Page 96 of Ours to Lose
A mix of surprise and suspicion knotted her brows. “Right. I work here because dishwasher pay sucks enough on its own.”
I nodded.Been there.
“Do me a favor,” I said, taking another quick bite before setting the cup down to grab a napkin and scrawl my email on it with the register pen. “Send me your résumé. I’m looking for a chef to join my team, and the pay is way better than a dishwasher. No free labor required.”
She scanned the email address. “Ardena?” Her brows rose. “The restaurant on Rittenhouse?”
I smiled. She wasn’t washing dishes at McDonald’s if she got that excited about Ardena.
“Sort of. The job is with our new catering division. Similar food, high-end events, lots of opportunity to be creative. Think about it.” I ate another scoop of frozen yogurt, this one coffee with mini marshmallows, walnuts, and dark chocolate chunks. “And thank you,” I mumbled, mouth still full of the delicious bite. “This is perfect.”
The corners of her mouth lifted with the makings of a smile as I turned for the door.
Maybe nothing would come of it. She might not apply for the job, and Gabe still was or wasn’t going to fight tomorrow. Evan was still MIA, and no amount of gummy rings would fix the fracture between him and his brother.
Nothing was certain. All I’d gained was temporary relief from my wallowing in the form of a sweet treat and the ultimate brain freeze.
Yet it was something. The tiniest flower emerging from a busted-up sidewalk, and if nothing else, I’d let that sliver of hope get me through tonight.
There was no question that whichever way tomorrow went, Froyo wouldn’t be enough.
Chapter Thirty-One
Gabe
I knewbefore the doctor said anything. Had known since the moment I woke up this morning after a shit night’s sleep, unable to lift my arm.
I wasn’t fighting today.
Not today or ever again.
My go in the tournament was finished. Coach’s gym—my gym—was gone. I didn’t have the money to get the loan, and Coach Lou couldn’t push off the developers any longer. Not if he wanted his retirement.
Everything I had trained for since I was fourteen, my life’s work, mylife, was coming to an end in this room, and all I felt was numb.
The doctor had me hold my left elbow at my hip and raise my fist to a ninety-degree angle, then he nudged the outside of my wrist, and that numbness sparked into electric pain that radiated from my shoulder to my fist. I clenched my teeth as my arm gave out, too weak to resist the doctor’s slight pressure.
Diego’s head dropped where he stood behind the doctor. He pushed aside his suit jacket to rest his hands on his hips. “Gabe…”
“I know,” I said, voice flat.
He’d been right yesterday. If he let me in the ring, no coach would let his fighter book with him again. Not to mention it would be a shit performance. People didn’t turn on the TV to watch a guy with one functioning arm get knocked out in the first round. Not during a championship fight.
The doctor removed his exam gloves. “You’ll want to go to the hospital for X-rays. You may need surgery if it’s a complete tear, but you’ll need treatment either way.”
I nodded. I knew the drill.
He walked to the other side of the room to examine the next fighter, and I lowered into a chair. That simple motion was enough to pull an ache from my shoulder.
Diego watched, face pained. “You fought a hell of a tournament.”
It didn’t feel like it. It felt like I’d given everything I had and it wasn’t enough. Like I’d failed to do the one thing I’d sacrificed everything for.
Again.
Heat crept up my neck as my chest tightened, the air suddenly too thick to inhale. I closed my eyes to block out the pressure, but I couldn’t block out the images.
My mom at my first boxing match. My mom’s open casket. The hug she’d given me the last time I was home. The cake she’d baked the first time I won a title belt. The brightness in her voice the last time we spoke on the phone, right before her surgery, when we all thought everything would be okay.
