No Regrets (No Regrets #1) Page 6

  After dressing in jeans and a t-shirt, I pull out of the lot with the only other local gym as my destination. Once there, the corrugated metal warehouse looms before the truck. It kills me that it’s come to this. No one is like Carlo when it comes to training for this sport and he’s given me up for Parker.

  The glass door, tiny in the wide, windowless wall, announces Westside Fight Club. My legs forge on and I’m not surprised the room is already full of movement. One wall suspends black and blue punching bags. Further away, near the far wall, there is an array of mats with a couple of pairs of fighters already going at it.

  A dark-skinned man in a black tank top with tattoos lining his arms leans over the ropes surrounding a square ring in the forefront of the room. He’s eyeing the two men grappling with each other on the mat within the ring. I walk toward the man, he looks to possibly be in charge. He turns his head a moment as I near the area but directs his attention back to the fighters. My body leans in next to him and I watch as the two on the mat, one dark-haired, one blond, punch one another and struggle to gain dominance. The dark-haired man pulls the other man in a choke from behind. I’m sure of a tap out but the blond man surprises me and grasps the other man in a kind of headlock, pulling him over his head by his arms. The dark-haired man slaps the man on his back, and before he can move, the other man is on top of him, forcing him to tap the blond man’s arm. Both men refrain from each other for a moment before standing. The man beside me puts his fingers to his mouth and whistles. He calls out, “Jonesy, that was one gutsy move that paid off.”

  The dark-haired man pats Jonesy on the back and shakes his hand.

  Jonesy has a wide grin on his face. He looks at the man beside me and answers, “Yeah, well, I’m counting on all my moves to pay off, Jax.”

  Jax shakes his head. “Go cool off. We wouldn’t want either one of you to have a big head.”

  Both men laugh and walk off the mat, grabbing gym bags on the way to a hall in the corner of the room. As they leave the area, the man turns to me and offers his hand. “Jackson Pierce. I’m the owner of this fine establishment. You must be Greylan Pace.”

  “Yep.” I extend my hand taking his outstretched palm.

  Jackson smiles revealing gold on his canines. He states, “Carlo called.”

  I nod and ask apprehensively, “Do you have any more room?”

  Jackson chuckles. “What you really want to know is am I ready to make the jump? Are you ready? Carlo isn’t sure if you still have what it takes.”

  Hearing Carlo’s thoughts from this guy hammers it home yet again how things have changed. I suspect that those are supposed to be motivational words. My hands drop and I shove them into the pockets of my jeans.

  Staring at the man for a moment, I answer, “Carlo’s right. I’m not sure, either. It’s been a long time and things have changed…”

  Jackson cuts me off, releasing the rope he was leaning on.

  “I don’t have time for bullshit. I watched your career and you would have been sitting exactly where Parker Harris is. You’re not, but it can happen again. No, I don’t have room for a has been working out just to pass the time.”

  I look away, pissed at myself even more for all of the choices I’ve made.

  Jackson begins to walk away but stops and turns around. He’s playing with a toothpick in the corner of his mouth. He removes it and looks me up and down.

  “Do I have room for you to make a comeback? Yes, but be forewarned: I will work your ass off. You’ll be wishing for that pussy assed trainer, Carlo.”

  He walks away before I have a chance to respond, but my guess is that Jackson doesn’t want an answer right away. I’m thankful for that fact. Obviously I have a lot of thinking to do.

  Chapter 7

  As darkness threatens the sky, the truck makes its way to what will hopefully be my new place of employment, known as Juno’s Jackpot Bar. The entrance is non-descript, situated snuggly with other establishments in the lower part of West Brunswick. The sign over the door displays a treasure chest with a crab peeking out and coins flying all around the letters spelling out the name. I spoke to Juno on the phone and she instructed me to come in that evening. I walk around to the back of the building. The alley behind is littered with cans and boxes next to a dumpster emanating a putrid smell. Holding my breath, I extend my hand to knock on the heavy looking metal door. A moment later it opens to reveal a small framed woman with long black hair peppered with gray streaks. Her T-shirt showcases the same treasure chest and lettering as the sign out front. Her warm brown eyes seem kind but her set mouth says that she won’t put up with anything. I imagine she is rightly named Juno. She looks fifty-something and it seems as though she has definitely seen her share of life’s ups and downs.

