Then I thought about the crisp, definitive crack of my glove meeting Carter’s jaw. I thought about the absolute, terrifying peace of a perfectly timed counter.
I reached out and gripped Drew’s hand. My grip was like a vice forged in steel and canvas.
“No egos,” I said, my voice dropping to a low, serious register. “If I catch anyone throwing heat at a beginner, I’m putting them to sleep. And you’re not going to stop me.”
“I’ll hold their coats while you do it,” Drew promised, a faint smile breaking through the exhaustion on his face.
I released his hand. I reached into my pocket, pulled out the keys to my truck, and unlocked the heavy door. It groaned loudly on rusted hinges.
“I work until six on Tuesdays and Thursdays,” I said, climbing into the driver’s seat. “I’ll be here by six-thirty. Have the heavy bags taped and the mats mopped.”
“They’ll be spotless,” Drew said.
I shut the door. The engine roared to life with a mechanical cough that settled into a steady, reliable idle. I put the truck in gear and pulled out of the parking lot, the red taillights disappearing into the humid night.
Drew stood alone in the dark for a long time. He listened to the rumble of the engine fade away, replaced by the low hum of the city. He turned back toward the gym. The neon Apex sign flickered above the door, its red light bleeding into the damp air.
He walked back inside. The air still smelled like sweat and old vinyl. But underneath it, there was something else. The stifling weight of entitlement had been violently cleared away, leaving room to breathe.
Drew locked the front door behind him, grabbed a mop from the janitor’s closet, and walked out onto the empty black mats.
He had work to do.
The foundation had just been poured, and it was time to rebuild.
