Page 4 of Keep Your Guard Up
That blue gaze narrowed, and I contemplated rollingmyeyes and laughing at how little it took to upset this poor man. But I didn’t, I narrowed my gaze right back.
Lifting my chin, I continued, “I’m sorry. I could barely see over this big pile of—”
Before I could even finish explaining, the man growled and stormed out.
“Need a hand, Mari?” Danny called from his office.
Restacking the mountain of food, minus a couple of pizzas and a Sunkist, I grumbled, “Little late for that.”
Chapter 3
Mari
Monday rolled around a lot quicker than I had expected. JJ and I had spent the entire weekend cleaning up the gym for the ‘new coach’ to arrive.
What a pain in the ass that was.
JJ was good like that though. Whenever I’d call, he’d always answer. Anything that needed to be done, or if any of us needed help with, he was always the first to offer. It didn’t surprise me anymore, being friends with him all of my life, but I would never stop being grateful for what he’d done for me and mine.
With a head of black curly hair, rich deep brown skin, and brown eyes similar to mine, JJ was not short of feminine attention. Being a strong, talented, heavyweight fighter onlyadded to his resume with local women and passers-by of Soggla. But JJ was nothing more than a brother to me—which had been solidified the year we both got gastro together. Nothing, and I meannothing, could ever attract me to JJ afterseeingandsmellingthat.
Al and Nan had pitched in on the cleaning where they could too, which was usually providing snacks and beverages for us. Jobs that hardly ever get done, got done. Everything had been cleaned—gloves, shin pads, head gear, mitts, pads and mats no longer reeked of sweat and stale BO but instead of a very expensive, very thorough, lemon-smelling cleanser. Bathrooms had been scrubbed until we were all getting borderline high off of bleach fumes. The decades-old corner of the office that Al occupied, the one that was lovingly across from mine, had been cleared out. Pictures had been taken down, trophies packed away, old cigar butts tossed. I had tried to move all of his things back home for him, but found certain pictures kept making their way back onto the walls.
His own championship photo from back in the day.
My dad’s collage of championship photos, all with Al by his side.
Countless all-stars that had passed through here to train alongsideThe Allen Burkeover the years.
I forced him to keep the one of him holding pads for me for the first time when I was four—hung it up in his hallway myself.
Point is, the gym was cleaner than I had honestly ever seen it. Knock’s isn’t a dirty place by any means, but keeping a martial arts gym spotless is like selling wood to a lumberjack—requires a lot of patience and an ass that won’t quit.
I zipped up the onyx black and burnt orange merch bag I had ready for the new coach and put it on top of what was soon to be his desk, a long shiny timber workspace Al had built himself. It had taken every last dollar of my dad’s and Al’s to get Knock’s upand going in the beginning, so they’d taken a few shortcuts that they’d never bothered to have fixed.
It took a brave face and a solo tear session to acknowledge that all of the little things of Al’s were no longer on his desk or scattered through the office. His dingy old radio wasn’t spewing muffled music, leaving the room too quiet. A cigar wasn’t smoking off in his colourful but faded ashtray that I’d painted for him when I was ten. Discarded coffee mugs weren’t scattered about with half a sip left. Everything was just so fuckingclean. Wiped free of one of the most important men, if not the most, in my life.
The office was a stretched out shared space between all of the coaches and staff. My father and Al set it up this way as they believed, down to the bone, no one was above another; a chain was only as strong as its weakest link.
I dumped the black manilla folders of paperwork on the bare desk, straightening the pile before checking they were in order. I nodded and gave myself a mental pat on the back for the colour-coordinated organisation.
“You’re gonna give the poor lad a stroke with all of that crap.” Nan’s sudden voice startled me. I gaped at her. She was never crass, never used any sort of foul language. But an amused smirk sat on her face.
“It’s everything he needs to know about our gym,” I fumbled, fiddling with the corners on one of the piles.
“And more?” She raised a thin eyebrow at me, pursing her red-painted lips.
“No more than I would give to anyone else. He’s got big shoes to fill, Nan. I’m just trying to give him the tools to fill them.”
She nodded disbelievingly before walking out. I turned around and removed one of the smaller piles off the table and threw it in the rubbish bin.
~
I was refilling the sugar packets in the overcrowded, hexagon-shaped kitchen, as Nan had had nervously had three cuppas this morning. Not that I hadn’t downed a couple myself. Welcoming someone new into the team was always stress-inducing and daunting. For Nan and me, it was almost as personal as welcoming someone into our own home.
That was the thing about Knock’s; it was a special place to so many different people, everyone had their own history within the walls. Knock’s was where Al and my dad had taken Nan in when she had nothing but her car and a daughter in the back. Knock’s was where that same daughter had found love with my dad. Knock’s was where I had been born and where I took my first steps. Knock’s was where Nan and I had spent all of our time after Mum passed and Dad was in constant training camps for fights.
“He’s here, dear.” Nan poked her head in the door and gestured behind her. Her white hair was out from her usual high bun and flowed down her back. Sapphire-studded earrings glittered in her lobes and matched the colour of her glasses’ frames today.
