Page 44 of Ruin

“Yeah,” he says.

The guy’s expression brightens. “I thought so. God, man, I can’t believe it. I’m a big fan. I used to box when I was younger—nothing like you, of course. You’re amazing.”

“Thanks. I appreciate it,” Zeus says.

“Would it be okay if I got a picture with you?”

I just look at Zeus. I can tell he doesn’t want to. But I know what he’s going to say.

He glances back at Gigi, who’s waiting on the merry-go-round, which has slowed to a stop. She has a curious expression on her face.

“I’ll just be a sec, okay?”

She nods but doesn’t say anything.

The guy digs his cell out of his pocket and holds it out to me. “Would you mind?”

I take the phone and snap the photo. Then, I hand the phone back to him.

“Thanks,” he says to me. “Sorry to interrupt,” he says to us all. “And good luck with the Dimitrov fight,” he tells Zeus. “Not that you’ll need it. I reckon five rounds, most.”

“Thanks, man,” Zeus says to him. Then, he turns back to Gigi. “Sorry about that, Gigi. Right, you want me to keep spinning you, or are we going on something else?”

She doesn’t answer. She’s staring at him, her head cocked to the side, like she does when she’s trying to work something out.

For a split second, my heart stops as I worry that she’s figured out he’s her dad, which is crazy. There’s no way she’d be able to figure that out. Right?

“Why dids that man want to take picture with you, Zweus?”

“Well…” He seems to be struggling with how to answer.

“Zeus has a job that means he’s sometimes on TV,” I tell her.

“Wike Princess Twilight Sparkle?”

“Kind of but different,” I answer.

“Different how?” she asks, craning her head to look up at Zeus.

He crouches down in front of her, so he’s eye-level. “Well, I’m a boxer, Gigi.”

Her brows come together. “But I’s thought you were a mailman?”

His lip comes out at the corner, forming his trademark half-smile. “That was my other job. But my main job is boxing.”

“So…you’s a box?”

Zeus rumbles out a laugh. “A boxer, a fighter,” he explains to her.

“Fighting’s bad.” She frowns. “Mommy always tells me that.”

“Your mom’s right; fighting is bad, Gigi. But there are some instances when it’s okay.”

“Wike?”

“Well, when it’s a sport, like boxing is. I put on gloves and get in a boxing ring to fight against another boxer. There’s a referee to make sure we’re okay. And medics are on standby in case one of us gets hurt.”

“You get hurt?” Her eyes widen, and the concern on her face tugs at my chest.