Fight For You

Chapter 1

Someone once told me that you can find the beauty in everything, but if there really is beauty in everything then at some point everyone has to destroy something beautiful.

"Nicky, you're done! He's out! Nicky!" Coach's words barely registered to my brain. Every time my fist smacked against my sparring partner, I expected a surge of pain, but nothing came. I was numb. All I did was hit the bag for days, trying to get my head somewhere else, anywhere but my reality, so Coach suggested we try a sparring partner.

"Just lemme get a few more punches in. That's all I need." I took a few more jabs at the guy. I had him in a hold and there was no way he was getting out of it. I thought if I felt the rush of winning that it would do something. I wanted to feel something. Anything. But still there was nothing.

Coach grabbed my wrists, stopping them in mid air. "Nicky, you've had enough. Let the damn kid up!"

I stared down at the guy below me. At one time he had a baby face with bright blonde hair and now he was completely covered in blood. The same blood that covered my hands. The only thing I could see was the bright blue of his eyes as he stared up at me. They were filled with fear as if I was about to kill him. I probably could have if Coach hadn't stopped me.

Coach gripped tighter onto my wrists. "It's time to leave. The fight's this weekend. You're ready, kid. You know that as well as I do."

I let out a deep breath and released the kid, standing up. I'd been at the gym a lot longer than I thought. Every part of my body groaned. Finally some sort of feeling. "Yeah, say that when el Lobo has his foot in my ass or some other move he pulls out. That fucker fights dirtier than he looks."

Coach sighed, watching my sparring partner run to one of the trainers so he could bandage his pretty face. "You're your father's son, Nicky."

I stared at him. He didn't mean the words as an insult but they hit me harder than a punch ever could. My father was never who I wanted to be.

"You're right, Coach." I turned away slowly and walked to the weight bench, sitting down. I slowly peeled off the tape that bound my hands. It was so worn from the day's exertions that it looked gray rather than the bright white it was when I first got to the gym after work.

Coach walked over and patted my shoulder. "You're a good kid, Nicky. You just have a hard head sometimes."

"Yeah, yeah." I just focused on unwrapping each one of my hands, instead of looking up at the disappointed glint in his eyes. It was the same conversation we had every night. He'd ask me to stop by his house, make some crack about his old lady making too much food anyway and how the kids wouldn't bother me too much. I'd, of course, say I had some work to catch up on or that my mom was making pasta and asked me to stop by. Neither of which were true and he knew it.

But tonight he didn't fight me.

"All right, Nick, think ya can lock up when you're done? You know, the old lady has been on my ass out being out late every night and with the fight this weekend ..." his words trailed off. I didn't need to look up to know that he was raking his fingers through his salt and pepper crew cut, the way he always did when he was nervous. I'd seen it a million times when I was in the cage.

"Yeah, Coach, you're fine. Go, be with Tracy and the kids. You don't need to babysit me. I'll be fine."

"You sure?"

I stopped unwrapping my hands and looked up at him, forcing a smile. Did I really want him to leave so that I would be alone? No. Sure, I could have called up my cousin Dominic, but he would probably still be at the Candy Shop. Some guys enjoyed going to the strip club every night, but to me, it would always be the place that my father did his backroom deals with some battona on his lap. I knew all of this because he started taking me when I was in middle school. He said I had to learn the family business young if I was going to take over.