Page 102 of Falcon

Chapter 22

Falcon

Since the day I threw my first professional punch, I’ve had the exact same fight day routine.

I wake up bright and early, usually before the sun comes up and go for a run on the streets of whatever city we are in. It gives me a moment of clarity to put myself in the zone I need to be in.

When I finish my run, I have a protein-filled breakfast, eggs mostly; then I dive into endurance training.

That’s the key to winning fights. Having more stamina than your opponent.

There’s something a little different about my routine this morning, though. It came in the form of a five foot two inch blonde pixie in my bed, who I wanted nothing more than to wrap myself around and drown out the world.

It took every ounce of motivation within my body to leave her sleeping in that bed, but the cocky asshole in me also wants to be in top form tonight, because I know she’ll be in the crowd watching.

So, I dragged my ass out of bed, left her a note, and slid into the back of the waiting car to make my way over to the gym near the arena.

My trainer, Gavin, is waiting for me on the mat when I arrive, duffle bag slung over my shoulder.

“Where the hell ya been, Falc? I been waiting all mornin’,” he says in his thick Boston accent.

Gavin has been with me for as long as I can remember. We met on the underground scene after I had my ass handed to me. He told me he lost a shit ton of money because my ass got knocked out, and he wasn’t going to let that happen again.

The rest is history.

“I’m here, aren’t I? And stop being so dramatic. I’m five minutes late.” I drop my bag on the floor and pull my baseball cap from my head, sliding my fingers through my hair.

“That pussy had better be worth the five minutes we are behind. Get your ass up here. I want you sweating before breakfast gets here.”

“Watch how you talk about that pussy, got it?” I point his way. He’s one of my oldest friend’s, but I won’t hesitate to deck him on Faith’s behalf.

“Take it easy, hotshot. I was joking, but keep that anger for tonight. Jose Wyrez is a fucking monster, and I want you to knock him into next week.”

He pulls the hand pads on and slaps them together as I pull off my shirt and start strapping my grappling gloves on, flexing my fingers to ensure they are fitting correctly.

“That won’t be a problem. Have a little faith in me, will you?” I hold my hands out to my side in a “look who I am” way. “I’m Falcon fucking Masen.”

Faith

I’m barely conscious when I slide my hand across the silky, soft sheets beneath me on this massive bed. My fingers are searching for warm skin, but I’m only met with a cold, empty pillow. I knew he had to be in the gym early this morning to prep for the fight tonight, but that doesn’t do anything to temper the feeling of unwelcome disappointment.

I raise my arms above my head and give my body a much-needed stretch before turning to my side, and that’s when I notice the small, square piece of paper laying perfectly on his pillow.

I sit up, letting the sheet fall to my waist and pull the paper into my hands, reading each word in his adorable, messy handwriting.

You looked so amazing; I couldn’t wake you.

I just admired you like a creep then headed to the gym. ;)

I’m sending a car for you this evening. It’ll be downstairs at 6.

I can’t wait to see you.

Order yourself some breakfast and use the pool, spa, or anything you want.

Just put it on the room.

Enjoy yourself.

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