Page 90 of The Knockout Rule
Graham swiveled on his heel, not waiting for Eric’s reply, and silence cloaked the gym.
Someone behind him whistled. “Dude’s gonna get thrashed.”
Slowly, the sound of gloves hitting leather resumed. Eric’s pulse rushed. Graham had never been a touchy-feely guy. The man rarely smiled. Even when he did it was more of a slight lip tilt. Eric was used to Graham’s hard-knocks ways and steely looks. He appreciated his trainer’s all-business approach, but as he walked into the office and got slammed full force by Graham’s piercing glare, he knew something bad had happened.
“Is Isla okay?” Just saying her name felt like a fresh stab.
“No. She’s not.”
This wasn’t a stab. This was acid in his gut. “What happened?” His voice came out as a croak. Was she hurt? Had something happened to her in her apartment? Driving to work? While out with another man? The acid in his gut sloshed.
Graham’s glower deepened. “That’s what you’re gonna tell me. What the hell happened between you two?”
So, she wasn’t hurt. Not physically, at least. “We broke up. But what do you mean she’s not okay?”
“I know my girl. She’s strong and willful and stubborn, and sometimes a pain in my ass, and she has bouts of anxiety, but what she isn’t is sad. Until now. All she’s ever said is that you two didn’t work out. She didn’t say why, and I didn’t pry. But I’m prying now. You’ve been as big of a mope as her lately. So I’ll ask again—what the hell happened between you two?”
The office was small. Nothing but a messy desk, stray boxing equipment, and sparse walls with a few hanging photos, including one of Graham holding up his heavyweight belt. Eric sat in the too-hard chair opposite the metal desk, his forearms propped on his knees, feeling like the small space was closing in. Isla must be as sad as him about their irreconcilable differences. The awareness gutted him. “How’s her anxiety been?”
Graham crossed his arms, not budging from his intimidating pose. “Fine lately. Now answer my question.”
Eric was glad her anxiety had dissipated. She’d obviously made the best decision for herself, breaking up with him, even if it was tough on them both. “It’s pretty simple, really. I told her I’d retire when I won the last fight, but I didn’t win, and things got tougher at home. I needed that endorsement deal. So I’m still boxing and she doesn’t want to be with a boxer.”
A hard line in permanent ink. He rubbed his eyes.
“So quit the damn sport.”
Eric snapped his attention to Graham. “What?”
His trainer flung his arms. “You quit boxing. You two love each other, so you quit and you be with her.”
Oh, like it was that simple. “My family needs the money boxing provides. And why the hell would you suggest I quit? You never stopped, never backed down when it was your time. How am I any different than you?”
“You don’t love the sport!” Graham’s growly voice echoed off the walls. “Not anymore, at least. Not the way a fighter should.”
Eric opened his mouth to argue, yell because he felt like yelling, but Graham wasn’t wrong. Eric didn’t get off on the high of the crowd, the adrenaline of landing a solid punch. He felt good in those moments, and boxing strategy challenged and interested him, but if given the choice, he’d take a quiet night with a textbook over sweating it out in a ring any day.
“It’s not that simple,” he said. Eliza was healthy and happy these days. His mother’s wrist had healed and she was back to work. They had heat in their house and food on the table. He may be miserable in his personal life, but seeing his family well took precedence. “I may not fight for the love of the sport like you did, but I fight for my family. Not the same drive, but it’s a responsibility I don’t take lightly. I do this for them, and I won’t let them down.”
Graham made a disgusted sound. His scowl shifted to the floor, his jaw bunched, like he was having an internal yelling match. Then he said, “I have Parkinson’s.”
Eric froze. “You what?”
“Parkinson’s, for two years now, but the symptoms didn’t give me trouble till last fall. That’s why I asked Isla to come to Vegas. I told her right before that trip and told her she couldn’t tell anyone. That’s why I missed some sessions with you, and why I ended up with stitches in my forehead. It’s also why you may think you’re doing this for your family, but you’re dead wrong.”
Eric pressed his fist to his chest, tried to stem the sharp pain behind his ribs. Graham was a rock. A solid beast of a man. If he’d been ill, Eric hadn’t noticed. The sneers and scowls and shouts to work harder hadn’t changed. Or Eric had been too in his head, focused on his training and falling for Isla and the heartache afterward to open his eyes and see beyond his own nose. Parkinson’s. He was sick for Graham. Hated to see this man, who’d become a fixture in his life—a man he’d grown to love, gruffness and all—shrink in any way.
And Isla. So much suddenly made more sense: her brash rudeness when they’d first met, the panic attacks he’d witnessed, and her final words to him: My anxiety’s better, but I’ve lived this life already. It isn’t the future I want.
Her anxiety had only been a portion of what had held her back from staying with Eric. The bulk had been this: firsthand anguish of loving a fighter who’d been cursed with a cruel disease.
Eric’s body felt incredibly heavy. His head. His shoulders. His heart. Eyes stinging, he said, “I’m so sorry.”
For Graham and for Isla.
The edges of Graham’s frown softened slightly. “Then listen to me. I’ve fought Isla on going public with news of my diagnosis. She wants to use me as a mouthpiece, to go after the World Boxing Association, get them to make changes to better protect its athletes. What she doesn’t understand is I may resent aspects of my health, but I wouldn’t change my past. I loved boxing. Still do. If this is the result, so be it. But she was right to push me to quit lying. I plan to announce my illness. I’m still not sure how, and I don’t want to shine a negative light on boxing, but I’m done lying to the world and putting my daughter second.”
Eric hung his head, sad for Graham and feeling incredibly stuck.