  She takes a drag on a cigarette burning extremely close to her fingers and mutters in surprise, “You showed up.”

  My brows raise in response to her comment, but knowing Jimmy, he told her about my history and she probably figured I’d be a fuck up. The day before on the phone she didn’t ask about my past, so I didn’t offer. This job is important.

  She states, “You must be Greylan.”

  I nod, realizing that statement is a common one today, first with Jackson and now here. She smiles. “Good to meet you. Come on back to the office.”

  She opens the door to a clean space. A computer monitor displays camera shots of the bar and building beyond. The neatness of the area is a bit of a shock because I had her pegged as messy based on her haphazard hair and clothes. She produces paperwork that I quickly scan through and sign.

  She takes a quick breath once the papers are finished. “Christina is behind the bar with you tonight. It’s Saturday night, the busiest of the week, so you get a crash course.”

  She stands, putting her cigarette out in an empty ash tray on her desk, and turns, winking, as the meeting wraps up. Her eyes linger on me like she wants to add something. I know that look. Fighting for as long as I have, there have been plenty of women who have thrown themselves at me. Before she can ask any additional questions, I walk out. She’ll probably pursue it later, and when I turn her down, the job will disappear.

  She passes by me, seeming annoyed, and calls back, “Okay, big boy, follow me.”

  Her sudden pet nickname seems wrong in the seductive way that she says it, but I follow her anyway. At this point, what is there to lose? I can’t get much lower.

  We enter the bar from the back hall. It’s dark even though there are penlights everywhere. Following Juno down the length of the counter and around the side, I notice a girl washing bar glasses in the lone sink. She glances up in curiosity. Her light blonde hair is wound into a tight braid trailing down her back. Bright blue eyes stare at me down a straight nose. Her face is so pale that the freckles dotting it stand out like the stars on a black night. Her frame is thin and tall. She looks back and forth between me and Juno for a minute before Juno says, “Christina, I’d like you to meet Greylan. Greylan, this is Christina.”

  I attempt an upbeat tone. “Nice to meet you.”

  A mocking smile spreads over her lips as she looks at Juno. “Where’d ya get this one?”

  “Does it really matter? You’re short -handed and I promised I’d find someone.” Juno seems withdrawn.

  Christina straightens her shoulders and diverts her attention to me. “Have you tended bar before?”

  Frowning, I feel like this is the third degree. What the hell, it’s just serving drinks to people. How hard can it be? I shake my head in response. She sighs and looks past me to Juno. “Are you serious? Experience would be nice. He’s gonna get his ass kicked.”

  Juno’s voice takes on an irritated edge. “Take him or leave him. What do I care? I did someone a favor. This is what you get.” She turns around and strides back to her office. My eyes narrow in a glare at this chick who knows nothing about my life and has already dismissed me.

  She turns around and walks to the other end of the bar, slamming things aro
und. I’m not sure what to do, but one thing is clear, this chick has no say in whether I stay. The job is more important than anything at the moment, regardless of what she says.

  The bar is typical with televisions spaced evenly on the walls. Three pool tables litter the back of the long room. Directly across from the bar is a stage, the wall behind it littered with posters for various bands. What I find odd is the scarcity of tables. There are about ten high top tables but the rest of the room is void of places to sit, the exception being the chairs lining the bar. When I turn back to Christina she’s staring at me, not like she wants to jump me like Juno, more as if she is studying to see if I can actually do the job.

  She opens her mouth to say something but it quickly closes to a tight line. She looks away, back to what she was doing and calls over to me, “Get to work, then. The coolers won’t stock themselves. The beer is in the walk- in down the hall in back. You have exactly thirty minutes before show time.”

