Page 12 of Love Punch

Then again, there was one reason I was worried about Bradley’s last fight: what would come next? As much as Bradley reassured me that he wanted me to stick around, I had no idea how that would work. What would a retired boxer need a full-time, live-in assistant for? I couldn’t answer my own question,and that terrified me. But until the fight was over, I still had a job to do—and to do well. We’d cross the unemployment bridge when we came to it.

I made my way through the rabbit warren of tunnels to the private stadium entrance. Just inside, a small crowd had gathered. I smiled at seeing Bradley’s parents and a few of his cousins, but then my heart dropped when I saw who was with them.He did come.

I pasted on a smile and strode forward to greet them. “Mr and Mrs Tyler, so lovely to see you!” I held out a hand for Gez Tyler to shake and kissed Melody on both cheeks. They were dressed to the nines as always. Melody’s gold necklace alone cost double my salary. I knew that because I’d been responsible for buying Bradley’s Christmas presents. She was a gazelle of a woman, all slim features and long arms and legs. “You look wonderful.”

“Oh, Arthur, I don’t know how many times I have to tell you not to last-name us,” she scolded. “We’d never be so formal with our son’s manager.”

“Assistant,” I corrected gently.

“Nonsense. You’re far more than his assistant, darling, and we all know it. He wouldn’t function without you.” Melody touched my arm. “Have you—”

“Stocked the VIP box with your favourite champagne? Of course.” I smiled. Despite the luxury trappings they’d grown to love, it was easy to keep Bradley’s parents happy. I just had to spend his money and update his rider for fights every now and then.

Next to Bradley’s parents,hecleared his throat. I let him stew for a second before turning to face him. “Can I help you?”

“It’s so good to see you, Artie! Aren’t you going to introduce me to these lovely people?” He was dressed…nicely, considering the standard I’d come to expect from him. A button-down shirt—wrinkled—and jeans with a pair of leather shoes that had seenbetter days. He had some kind of sauce stain on his collar, and neglected to tuck in one side, which lessened any effort he’d made.

“Mr and Mrs Tyler, this is my dad, Joseph.”

“Call me Joe,” he said, taking both their hands at once and shaking them enthusiastically, like a dog with a toy.

“Right, let’s get moving,” I deflected. “Don’t want to miss the fight.” I slid myself in between my father and the Tylers. The rest of them fell behind as if in deference to their elders.

I looked back at the four men who trailed us. Cory Tyler was a Cardiff native and played professionally for Cardiff’s football team. He was gorgeous—they all were—and athletic. He was stood next to a tall blond I recognised as Cardiff’s goalkeeper, a Norwegian man by the name of Sven Barstad.

Next to them was the shortest, Theo Tyler, a driver in the world-famous Moto 1 racing championship. And at the periphery of the group was Nicholas, a tall, gangly guy who competed in golf championships around the world.

Bradley had so many cousins in so many sports that it was hard to keep track, but despite being scattered around the world, they tried to attend each other’s events as much as possible. If the Kennedy family had a stranglehold on politics, then the same could be said of the Tylers in sport. They were like some kind of good-looking, physically fit Illuminati. Or so the forums said.

I led them all through the crowd, hearing the gasps of amazement at my procession of sporting legends. My father, next to me, was puffing himself up like he was somehow important enough to draw the same attention.

The VIP box was ringside, and I’d left menus on each of the seats. My father tried to take the central one, but I steered him to the side and sat him down. “Don’t embarrass me,” I hissed in his ear.

He had the audacity to look hurt. “Embarrass you? How could I possibly embarrass you?” He then looked down at the menu. “Oh, it’s a free bar! How do I order a couple of bottles? I could bring some home to your mother. She’d love some of this…”

I rolled my eyes and left before I could hear the rest of his sentence. I had more important things to do. The Tylers were already very familiar with ordering their ringside drinks and aperitifs, so I thought it might be safe to leave them for a few minutes.

I made my way across the darkened catwalk to the green room. Bradley liked to be completely alone before a fight, but Jason and I definitely didn’t count. They were both deep in conversation when I walked in, but Bradley looked up as soon as the door opened. His eyebrows had been furrowed but when he looked at me, he seemed to relax. I loved that I had that effect on him. It made me feel special, and wanted—like I was more than just an assistant.

“Are you okay?” I asked, taking the seat to his right as I always did.

“Fucking terrified,” he admitted.

“You’ve never been scared before a fight before,” I admonished. “Why now?”

Bradley laughed. “Arthur, I’m always scared before a fight.”

“No. You’re always strong and calm and…” It dawned on me. “You’ve been faking it, haven’t you?”

“And here we are. The last fight. Me admitting my fear to you.”

“What scares you the most?” Without really thinking about it, I took one of his large hands in my own. His knuckles were rough under my thumb as I rubbed calming circles on the back of his hand.

“What if I lose?” he asked. “How do I leave the fight with my head held high?”

“You’ve not lost yet,” Jason offered.

“Well, this would be the night, wouldn’t it?” Bradley said.

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