Chapter 1

• Logan
• Sitting on the locker room bench, Logan’s head was buried in his hands. The throbbing pain mixed with exhaustion pushed him dangerously close to the edge.
• The sound of the speed bag was usually his lullaby, its rhythmic tap-tap-tap accompanied by a steady hissing. It had been his sanctuary since he was a child, accompanying his father to Knockout’s Boxing Club. But when his father disappeared on the night of his first fight, Logan’s passion had waned. Winning no longer mattered without his father’s presence.
• “Logan!”
• Logan winced, gripping his hair tightly as his eyes remained closed. His phone vibrated incessantly in his gym bag at his feet.
• “Logan, what the fuck are you doing?”
• His fingers dug deeper into his hair. It had grown too long, a detail he despised but had no time to fix. In the grand scheme of things, grooming took a backseat when time was scarce.
• The phone stopped vibrating.
• For a brief moment, relief washed over him. Then, it started again.
• “Logan!”
• Logan’s head snapped up, causing a sharp pain in his back and shoulders. Squinting through sweat and spots, he saw Noah Carter leaning against the doorframe. Noah, two weight classes bigger than him, spent his time mentoring neighborhood kids instead of focusing on himself. That’s why Logan had gravitated towards him in the first place, seeking guidance before realizing he couldn’t spare the time.
• “You taking a nap?”
• “I’m fucking dehydrated,” Logan replied. “Can’t focus, and I haven’t even started my workout.”
• Noah leaned in, resting his hands on the top of the doorframe, and stared at Logan as if he had lost his mind in the past thirty-six hours of relentless work and sleep deprivation.
• “When was the last time you ate? Drank water? Took a vitamin or a nap?”
• The questions intensified Logan’s headache. “Uh, last Tuesday.”
• “You’re an idiot,” Noah sighed. “I’m telling Liam about this.”
• Logan sat up straight, mouth agape, ready to offer a string of excuses and protests. But Noah flipped him off.
• “If you step into the ring like this, you’re going to get knocked out. Well, you get knocked out anyway, but at least when you’re putting in the work, not because you’re too stupid to hydrate and sleep before coming in.”
• “Don’t tell,” Logan pleaded, sounding like a five-year-old. “Seriously, man. I’ve been slacking, and Liam will drop me.”
• “You spend your days driving a cab and doing handyman stuff around your building. That’s not slacking,” Noah frowned, genuine concern in his eyes. “Liam would never drop you. He’s been your trainer since before you had pubic hair.”
• Logan’s phone chimed loudly from his gym bag, but he ignored it.
• “He says my head isn’t in the game lately.”
• “It’s not,” Noah stated, jerking his chin toward Logan. “You look paler than usual.”
• Logan couldn’t deny that. As he taped his fists, he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror and cringed. His mother’s complexion was absent, replaced by sunken eyes and a lackluster appearance. He realized that two weeks of surviving on protein bars had taken a toll on his body, and juggling three jobs had shredded his already frayed mind.
• Slumping forward, Logan buried his head in his hands again. “Fuck.”
• “It’s cool, man,” Noah reassured, rubbing his shaved head, sweat glistening under the gym lights. “Take tomorrow to get your shit together. Sleep in and be ready in the afternoon. There’s no point in you pushing it. You’ll just get fucked up and hear a forty-five-minute lecture from Liam.”
• Logan’s determination weakened as thoughts of his cramped apartment and the comfort of his lumpy bed filled his mind. He yearned for a hot shower, a satisfying meal, and a good night’s sleep.
• “You seem distant. Listen to me and leave,” Noah advised.
• “Nah, let him stay. I wouldn’t mind seeing Luis knock him out a few times,” Oliver taunted, making his way towards the exit.
• Noah chuckled, “You talk too much for someone who doesn’t fight. You’re just here to work out.”
• “Just because I don’t fight in the ring doesn’t mean I don’t fight,” retorted Logan.
• “Alright, Fight Club. Get outta here. Grown folks are talking,” Noah said dismissively.
• Logan stood up, grabbed his gym bag, and slung it over his shoulder. With his hands still taped up, he planned to deal with them later. Right now, his mission was clear: shower, eat, and sleep.
• The words “shower, meal, sleep” repeated in his head like a mantra. The thought of the lamb casserole his sister had left for him made his mouth water, even though he hadn’t been there to receive it. Her text message about sneaking into his apartment and feeding him made him appreciate her efforts, even if he pretended to be offended.
• “Thanks, man,” Logan said, slapping Noah on the back with a forced grin. “Sometimes I need someone to keep me grounded.”
• “No, what you need is a girlfriend. Find someone to take care of you,” Noah smirked. “And I don’t mean your sister. Ava can take care of me.”
• “Ha. Text her that and prove it. She never believes me when I say you have a crush on her,” Logan replied, tightening his grip on his bag as his phone continued to ring. “But I don’t have time for dating. I barely have time to eat.”
• “Well, stop neglecting your body and start winning fights. Going pro will bring in the money you need,” Noah advised.
• Logan acknowledged the truth but cringed at the thought of going pro. Unlike other boxers, he didn’t dream of the fame and pay-per-view fights.
• “See you tomorrow, Noah,” Logan said, parting ways as Noah headed to the shower.
• Logan hurried down the hallway, entering the open space of the gym. The walls were adorned with faded newspaper clippings, signed photos, and Polaroids of Liam’s dad and the boxers he had trained. Memories of people who were no longer there to reminisce filled the space. Logan had once been in awe of these mementos, imagining an epic story, but he knew Knockout’s was just another small boxing gym in the Bronx, overshadowed by more famous establishments.
• Liam, the gym owner, had questioned his father’s decision to bring him here. Logan overheard conversations suggesting that better gyms would have welcomed him. But in the short time his father had been in his life, he realized Logan lacked the killer instinct and the ambition of a true champion.
• Walking past Liam’s office in a hurry, Logan’s surroundings blurred. He noticed Luis Ramos, the one he should have sparred with, glaring at him from across the room.
• “Not only wasting Liam’s time but wasting everyone else’s too,” Luis called out. “Where do you think you’re going, Logan? I’ve been waiting for my rematch all damn day.”
• Guilt consumed Logan, halting him in his tracks. The rhythmic sound of someone working on the speed bag filled the air nearby. The strap of his bag pressed into his fingers, threatening to rub off his skin. The relentless ringing of his phone resumed, refusing to relent until he answered. Despite the predictable Friday night calls, he realized he might have been avoiding the wrong one. Glancing at the side pocket of his bag, he pondered his next move.
• A flash of platinum blond hair invaded his mind as he glanced at his phone. It belonged to someone with long, silky locks hidden beneath a floppy hat, oversized sunglasses, and a cigarette. He had been right. This was the call he had been dodging, and the displayed name held his gaze captive.
• The choice of that specific picture of Ashton, among countless others on Instagram, baffled him. Yet, it had a profound effect, chipping away at his determination. The real Ashley, with het mischievous grin and thrift store style, held power over him. But the public persona of Ashley lacked the same influence.
• Undoubtedly, it was this version of Ashley who was calling him now.
• “Hey, are you ignoring me over there?” a voice interrupted his thoughts.
• Logan let the bag fall to the ground. “Nah, I’m here,” he replied, adjusting his taped tank top to eliminate the excess fabric. “Let’s do it.”