Page 29 of The Knockout Rule

Eric’s phone vibrated in his pocket while Whit stopped to sniff a garbage can. Eric pulled out his cell and frowned at his sister’s name. “Hey, Rosa.”

“Did Mom call you?”

He didn’t like the sound of that question. “Why would she be calling me?” Hip-hop blasted from a Porsche at the stop light. He plugged his free ear, hunching away from the street. “What’s going on?”

“I would’ve called earlier, but I’ve been up to my eyeballs in errands and chauffeuring and cooking.”

“Since when is Mom not shoving you out of the kitchen to cook for everyone?”

“Since she tripped on one of Asher’s toys and broke her wrist.”

Eric winced, picturing his mother hitting the floor, howling in pain. “Why didn’t Mom call me?”

“She knows you need to stay focused. I shouldn’t have called either. She’s doing fine, and I’ll figure out the rest. I just thought you’d want—”

“Rosa, don’t you dare hang up.” They were always considerate of his training schedules. Too considerate, going out of their way not to bother him. Overprotective caution that stemmed from love. Rosa and his mother always boasted to their friends about his big wins. The kids loved shadow boxing with him when he was home. Their pride in him was another push that kept him training; the prize money kept him fighting. But he suddenly resented being away. Not being home when his mother broke her wrist felt like failure. “How’s she feeling?” he asked.

“She’s frustrated, but the worst of it’s over. Except for our electric bill, which is due. She obviously can’t work, and I emptied our savings paying for the hospital visit.”

Whit went to smell a cigarette butt on the sidewalk. Eric tugged his leash. “Leave it, buddy.” They were in front of the Bellagio. All was calm in the massive fountain, no water shooting in time to lights and music at this hour. Eric felt the opposite of calm.

He hated how tight of a string they lived on. Training cost money. Preston cost money. His wellness team cost bundles, all to keep him healthy enough to box one more match, clinch one more win, make enough money to last until dental work and medical bills bled them dry again.

He could ask Rosa to find something full-time but being home for the kids after school was too important. She’d end up spending her few free hours fighting with the kids to clean up and do their chores and schoolwork. Exactly like it had been for their mother. He didn’t want that exhausting life for her.

“I’ll get the money to you this afternoon. And I’m sorry. I hate that you have to deal with everything on your own.”

“We’ll be fine. Just focus on your boxing.”

She hung up before he could apologize again or ask to speak to their mother. He’d call his mom later, after he figured out the money issue.

Cellphone stashed away, he faced the bustling, noisy street. A person dressed like Spider-Man pointed at Eric’s dog and shook his finger. Yeah. Eric knew he was breaking Vegas law: no dogs allowed on the strip between noon and five a.m. Eric stood taller, daring the guy to make a scene. Spider-Man mimed some nonsense and hurried off, melting into the sea of pedestrians. At least Eric’s tough-guy image paid off at times.

“You could totally take Spider-Man,” Preston said, pocketing his phone. They waited for Whit to quit his investigations, then moved with the throngs.

“Spider-Man can climb on walls and shoot webs. All I can do is throw a punch.”

“A damn good punch.”

A group of men walked toward them, red-faced, weaving slightly. They all held large plastic cups. One spotted Eric and awkwardly shadow boxed. “Brick Smash! Man, do you see who that is?”

His buddy burped. “Dude’s gonna have his ass handed to him in that fight.”

They passed, laughing.

Preston sneered. “Vegas brings out the schmucks, but it also brings out the dough. That was BDA on the phone. They’re caving on negotiations for your endorsement deal. Once you win this fight, you’ll be buying your own private jet.”

He sure as hell hoped so. Not the jet part. The having loads of money part. He wanted to prove to his family that some men stuck around and provided for the people they loved. Show Eliza and Asher what it meant to have a responsible father figure, even if he was only their uncle.

Unfortunately, waiting for that win was getting harder by the day. “I hate to ask you this, but I need some cash until then.”

Preston didn’t stop abruptly or cut him a questioning look. “Sure,” he said, nonplussed. “Tell me what you need.”

No judgment. No guilt. The time Eliza’s asthma had landed her in the hospital with acute bronchitis, Preston had helped pay the bills, zero hesitation. Eric had been flattened during that time, devastated seeing his niece in a hospital bed, unable to help. There hadn’t even been a huge match on the horizon to pay Preston back quickly. His manager hadn’t once held it over him.

“I owe you, man,” Eric said.

“You do, and I’d like to collect.”