Page 80 of The Knockout Rule

The win. Only one option. Seven days to prime his mind and body for that reality.

They didn’t talk again. Not with words. He peeled off her clothes, used his tongue on her until she cried his name. She took her turn on her knees, wrapped her pretty pink lips around his cock and sucked. Stars. A blast of heat. It took all his willpower not to explode in her mouth. Then she straddled him on the couch, rode him, rolling her hips, taking him deep, both of them clutching at each other, desperate to make this last as long as possible.

He detonated too soon, a second before her, both of them milking every last bit of pleasure from each other.

“I love you,” she whispered, hot and sweaty in his arms.

“Love you so much.” He did. Still couldn’t believe one woman could mean this much to him. Now it was time to focus.

* * *

Eric walked through the casino toward the training gym. People stopped and pointed as usual, whispering to their friends. Others held up phones to snap his photo. A few guys asked him for autographs. More people recognized him lately, publicity for the big fight gaining momentum as the date neared. Where he’d normally stop and say a few words, sign an autograph or two, he used his Brick Smash image to his benefit and grunted, pushing past the gawkers.

No distractions this week. Press was limited to the weigh-in and a few select promotions, just enough to keep up his end of his shitty contract. The rest of the time all he’d think about was boxing. Graham had drilled into Eric, time and again, how clear his mind had to be going into a fight. His fists did half the work. His mind—focus, determination, belief in the win, visualization techniques—did the rest. Graham’s head game and the psychology of boxing was a big part of why Eric had made it this far. Mental fortitude separated professionals from amateurs.

He walked into the training locker room, unloaded his clothes. Once he was changed, Graham came in. His coach didn’t speak as he tied Eric’s wraps and checked their stability. “You’re good to go,” Graham said afterward. “Get in the gym when you’re ready.”

He left and Eric rolled out his neck, bounced on his toes a few times, tossed a few jabs.

“Looking in fine form, my man.” Preston walked in and slapped Eric’s back. “How’s my champ feeling?”

“Good.” He didn’t elaborate. He never talked much when he was in his zone. Graham knew the drill, hence their silent hand wrapping. Preston knew the drill, too, usually gave him space leading up to a fight.

Today the guy paced, wearing uncharacteristically creased slacks and shirt. “I hate to ask this, but I’m assuming you can’t pay back any of those loans, right?”

Eric quit bouncing and jabbing. “You know my situation.” This win was his ticket to paying his manager back, with interest. To never worrying about covering family emergencies again. This wasn’t news to Preston. “Something happen?”

Preston slumped slightly. “An investment went south. It was supposed to be a sure thing, now I’m a little screwed at the moment. Anyway”—he waved a fidgety hand—“not your concern. Just focus on the fight. We both need it.”

Eric didn’t like the added pressure or seeing Preston in a tight spot. The guy spent money carelessly, lived beyond his means, even though his means were substantial. Eric might not agree with the excess, but he didn’t want his manager to lose his shirt. “The win is ours,” he told him.

Preston’s fidgety hands settled. He nodded once, sharply. “That’s my guy. I’ll check on you later this week.”

He left, and Eric rolled his neck again. Threw a few more jabs. Took a step toward the gym, but his phone rang.

“Goddamn it.” He shoved his hand into his gym bag, pulled out his phone. Rosa again. He swore a few more times, then picked up. “I’m busy.” He winced at his curtness, couldn’t find an ounce of calm to channel.

“I know this is your broody week of focused silence,” she said, coasting over his rudeness. “I wouldn’t normally call—and please don’t freak out, everything’s fine—but Eliza’s in the hospital. Something went around at school and she got sick. Looks like asthmatic bronchitis again.”

“Jesus.” He sat on the bench, dragged a hand down his face. He pictured beautiful little Eliza the last time she’d been really sick, so tiny in the hospital bed. “Is she okay?”

“She’s fine, like I said. She will be, at least. And I’m not just saying that so you don’t worry. We caught it early. Knew how to read the signs this time. But…”

Money. They needed to pay more bills, and he couldn’t ask Preston for help this time. “We’ll have a buffer between receiving the bill and when we have to pay,” he said. “After my win, we’ll be covered, so it doesn’t matter.”

“And if you don’t win?”

“I will win, Rosa.”

She sighed. “Maybe I’ll look into financial aid on my end. Just in case.”

“I said I’d cover it.” He swallowed hard, forced a gentler tone. “I’ll have the money in a week. Just please tell Eliza I love her. Give her a big hug and kiss from me.”

“Of course I will. And…”

She paused so long he pressed the phone harder to his ear. “You still there?”

“Yeah.” But her voice sounded tiny. “Just miss you.”