It was his one indulgence, the one item he’d permitted to bring him a sliver of comfort.
He’d craved the life he, Libby, and Sebastian had built in Rickety Rock. Every cell in his body begged to be back with them, doing Pun-chi yoga on the porch, running the trails with donkeys, tucking Sebastian into bed, then having Libby to himself. He missed her scent, missed wrapping her silky raven-colored locks around his fingers, missed cracking open his eyes each morning to find her beside him. He’d stare at her, bloody awestruck, so in love, and so at peace. If he were any other man, he would have taken that beauty, that perfect purgatory, and never left.
But he wasn’t just any man.
He was a fighter.
A fighter with much to prove.
A fighter who could not lose.
He was a fighter who owed a massive debt that required payment in blood and sweat.
“Erasmus, there’s a file on the back seat. It’s from Briggsy. He dropped it off last night. You need to sign off on it,” Aug said, keeping his gaze trained on the road.
“Can’t you do it, Aug? I don’t care about the PR bullshit.”
Aug released an audible breath. “I can’t do this for you. This requires your specific attention.”
“Fine,” he huffed, twisting his large frame and plucking the manila folder from the seat. He opened it and read the line.
PR release regarding termination of partnership between Erasmus Cress and Libby Lamb.
The muscles in his chest tightened as a heaviness set in. He skimmed the paragraph.
After a successful partnership training for the Heavyweight Championship fight, spiritual coach and Pun-chi yoga creator Libby Lamb and the Heavyweight Champion, Erasmus Cress, have chosen to part ways and pursue individual projects. Erasmus Cress and the entire sports management team wish Miss Lamb well.
The heaviness felt more like a lead weight.
He read what was left, then glanced at Aug.
“It’s dated for tomorrow.”
“Yeah.”
“That’s the same day as the fight.”
“Good to know you can still read a bloody calendar,” Aug answered tightly, toothpick in place between his lips.
“It says I’m the champion. I haven’t won yet.”
“Isn’t that what you want, boyo?” Augie tossed back, more bloody sour than usual.
“What’s got you twisted up?” he bit back.
“I’ve been stuck with your beastly ass, night and day,” Aug complained.
The man had him there. Even he could concede it was no picnic training twenty-four seven. He reread the press release, finding it hard to believe sixty days were almost up.
“Her brothers’ schooling is paid for?” he asked.
“Briggs said he released the final payment yesterday.”
Raz stared at the page. “So that’s it?”
“You’re supposed to initial it, then give it to Briggs.”
A muscle ticked in his jaw. “I don’t have a bloody pen on me. I’ll do it later,” he barked, folding the sheet into a tiny square and stuffing it into his pocket with the other items.
Would that be it?
He’d fight Silas.
There would be a winner and a loser.
And then what?
He’d promised Libby that after he’d won, they could go back to the way they were. But she’d done what she’d always been able to do. She’d looked through him with those amber eyes, looked right to his very core, and had seen the truth.
Would one win be enough?
He wanted to believe that it would, but when he pictured Libby’s face, he’d felt the truth—a truth he couldn’t quite acknowledge. All he knew how to do for Meredith was to fight and win. He couldn’t see a path forward that didn’t include fighting. He didn’t know anything different.
Train. Fight. Win. And do it for Mere.
Do it because she believed in him. Do it because she’d made him a champion. She’d been his greatest supporter. She devoted herself to him and started a charity in their name.
And he let her die.
He crossed his arms, his emotional armor in place. “Where are we going, Aug?”
The man didn’t answer.
“It’s the day before a fight. I have a ritual. You know that. I have fish and chips and then—”
“And then you and Meredith take a walk, and you buy her flowers from some vendor. I know your ritual. I know you’ve done it in cities across the globe. I know because I was there. I know because, for your last fight, you tried to do it by yourself, and that didn’t serve you well. We both know that.”
“That was because the last fight was in London and—” his voice gave out.
“And it was your hometown,” Aug interrupted. “And it was the exact place where you and Mere got fish and chips, and then you walked to the bench where you sat with her after your first date. I know, Erasmus.”
Raz pursed his lips. “It’s my ritual. It’s what I do.”
“Not this time, mate. We’re starting a new ritual.”
“Says who?” he barked, sounding more like the sullen fourteen-year-old Aug had reluctantly agreed to train.
“Says me, your bloody trainer!”
Raz shifted in his seat as a sickening sensation made his stomach flip-flop.
There it was. The fear and the doubt churning in his belly.
“No, Aug, I need to do it just like I did before. Like I did when I was racking up belts and titles and—”
“And you had your wife. And then it was you, your wife, and your boy. That’s not your life, Erasmus,” Aug belted, color rising to his cheeks.
Raz didn’t answer. He couldn’t.
“We’re doing something different this time,” Aug said, speaking slowly, his tone resolute as he cooled down.
“And what’s that?”
“Reminding you who you bloody are, lad.”
There’s a no-answer answer.
“That really helps, Aug,” he grumped.
“Shut your bloody gob, Erasmus. We’re close.”
“What about the weigh-in? We can’t miss that?”
“We’ll leave from where I’m taking you. You’ll be on time. What do you want? Exact times? If you haven’t noticed, I’ve been busy. Do you think I’ve had a moment to memorize the tube timetables for the Piccadilly line?” his trainer ranted.
“Look at those knickers in a twist! Why the hell would you need to memorize the London tube timetables? We’re in Colorado?” he shot back.
“I’m making a point, Erasmus! Training your arse doesn’t give me time to do much else.”
“Fine, we go where you want to go, Aug,” he answered, sitting back and focusing on the scenery.
They’d left the swanky Crystal Creek neighborhood, sailed past the city’s skyscrapers, and ventured into a grittier, more eclectic part of Denver. One- and two-story buildings with funky cafes, little boutiques, and small art galleries lined the street. And bloody hell, there was something familiar about it.
Aug turned the corner and headed toward a large building. Taking up nearly a block, people milled around the courtyard. Teens and young men and women blanketed a basketball court fenced in adjacent to the building. And then he saw the sign.