Panting, I swung an uppercut at the mitts Nicco held, tapping them as I bounced on my feet. We’d been training for the past few hours, and I was feeling better than I ever had. When I successfully landed a kick, he dropped his hands, giving me a wide grin. I still didn’t like the kid, but I respected him. It was progress.
“You’re on fire, Crash. There’s no way you won’t win this week. Are you feeling ready? It’s your first fight back since you were—“
“Beaten to a pulp by Delgado? Yeah. I’m ready.” I wiped my brow, the hard edge of the tape scratching against my skin in the process.
“You’re definitely going to be a contender for the new venue when it opens. Even at your age, I think you have a shot at making a name for yourself if that’s what you want.”
“What I want?” I scoffed. “How about you lay off my age? I’m 35. I’m not ancient.”
“I’ll drop it, old man, when you stop calling me kid.” He gave me a pointed look, his smile smug as I shook my head.
“Fine.” Smirking at his win, he walked over and helped me with removing the tape and then checked on the tattoo he’d given me.
“I should’ve thought of where you wanted this before I did it with your fight coming up,” he groused, lifting the tape we’d placed on it while I worked out. When he peeled the layer away, his fingers brushed against the ink, and I stifled a groan. It was sore, but I didn’t want him to know that. The guy was too cocky for his own good.
“What made you choose an arrow?”
Shrugging, I turned my back as I grabbed a towel and water. I didn’t want to tell him the real reason.
“Come on, man. I’m the artist. I should be given the reason, at least. I promise not to tell if it’s embarrassing or something.”
Sighing, I turned and observed him. Nicco’s face was relaxed, his eyes honest, and I saw the true man standing there for once. Not the joker, not the party guy, not even the mafia 2nd in command, whatever that was… I just saw him. Crossing my arms, I stared him down, wanting to know if he’d push back. When he didn’t, I caved. If he could be honest with me, I could do the same with him. I ignored the fact that I also wanted to share it with someone.
“I’m sure you know what arrow tattoos represent,” I barked, not exactly hitting the sharing portion I’d gone for.
“I know any tattoo can have various reasons and depend on the person. So try again.”
“You’re annoying.” I rolled my eyes, but reminded myself I’d wanted to share.
“Perhaps,” he shrugged. “But it’s part of my charm. Now, spill, or I’ll just assume it’s because you don’t know your right or left, and the arrow symbolizes, this way is up, stupid.”
“You’re beyond annoying. You’re moronic.”
“Stupid it is.” He spun on his heels, heading out of the gym, and I dropped my head back, looking up at the ceiling as I counted.
“Fine. It has two meanings,” I sighed. Leveling my head, I found him turned, a smirk on his face again as he waited. “The first one, the broken one, represents me letting go of the past that has burdened me, and breaking myself free of that path. The second one represents the course I’m setting for myself and the freedom I have.”
“Cool.”
He spun, walking away, and I rolled my eyes. “That’s all you have to say? Cool?”
“No, but it was fun to watch you get all annoyed by it.” He came back into the room, stopping only a few feet from me this time. “You picked a badass tat. I’m impressed with the thought that went into them. You seem more of a spur of the moment type of person, not one that thinks through shit.”
“Ah, well, you’d be wrong. I’m the ‘overthink it to the tenth degree, can’t figure out a solution, so I just fake it until the last minute and hope it works out’ type. Which it never does, by the way.”
“That explains a lot about you, actually.”
“How so?” I asked, crossing my arms in the other direction. I didn’t want to admit how curious I was of his answer.
“I’m guessing your life wasn’t easy growing up, creating that unstable backdrop for you. There’s also this attitude of wanting to prove yourself to the extent you will often put yourself in situations, even if it’s unsafe. For example, trying to fight with broken ribs. You’re stubborn and don’t trust a lot of people, throwing up that guarded front to protect yourself, which led me to the troubled childhood.”
“You make me sound like a neurotic asshole,” I huffed, not wanting to admit how he so easily voiced all of my fears.
“I wasn’t finished, but you are an asshole. You can’t deny that.”
“Fine. But I like surly better.”
“I’m sure you do since a beautiful woman calls you that.”