12:25am A: Good. Night, Dani.
12:27am D: Night, Aiden
11
AIDEN
I’m warming up for my workout when I hear Coach bark my name. I turn to see him walking out of the office with his usual hardass expression.
"What's up? I ask, nerves already simmering below the surface.
Because that's anI have a fight for youlook.
"I have a fight for you," he confirms.
He stops in front of me and looks at me with an expression that can only be described as pleased, smug, and leashed, all in one. And with the next words out of his mouth, I know why.
"Ready to go pro?"
My first response is shock. Yeah, going pro has been a dream ever since I got involved in this sport in high school, but I thought I was still a few fights away from that happening. I still have so much to learn. Typically Coach's mentality is to leave your losses for the amateur fights—that’s where you want to learn, and losses are the best way to do that. That way when you go pro, you've got a rock-solid base and can really take things to the next level.
I'm knocked out of my open-mouthed stupor when Tristan grins and claps me on the back. "Fuck yes," he says. "It's about time you stepped into the big leagues."
"You think I'm ready?" I ask Coach, still shell-shocked. "I mean, who am I fighting?"
He cocks an eyebrow, which I immediately interpret as,How many times have I told you that it doesn't matter who you're fighting? You runyourgame plan, not theirs.
"Only reason you're allowed to ask that question now is because we will actually start training for pro opponents now," he answers, the unspoken ending to it clearly beingbut you know better. "You're fighting Tyler Hastings in six weeks."
I swallow nervously, my cocky façade cracking for the first time in a long time. Fighting is the only thing that ever threatens it, though I'm still pretty good at keeping it in place—usually.
Leave it to the thought of my first pro fight to be the thing that reduces me to a nervous mess.
"Aiden," Coach murmurs, giving me a knowing look. Because he can read his fighters better than anyone else can. "You're ready. Do you trust me? Do you trust your team?"
I nod without hesitation. Of course I trust him. And the team he's created. Not only are he and Tristan the ideal leaders—because of their experience but also because of their patience and way of teaching—but my teammates are the best, too. Because even though fighting is an individual sport, it's the people you surround yourself with that really make the difference. Without them, fighters wouldn't even make it into the ring.
"You'll do great," Tristan tells me, squeezing my shoulder in the most encouraging gesture I've ever seen from him. I nod numbly.
"You good?" Coach asks. It's his way of asking if I want the fight—if I'm ready to take my career to the next level.
"I'm good," I murmur, already coming to terms with the fact thatof courseI want this fight, I'm just a little nervous about how huge of a step this is. I straighten up and clench my jaw as I look directly at Coach. "I want it."
"Attaboy," Tristan says with a grin and another slap on the back. Coach just gives me a nod of approval.
"Take him through some sparring rounds," he instructs Tristan. "I want him working on landing from the outside and avoiding takedowns."
Tristan nods. "Yes, sir."
I wait for Coach to walk back into the office before I let myself mutter a quietfuck.
"You're fine, you're just in your head," Tristan says in an effort to appease me. "You'll feel better when you start moving around and you realize you're actually good at this shit."
My eyes widen and my lips part in surprise as I swivel to face my friend and coach. "Was that… encouragement andpraise?" I ask in shock.
He rolls his eyes and shoves me in the direction of the lockers. "Don't get used to it, asshole. Go get ready. I'll grab Max."
But before I can turn and do as he says, we hear shouting coming from the other end of the gym.