Page 21 of Sweet Addiction
“If we were good at waiting, we wouldn’t be fighters. We’d be accountants. Waiting is for people who don’t like action. You and I love it. We live for it.” Killer throws a lazy right hook I couldhave dodged in my sleep. “At least until we live for something else.”
“Your wife’s making you lazy, Killer,” I taunt as I flex my arms and bounce on the balls of my feet, doing exactly what we both just admitted we’re awful at.Waiting. Only this wait is almost over. “You said you wanted to take time off, so Hudson gave me the okay to move up to heavyweight. That was almost two damn years ago. I’ve put more than a decade of my life into this sport, and I feel like one of those puppets whose arms and legs are attached to strings, waiting for someone to pull the right one. I want my fucking turn at the belt.”
The words are bitter, even to my own ears.
I sound like a spoiled fucking brat. Not a trained fucking killer.
“It’s coming, brother.”
Easy for him to say.
He’s got the belt.
Three of them.
“You gonna keep dancing around or let it fucking fly?” Hudson calls out. Killer and I are more than gym family, we’re actual family. Cousins. Our moms are sisters. And Hudson, he’s their younger brother.
Outside of this building, he’s our uncle.
Inside these walls, he’s our coach.
A living legend.
A world champion every fighter’s heard of.Studied. And tried to emulate.
Including me.
Not that I’m going to tell Hudson that. His head is already big enough to fill the cage, even at his old-ass age.
“Nobody’s giving you a fight if you don’t stop acting like a little bitch.” Killian’s words barely have time to penetrate beforehis fist swings out so damn fast he catches my jaw unguarded, and I drop to my knee, one hand flat against the mat for balance.
I look up to his taunting smile and shoot forward, slamming him to the ground so damn hard, even Hudson hisses. “Who’s the bitch now?”
“Fucker,” Killian answers, and it’s my smug-ass smile growing now.
“Get up,” Hudson groans like he’s chiding his teenage daughter instead of two world-class fighters. “You.” He points at my chest. “Get up. Get showered. And get the hell home. Rest up this weekend because Monday we’re planning your camp.”
“For what?” I ask. I don’t have any upcoming?—
“For your fight. You’re on the card against Benny ‘The Beast’.
Took fucking long enough.
I pull Killian to his feet. “You know about this?”
“Maybe.” He yanks off his gloves and tosses them to his bag. “See you Monday.”
Hudson and I watch as the happy fucker practically skips out of the damn gym in a rush to get home to his pregnant wife. The crowded gym parts like the Red Sea to let him through, and I shake my head as everyone watches him go.
As much as we’re an MMA gym, Killian’s dad and Hudson have always made sure it was a safe place for any resident of Kroydon Hills who wanted to work out, take classes, or get stronger. They never cared what drove you to be here, just that you were here bettering yourself in some way.
Nights are typically when the after-work crowd comes in. The guys trying to work a day job while they train for the next fight, hoping like hell this next one will be the one that lets them quit that day job. The people stopping by to get a class or an hour in after work before they go home. The professional fighters are mostly here during the day, leaving it open for everyone else after they leave.
Tonight, one of Hud’s daughters is teaching hot yoga in the room off to the side of the cage, and judging by the gorgeous woman walking out of the room, rolled mat in hand and sweat-soaked hair plastered to her pretty face, class has ended.
Dillan fucking Ryan.
Her aqua eyes narrow when she sees me before looking away like I’m the asshole.
