I never thought my night would end with a woman coming to the gym, someone from a famous agency looking for me. I never thought that I would find out about my father. The person who never saw me grow, who never taught me to ride a bike or to fight bullies. The person who never taught me how to be a man. Instead, I had to learn my own way.
"So my father was a boxer as well." It feels like it all makes sense now. This passion that I have for such a career, who knew you could have a passion passed down to you.
"He was the best." The girl smiles. "When I was little, I used to sneak into the living room after bedtime and watch him fight. He won every one and it was exciting, to be able to watch someone conquer like that. That victory."
I'm taken aback by how intrigued she was into boxing when she was young, even now. Girls aren't usually into things that involve violence. I smirk at her, shaking my head as she walks beside me.
"You must've heard of him." She turns to me. "I mean being in the industry, David Anderson is the name you know."
I stop walking, my heart pounding in my ears. I can't hear anything but hear myself say, "You're kidding."
She realizes I've stopped walking and a look of concern crosses her face. "He's your father."
I suddenly burst into laughter and shake my head. There's no way someone like David Anderson fathered someone like me. Everything seems a bit more clear about my life yet my mind is still blown. Does he know I'm his son?
"David was very professional in what he did. He knew how to talk money, fights, anything." The girl smiles. I already forgot her name but she's definitely someone to remember. Her long brown hair surrounds her round face in long waves and her eyes are a deep brown color.
"Did he die?" I ask and I don't know what answer I'm looking forward to.
"He's terminally sick." She looks to me. "He's dying, Mr. Styles." I flinch at the way she says my name.
"Harry." I tell her and she frowns for a second before nodding. I sweep my hair back from my forehead and pull a cigarette from my back pocket, lighting it and letting the toxic smoke fill my lungs. Rick tells me how much cigarettes will effect my breathing especially during fights but as rebellious as I am, I ignore it. We continue to walk along the sidewalk.
"Did you work with him?" I ask next.
"No." She says, disappointment clear in her small voice. "I wish I had though. I wasn't in a level in my career at the point that he'd stopped fighting. But I did see him a few times as I interned at the agency." She looks to me as I look down at the sidewalk.
"You have most of his features." She says and I look to her again.
"What'd you say your name was again?" I ask, feeling like a complete ass for not remembering.
"Faye." She smiles, extending her hand again. I take it. We walk awhile more until we reach a silver Honda Civic.
"This is me." She says as she struggles to reach for something in her bag. She pulls out a small card and hands it to me. "I know you probably won't be interested in an agency that 'babies you' but you're going to need someone to help you out at some point." She says. I shake my head at her mimic of my insult from earlier but smirk at the card.
"Is this your cell?" I ask playfully and she shakes her head, a smile playing on her lips as she enters her car. She drives away, leaving me to think of so many things. My infamous dying father, Rick, boxing, everything.
~••~
I open the door to our small flat and slam it shut, making sure the door doesn't swing open again as it does every other time.
