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For some reason, Jackson isn’t able to see the man he is capable of being. That wretched bitch of an ex he had was like a bucket of ice water on his flame, and he still hasn’t recovered. It’s killing me that I haven’t been able to reignite it.
He’s been telling me all week that he can use the money to get out of fighting and into something else. Of course he doesn’t know what that will be yet. I tried to tell him that quitting what he’s good at without a plan is a bad idea, but he didn’t listen. In fact, he hasn’t wanted to hear anything I’ve said all day.
“Jackson—”
“Don’t,” he snaps, holding up his hand. “I can’t. Not now.”
“You don’t have to do this,” I tell him, but he ignores me and gets out of the car. I follow after him, pushing past cameras and media as he makes his way to the locker room where he’ll wait for the fight to begin. He slams the door behind us and slumps down in a chair with his hood over his head.
I’m so mad—not at him, but at what he’s thinking. Seeing his spirit crushed like this makes me want to find that girl and drag her face across the concrete. Jackson is a champion; I know it. Only he doesn’t. Not anymore.
“Okay,” I say, approaching him slowly with caution. “What if I told you I’d leave you if you throw the fight?”
It’s a desperate move, and I don’t even know if I mean it; I don’t even know if I could do it, but all I know is I have to try something. Jackson can’t throw this fight. He can’t flush his whole career down the toilet because of some heartless bitch. That gets his attention. He looks up at me with eyes bordering on anger.
“What?”
I want to take it back, but I don’t. I can’t.
“What if I leave you because you throw this fight?”
In a flash, Jackson is on his feet. “What are you talking about? Did you really just say that?”
Don’t back down.
“I did,” I reply firmly. His eyes scour my face, searching for signs of weakness. I don’t give him any. This is something I have to do. I just can’t let him go through with this. No matter what he thinks, it will break him permanently.
It’s a stare down—almost a match between us as we look at each other. This time, I’m praying he breaks.
“Fine, Merrell,” he says, using my name and not a pet-name like he usually does. “You do what you need to do.”
And with that, he walks right past me and out of the room. I stand there stunned as the sounds of the stadium coming alive reverberate through the walls. I don’t know what reaction I was expecting, but it definitely wasn’t that, and now I don’t know what’s going to happen.
8
Jackson
As I walk into the arena, I’m fighting off panic. I may have just fucked up the greatest thing in my life, and I don’t know what to do about it. What does she expect? For me to just fuck over Micky, one of Southie’s nastiest gangsters, win the fight, and just keep going? She doesn’t know what she’s talking about.
But despite all that, I can’t deny that I want to do what she said. This week has been the greatest week of my life and that’s all because of Merrell, but there’s been this thing inside me, eating away at me like steady rot, poisoning me like a virus, and it all comes from a single thought: I want to be a better man for her.
A better man wouldn’t throw the fight. A better man wouldn’t cave to a punk like Micky. A better man would forget about what was done to him in the past, man up and move on with his life. A better man would listen to a good woman like her.
But I’m not a better man. Even if I want to pretend I am.
I’m almost to the doors when I feel a tap on my shoulder. It’s one of Micky’s men lurking in a nook by the water fountain. He’s wearing a Red Sox hat low over his eyes and flashes me a smile filled with yellow teeth.
“Hey, boyo,” he says, keeping his voice low. “Good luck with the fight. Best wishes from your friend downtown.”
My anger flares. I see red and think about reaching out and giving him a good one in the stomach, but before I can, he’s gone and pushing his way through the crowd.
“Son of a bitch,” I mutter as I keep moving.
Disgraced fighter. No manager. No future. That’s what I am. I’m just a stooge here to throw a fight so some gangster can get rich off me.
I hear the announcer calling our names, his voice booming over the loudspeakers. The crowd is in a frenzy, changing my name.
“Blur! Blur! Blur! Blur!”
