Fighting Silence (On the Ropes #1)(57)

I’d always heard that you couldn’t judge a man’s character by the balance in his bank account. Thank f*ck for that because character might be the only place I wasn’t overdrawn. And right then, Slate’s offer sounded a whole lot like pity. No matter how appealing it sounded, I wanted to make it without having to rely on anyone else. I couldn’t afford to sacrifice character.

“Why are you doing this right now? What part of that conversation confused you? I don’t want your charity.”

“It’s not charity. I’m gonna make a shit-ton of money off your ass. This isn’t a free ride. I’ll get all of your winnings until you’ve paid me back. Then anything you make over that, I get thirty-three percent. Erica’s been eyeing this condo on the beach in Florida. I’m hoping you can help me out and buy that for her.”

Outstanding. Slate wants to buy a condo on the beach and I just want to keep the electricity on.

“It has to be hard being you.” My voice dripped with sarcasm, but it only made Slate smile.

“I guess you won’t know until you try. I made every single penny I have from boxing. If you think money will solve all your problems, then put whatever preconceived notions you have about my motives aside and take my offer. But if you decide to refuse, you should know I won’t make it again.”

“Why now? Less than a month ago, you told me I wasn’t ready. Where was your offer to bankroll me then?”

“I’m not going to lie to you. You’re not ready. Not if you want to be great! But with enough time, I can get you there. You’re raw right now, and despite whatever you think, you’re driven by something greater than the almighty dollar or dreams of stardom.” He stood up and walked over to me. “To answer your question about why now, I was wrong. You’re not hungry for more in life. You’re f*cking starving. I can work with that.

“Did you even listen to yourself while you were talking? Not one single thing you said was because Till Page wanted more money or a nicer car. You were concerned about Eliza and the boys . . . but never Till.” He poked my chest right over my heart. “I’m making an investment in you, Till. It’s no handout. I believe you’re going to set the boxing world on fire, because every time you put on those gloves, you’re doing it for them. Say yes. Accept the offer. Quit your jobs. Take a week off to take care of her. Then get your ass in my ring.”

I had no words. If I spoke, I was going to look like a sniffling little bitch. So I nodded instead.

“Good. I’m going to find Erica and get some coffee. I’ll send over the contracts and your first paycheck in the morning.” He turned and headed for the door.

I stood in the middle of an empty hospital room where my fantasy and reality had collided. Finally, I had the break I had dreamed of, but it had taken almost losing Eliza to get it. I would forever remember the way I felt in that moment. Cracking my neck and shaking out my arms, I decided I was done letting the world run over me.

Slate had just handed me my one chance to make a better life, and I was going in with gloves blazing. For the first time in my f*cking life, I was climbing through the ropes.





ONE CONCUSSION, TWO BROKEN RIBS, two black eyes, six stitches, and far too many purple bruises to count. But as I pulled an oversized On The Ropes T-shirt over my head and settled into Till’s bed, I was more concerned about him.

“You okay?” I asked as he folded into bed next to me.

His head snapped to mine. “Uhhh, are you okay? Why are you asking about me?”

“I don’t know. It’s been a crazy night.”

“It really has.” He sighed and pulled me into his side.

I winced from the movement. “And you’ve been acting weird.”

“Huh?” He leaned away to look down at my mouth.

Till had been hard of hearing for years. Huh and what were probably two of his most used word. Well, those and f*ck—and maybe Doodle. But tonight had been vastly different. Several times, I’d spoken to him at the hospital and he hadn’t even acknowledged me. I’d prayed that he had only been lost in his thoughts, distracted by the entire f*cked-up day. But I knew it my heart it was more.

So, instead of repeating my vague statement, I blurted, “Where were you tonight?”

It wasn’t an accusation, but even as it left my lips, it felt that way.

“Asleep. Shit, Doodle. I’m so f*cking sorry.”

“Eliza,” I corrected just to be positive we were in my reality and not his.

His lip twitched. “It’s just habit. Doodle or Eliza—it doesn’t change anything.”

I nodded, still not convinced.

“I have no f*cking idea how I didn’t hear that shit in your bedroom. I wish you could have called my name or something. I’m so sorry I didn’t get there sooner.” His muscles tensed, and I blankly stared at him.

I was struck by the realization that Till had no idea what had really happened in my bedroom. He thought he’d slept through it, and the guilt on his face was staggering. There was no way in hell I was telling him that I’d screamed for him repeatedly or that I’d prayed his name over God’s as I’d roused back to consciousness. He didn’t need to know that. Ever.

“You got there. That’s all that mattered.” I plastered on a fake smile that hurt my lips.