will beat any kid they put up against you."
"I can do some digging if she and that Freakshow guy really have the pull to get us into the big fights. The ones with big money. But knowing Freakshow's reputation alone, I think it's fair to say they can," Lotto said. "Smiley's is a boxing gym, which may hold them back on the street creds, but I guess anyone can rebrand."
Exactly," my father said, swallowing his pills. "You can rebrand as well."
"I can't. What about you?"
Whatever my dreams were, whatever I wanted, I needed to be there for him. He could argue all he wanted, but he relied heavily on me and Lotto, and that was all there was to it. He needed us on his good days, and he definitely needed us when he was suffering. When that pain was radiating through his body, he couldn't do a single thing for himself. I couldn't just ignore that fact.
"What about me? I'll be just fine." He was trying to put my needs first, but it really wasn't as simple as that.
"Just because some girl clearly in over her head came here, doesn't mean the scene would trust me and welcome me back with open arms. I don't think anyone ever will again. I'd get a middle finger and a fuck you instead. And that's if I'm lucky. I'm sure there are some mafia fucks who still want to put a bullet between my eyes for costing them money."
"If you have someone backing you," Lotto cut in, "all will be forgotten eventually. You know that. Short memories."
"You know that's bullshit. But nice try." My father's color was fading, and he needed to get some rest. I could see what he needed a mile away. "Dad, you need to rest. You're turning white.
He nodded, not arguing, which was a change for him. "I'm not letting you off the hook so?—"
"Don't worry, Pops," Lotto said, helping him up off the chair and leading him to his recliner. "I'm not finished with the conversation either, but I'll take it from here. Bones is right. You do look pale."
"Fine," my father said as he lowered himself into his chair. "But you know my vote. I remember how much you liked getting your face busted in night after night. Crazy as it was, you fucking loved it. I'd like to see you love something again."
I also remembered my glory days when things had been amazing, when fighting was my life, and it was all I cared about. I tried to picture being back in the cage again, without all of the bullshit that came later. Would I be able to do it? To return to the scene. Or would my past haunt me forever?
Why did Ari have to come and complicate my existence by offering me a chance to regain the life I'd thrown away by re-sparking my heart's deepest desire? Why couldn't she have simply let things lie? And why couldn't I get her out of my mind?
Would it be totally insane to go to the gym if I thought of it as just working out rather than a potential career shot to the arm? Or was that stepping into dangerous territory? One that would suck me back in before I knew it? I didn't want whatever I did to be something I ended up regretting. If I refused the offer, would I always wonder what if? If I went, would it just be another mistake? Once a fuck-up, always a fuck-up?
I headed to my bedroom with Lotto behind me. I didn't want to discuss this any further, but Lotto wasn't done with the conversation either, and when the man bit onto something, he didn't let go.
"Did you hear everything she said?" I asked.
"I did. We need to discuss this," he said as he closed the bedroom door behind him. "This isn't just your choice."