  I can’t help the smile at the corner of my mouth at her feistiness. She definitely seems like a short fuse kind of girl. Maybe proving myself to her is in my best interest.

  An hour later I find out exactly what Christina meant by show time. The bar is full, so full that it reveals why there is a lack of tables. If tables took up the space there wouldn’t be enough room for all of the people. We stay busy, serving drinks constantly. Christina has started warming up to me a bit. When we pass each other she makes snide remarks at me about being a rookie. It’s amusing and passes the time. Other servers have appeared at different intervals throughout the night, helping to keep up with the amount of people.

  Hours later a band starts playing, filling the loud room with even more noise. A first for me, I actually look forward to that grungy motel I now call home, at least the bed sounds good to my already sore muscles.

  Chapter 8

  I sleep in until almost ten the next morning. A few more nights like last night and maybe I’ll be able to get out of this dump faster than I thought. Both Christina and I walked away with a lot more in tips than I would have imagined. Maybe tending bar isn’t as bad as I thought. The blonde chick with a chip on her shoulder pops into my head. She seems to be a closed off person, similar to me. Not that we got a chance to really talk because it was slammed all night. Every comment out of her mouth seemed like an innocent dig at my lack of experience. I guess she came to terms with her uneasiness when I first met her. At the end of the night, after all of the drunks left, we were both quiet and tired. She didn’t pry or ask anything about me. She just gave instructions on how to close the bar down. I was thankful for that.

  Tonight there is another shift. But first I need to make a decision about Jackson. I climb out of bed and shower in record time. The warm water seems even less today than yesterday. Once I’m in the truck, my phone rings. I pull it out to see Trinity’s sweet face flashing across the screen.

  “Hey, Trin.”

  “Grey, how are you? How’d your first night at Juno’s go?”

  A chuckle leaves with my answer, “It was good, busy. How are you?”

  “I’m great. Are you sure you’re okay? I feel like we kicked you out. Kind of like you didn’t really have a choice about leaving.”

  “Trinity, you know I couldn’t have stayed there forever. This is your life with Parker and you don’t need your big brother hovering over your shoulder at every turn.” I can’t believe I’m saying this. Maybe it’s to convince myself that it’s all right to move on; more so for my sister’s sake.

  “I know, but the circumstances that you left on. I just…I don’t want you to hate Parker. I know he’s not your favorite person and that’s fine but…” Her voice trails off. Do I really want to have this conversation with her? No, Parker is unfortunately in her life and I don’t like it. The last thing I want to do is assure her that I’m okay with Parker because I’m not.

  “Trinity, it’s fine. Why don’t you come out to Juno’s one night? It’s a world of its own.”

  “Way to change the subject, big bro. I’ll check it out one of these nights.” Silence spreads over the line and she adds, “Okay, I better go.”

  “All right, kid, take care.”

  “You too.”

  Thumbing the end button, I feel the need to get this uneasiness out. I head in the direction of Westside Fight Club. It hits home as thoughts mull through about this decision. I’m really going to go through with it. There are no other options as far as I’m concerned. I am a fighter all the way through. It also occurs to me that my standing is as an amateur again, starting at the bottom. At least this time I know how it all works. Carlo was right, it won’t happen if I don’t want it bad enough. The bar gig last night was fun but it’s not something I want to continue for the rest of my life. Get back to the top, that’s what my sole focus needs to be. And once again Parker pops into my head. There isn’t room up there for both of us. If I pursue this, will my sister forgive me if I knock him down? I shake my head, trying to dispel the thought, one thing at a time.

  The truck angles into a spot across the sparse lot from the broad warehouse. Taking a deep breath before opening the door, I walk into the wide space greeted by loud, heavy rock music. It reminds me of the bar last night. The band that played was definitely hard rock. It seeps into me as I set my mind to what I’m about to do.

