Page 14 of Fighting Fate
6
Agent and coach stare down at the papers between their plates while I internally debate the discussion we’re having over lunch. It doesn’t take much for my thoughts to stray from business to the girl I can’t stop thinking about. Disappointment darkens my mood as I ponder why she didn’t call or text about the flower delivery. At the very least, I thought she would’ve had Frank deliver a snarky message. Instead, there’s nothing. Not a fucking peep.
“So, what do you think?” Taylor asks when the waiter arrives with another round of drinks—sparkling water for me and wine for him and Marcus. “Pay-per-view is lucrative.”
“There’s still no challenge, so…”
“There will be,” Marcus says before taking a sip of his drink. “You’re the only thing stopping Reznik from hitting the top. Regardless, we want to be prepared for when the time comes.”
“PPV will make a substantial retirement fund.” Taylor shrugs, forking a piece of steak into his mouth.
Retirement?The thought makes me shudder. I’m thirty-five, and while I know my days in the ring are numbered, I’m not ready for my career to be over.
Marcus wipes his mouth on the white linen napkin, dropping it onto his plate while he has another drink of his wine. “Way I see it is that despite what happens, you’ve done enough to move on from competing with your head held high. The money is only a bonus, but think of everything you can do with it.”
“You have the gyms and the conversation we had about the fund for bringing more kids into the sport…” Taylor levels me with a narrowed stare before he continues. “You’re chasing the actress…and you’ve always said that you want nothing serious until you’re done in the ring.”
“What?” Marcus laughs, amused and surprised.
“The sport…rather the competition isn’t without its dangers. It’s too much responsibility to risk injury or death when—”
“Fuck me,” Marcus cuts me off with a scoff and shake of his head. “You really are a nice guy.”
“He has morals and a conscience.” Taylor lifts his head high, knowing that a lot of it is down to him and the influence he’s had on my life. “Ball’s in your court, son.”
There’s a moment of pause while another waiter comes over to clear our plates and offer us the dessert menu that only Taylor wants to see. He has a mean sweet tooth.
“You’re chasing, Rory. I’ve never seen you chase before, so…”
“She’s just a girl,” I tell him.
Instantly, my chest tightens at my words. The second they leave my lips, I know it’s a lie. Taylor is right. I don’t chase, and not because girls throw themselves at me, but because I’ve never felt the urge to. But Willow is different. Unlike all the groupies you get in the sport, she doesn’t care about my successes or my bank account. I think if I caught her, it would be because of who I am as a man, and I like that. I like that far more than I realised before.
With another gulp of my water and a deep breath, I pull the document with all the figures Marcus wanted me to see. As much as I like Willow, she can’t be a factor in my decision. I didn’t get to where I am today by basing my choices on others. I’ve always been a gut-feeling man, and right now, it’s telling me that ignoring the challenge that’s brewing with the media’s intense speculation is a bad idea.
“Fine.”
“Fine?” both Marcus and Taylor echo in question.
“Pay-per-view is a yes.”
Marcus nods approvingly. He’s done what he flew here from LA for—mission accomplished…for him.
Me, on the other hand? I still have a spitfire to wrangle to submission, and rather than going big again, it’s time I pulled back a little. I’m a man with a plan, and I’m ready to hustle.
* * *
There’s no denying it—Londonis beautiful. The culture cocktail in the city is one of the best I’ve ever experienced. Looking around the embankment close to my apartment, I catch my breath while I cool down from my run and spot the mobile flower stall. The selection is limited given it’s a small cart attached to a vintage-looking bicycle, but the colours against the river Thames and cityscape make me smile.
“See anything you like?” the woman behind the cart asks. “They’re all fresh, and the roses smell lovely.”
Her big brown eyes and dark hair draw me in, reminding me of my sister and my mom. The worst homesickness I’ve felt yet hits me hard. Mom loves roses, the white kind with the pink ruffled edges, like the one the woman is holding out for me to smell.
“These are my mother’s favourites,” I say quietly, mostly to myself, but she hears, and her smile broadens.
“Tell you what, I’ll do you a special deal.” Rounding the cart to my side, she begins pulling stems from the cart and adding them to the rose. “I love the look of them with these sunflowers.”
With the small bunch in her hand, she stops beside me to grab a few stems of ditsy daisies. While she ties it all together, I don’t have the heart to tell her that my mom isn’t with me. Instead, I take in the rest of the flowers on the cart, pausing at the sight of the blue blooms that Frank told me Willow likes.