Still Tangled

the fight box

Barrett

I wasn't sure why a girl like that cared about whether I attended school or not. Sure, she may have seen how the situation played out, but why feel the need to let Gwynn know the truth? Even though the principle wouldn't have believed me if I told her the story. I didn't care one way or the other if I was suspended. I shouldn't be here in the first place. After my father was killed, Count felt the need to offer me payment to move back to Brook Hills and fight for him.. again. My father wanted us to move away, and try to start over new.

And we almost did.

Finding my father bleeding out on our living room floor having suffered a gun shot to the chest wasn't exactly my way of starting a new life. The cops said it was a robbery gone bad, but I knew different. Father was running from something, or someone. We didn't even tell my grandmother where we were going, he only told her we had to leave town. The truth about my father was my burdened to carry, and I would find out who killed him and why. Glancing at the clock, it was already an hour past the time I agreed to be at the Fight box, and I knew Count wouldn't be happy. Once I was released from detention, I grabbed my bag and ran to my jeep; a new jeep, also courtesy of Count's attempt to woo me back.

I pass through the gym just in time to notice a group of girls in their tight ass black shorts gathered to practice volleyball. Normally, I would take my time, admiring a set of skills they offer, but only one girl caught my eye. That same beauful auburn hair, pulled back into a sweaty ponytail, as she spiked the ball for another point. She exchanged a few high fives, and laughs with the team across the net. I stop just shy of the exit, throw my hand in the air she places her hands on her hips, and cast me a smile, before shaking her head and turning back to the court.

"You're late." Count states, as I walk past his office towards the locker room. He is propped back in his chair, watching through the one-way glass at the fighters practicing in the ring.

"I had detention."

"It's only the first day since you've been back." He says, ushering me to take a seat in front of his desk.

"Yeah, thought I'd atleast make it a week."

Count reaches into his drawer, and pulls out a black bag. "Got a good reason?"

"Knocked a guy out." I plainly state. He didn't need the full story.

He nods, and removes a new pair of gloves and tosses them to me. "Go on in, the guys have been warming up." I stare at the expensive gloves, puzzled as to why he would spent this much money on me. "Figured if we are going to try and get you sponsored that you needed to start looking the part. As you know, me and your father were friends. And I know he would only want what is best for you. So I suggest you get your shit together, go out there, and start making me some money." I smile as I tighten the gloves around my wrist.

it felt good to take out my frustration during warm-ups. I didnt mind the pain I felt in m knuckles when I made contact with the sand bags, I knew they were probably bleeding, but I didnt care. after I finished with the battle ropes, I heard a group from the ring cheering as each laid a punch on the other. The paired sparring had begun, and I needed to check the rest of the team. The first guy I noticed was Erik Hayes. He, too, grew up in the Fight Box. I wouldn't say we were friends, but he did make for a good partner, since he could never beat me. A few years had done him well. He had gained some muscle mass, and wore his hair back in a braid, but the tattoos only hid the coward beneath his skin. Erik never understood how to fight fair, he would do whatever means necessary to win - but a damaged ego can only carry you so far in the ring.

"Just couldn't stay away could you." Erik says, both of us maintaining our attention on the freshman fighting in the ring. One of the fighters I recognized from school as part of the group who harassed the band kid.

"Good to see you too, Erik."

"Things have changed since you've been gone." He says, dryly.

"You mean you finally learned how to land a solid left hook?" I couldn't fight the grin that pulled at my face when Erik finally turns to look at me. Not much had changed, it was still so easy to ruffle his feathers.

"Don't under estimate me, Bear."

"Oh, wouldn't dream of it."

Erik pulls himself into the ring, preparing to face off with his opponent. His technique is much better than I remember – its clear he has spent much time training with the Count. So why didn't he offer erik the sponsorship? Though judging by Erik's movement, and his need for attention, maybe he is still in the running for the sponsored spot.

I decide to sit back and observe my opponents instead of jumping back into the ring. My father taught me it was best to know your opponent better than they know themselves. He would spend hours with me teaching me how to read a move before it happened. I could never beat my father when we spared. He was much faster than I, and always knew what punch I would throw next. Many times I wanted to walk away, but he would tell me "you lose the day you stop trying" He made me tough, he made me determined. And I would get that sponsored spot, on my father, I would do whatever it takes.

Any comments and/or critiques are welcomed as it will help me in the editing process.