Page 47 of Keep Your Guard Up
“Your classes start at the asscrack of dawn. I figured you wouldn’t be a cranky bastard,” he replied with a laugh. “What’s on your mind?”
“Baltis gave me an offer.”
There was silence for a moment.
“And?”
“It’s everything I’ve ever fucking dreamed of. Main event fight. Title shot. Home arena.”
“Holy shit, Chance. That’s amazing! Congrats, brother!”
I sighed, the weight of the offer feeling like boulders hovering above me. With spikes. Dripping in acid.
“It’s pretty unbelievable,” I grumbled, pulling my keys out of my pocket to unlock the gym’s doors.
“You don’t sound stoked.”
“I’m wrapped about it, man. I’m over the fucking moon that I’m being given the opportunity to fight for the championship title, particularly in my home arena.” I let out another loose breath. “But it’s in my home arena, Dylan … and I—”
“Don’t have the bandwidth to plan for running into the past?” he interrupted, seeing where I was going before I’d even gotten there.
“… no. No, I don’t. I left that shit there for a reason, Dyl. Because it wasfuckingshit. No one, me or others, needs to visit that steaming pile of it,” I admitted quietly.
Shame burned like a thousand candles had just been lit inside of me. I didn’t want people to know what had happened back in Darlington Harbour—why I’d been so quick to jump into a new life. I’m sure the press and the public had questions; I was Chance fucking Riordan. People were bound to have questions as to why voted ‘Mr Violence’ of this year had up and left his home city in a matter of hours.
“Don’t you think that’s up to them to decide?” he asked softly.
There was a silent, underlying question in it;are you ever going to tell me what the hell went down in Darlington Harbour?
“Not when it comes to this,” I replied, shutting down the hidden question.
“You can’t give everything up on a ‘what if’, Chance. You’re way too talented and have worked way too fucking hard to letwhatever this is stop you.” Agitation flowed through the phone, and I could practically see the scowl on his face.
Dylan was the oldest of us three and lived up to the fierce protective nature that older siblings usually had. He had taught me to fight when he left for high school, so I could take care of Milah. He’d been there, at my back, through every up and down I’d had growing up.
I knew it would be killing him to not be able to know, not be able to help me now. But I was a man now—it was my problem. There was no reason to force anyone else down into the trenches with me. Not when I’d just started to get a foothold out of them.
“Yeah, I know,” I sighed. “I’m about to walk into the gym, Dyl. I gotta run.”
“Chance—”
“I love you, mate,” I said, ending the call the same way I always did.
“I love you too, Chance.”
I rolled my shoulders out, fighting the inevitable tremor that came from hearing those words.
Chapter 24
Chance
BANG. BANG. BANG.
BANG. BANG.
I slammed my fists into the bag time after time after time. Finding therapy in the bag was as easy as breathing. It was music to my ears, the pounding booms I made.
Bag work let me be alone—let me be wherever I needed to be. Let me lose myself in the constant movement, slip into a world where everyone and everything dissipated into the dark void.