  A whistle louder than the music rings through the building. Looking around, I spot Jackson exactly in the same place as yesterday. This time though there are no fighters in the ring. My hand absently shoulders my bag and I aim for the ring. Jackson exclaims, “You came back. Does that mean what I think it means?”

  A small tilt of my lip tells him that I am in fact going for it again.

  Jackson orders, “Well, get yourself ready then. I don’t have all day.”

  I find the locker room and open a locker to stow my bag, but a man just closing his own calls down the row, “I think this one might be yours.”

  Looking to the door he indicated, I find “Pace,” in small lettering, fitted onto the metal door. A deep breath leaves my lips as I place my bag into that locker. My fingers graze the letters as the door closes and it hits home that I can’t mess up this second chance.

  Nearing the ring where Jackson is still leaning against the ropes, chewing on a toothpick, I ask cheerfully, “What made you so sure I’d be back?”

  Jackson stands, grabbing a punch mitt off of the wall nearby. “There are two people in this world, Greylan Pace, fighters and observers. If you’re a fighter, you’re screwed because you can’t just give it up. You live for the fight. An observer, on the other hand, they let the rest of us do all the work and reap the benefits. But it’s ingrained in us. I know you still want it but you’re gonna have to work, and it will be harder than it ever was. You’re five years older and the guys you’ll fight are five years stronger.”

  I wrap my hands in new black gloves and ask, taking a deep breath, “Then why are we wasting time talking about it?”

  A booming laugh bursts from Jackson as he centers the mitt, angling across from me with a serious expression. I begin punching the mitt, and with each hit, Jackson taunts, claiming that I hit like a girl or that I might as well give it up. It has the desired effect. I turn my attention to my stance and method. We fall into the routine my body knows so well. Jackson’s loud voice gathers an audience, though. I try to block them out but more comments spread through the group. It continues for a while but I have a hard time focusing. My hands stop punching and I turn to the others standing near. Jackson yells at me, still chewing on the toothpick. “Gonna have to get over it. There’ll always be someone. Don’t let that be your weakness.”

  The same blond dude, Jonesy, from the day before, pipes up, “Let me get at him, Jax. I bet I could give him a beat down. I heard of him, he had his chance. I don’t know why you’re wasting your time on that when you could train this for the pro circuit.”

  That comment does it. I wave the guy over as my anger rises. Jackson clai
ms, “Not a good idea on your first day. Don’t think this is the way to make friends.”

  Pulling out the mouth guard, I tell him, “I’m not here to make friends.”

  I stare at Jonesy before asking, “So you think you’re the next big thing?”

  “Yep, I’ll enjoy kicking your ass.”

  “Really? Did they tell you I killed a man?”

  Jonesy looks between me and Jackson, his brows are raised in question to gauge how serious I am. He turns back to the gathered crowd, almost as if deciding to change his mind but he firms up his shoulders and claims, “No, they didn’t, but it doesn’t matter.”

  “Whatever you say.” I chuckle as we both bite our guards and move in a circle, feeling each other out. I make the first move. My arm surges to punch Jonesy in the side, which he blocks. Immediately my leg follows with a sweep. The connection makes him lose his balance; he quickly regains his footing but not before I’m in his face, forcing an uppercut to connect with his jaw. He grabs my arms and forces me down to my back. I roll onto my side and jump to my feet before he can land across my body. We move toward each other, grabbing in a clinch, moving in circles, trying to bring the other down. I take a deep breath before trying to sweep his legs out from under him again. This time it works. My body lands on top of him and my elbow meets his chest repeatedly until a tap vibrates through my shoulder.

  I stand slowly and thrust my hand out to help him up, a trickle of a smile spreads with the feeling. Jonesy takes my hand as his lips spread in a grin. He looks at Jackson and then back at me. “Thanks for not killing me.”

  A frown forms on my brow as my eyes move back to Jackson. The smug expression on his face tells me all I need to know. “That was planned, wasn’t it?”

  “I had to know if you still had anything left.” Jackson looks at me. “I told you yesterday, don’t waste my fuckin’ time.”