Among the Echoes(5)

He spins around, wrapping me in his arms and pulling me into his chest. "Fuck. Okay. I’ve got you."

"Please don’t leave me," I repeat as my body shakes violently.

"Hey. It’s okay. I won’t let you go until you're ready." He smooths down my hair as I suck in a relieved breath. "But no more Marcus, okay? My name’s Leo James. Just Leo from now on."

I nod against his chest as a blanket is wrapped back around me from behind.

"Clean up is on the way. We need to get you two out of here," a woman says from somewhere nearby, but all I can see is Leo.

"Come. Let’s get you to the hospital." He once again lifts me off my useless legs and climbs into the back of the SUV, cradling me securely on his lap.





Three years later...





"Kill him!" I hear Jimmy yell from outside the ring while pounding on the mat. It's about the only noise I can hear. With over eighteen-thousand people crowding the arena, the cheers are almost deafening.

My opponent throws a combination of punches, catching me off guard with his sudden burst of energy. Just as his last strike hits me, he drops his hand—only for a second. But that is more than enough time for me to land an uppercut to his jaw, snapping his head back in a way that I know will end the fight. He stumbles back before landing against the ropes and falling to his ass.

The ref counts him to seven before waving his hands and calling the fight. The crowd goes wild and my corner rushes in to celebrate. This is nothing new, but I'm proud nonetheless. I haven't lost a fight in over two years. Averaging over fifty million a match and one fight every six months, I've done well for myself. More than enough for me to leave this life and never look back. But for some reason, I always return.

I'm thirty-five years old and my fighting days are nearing an end. Hell, I've made it longer than most. But one of these days, a young, rising star will be quicker than I am and put me on my ass. I better enjoy this while I still can.

"Ladies and gentlemen, your winner and still heavyweight champion of the world... Slate The Silent Storm Andrews."

My glove is lifted into the air while the belt is draped over my shoulder. I stand for a moment, nodding to the crowd with gratitude like the trained professional I am. Thankfully, Jimmy quickly pulls me from the ring. I do what has been ingrained in me over the years and tap hands and pose for pictures with fans as I make my way to the back. People slap me on the shoulder, and it takes more effort not to move away from their touch than the entire eight rounds I just went. I hate this part of my job. Always have. Always will.

"Good fight, man!" Chris, my trainer, says, rubbing my neck. He's allowed to touch me. Hell, I even pay him thousands of dollars to do it.

"Thanks." I push my hands toward Jimmy so he can remove my gloves. "Hey, did you get me a plane for tonight?" I ask my manager, Mitch, who is standing in the corner with an insincere smile plastered on his face.

"You sure I can't persuade you to stay? The fans would—"

"Did. You. Get. A. Plane?" I repeat very slowly in case he suddenly doesn’t speak English.

"You going to finally tell me where in Ohio you disappear to after fights?" He quirks a questioning eyebrow that I swear I heard pop. "A month is a long f*cking time to go off radar, Slate. You should be doing talk shows and endorsement deals after your win tonight. You could make all of us a lot of money if you acted like the superior athlete you truly are."

I bark out a laugh. "I think I make us all enough money without whoring myself out."

This is the exact same song and dance Mitch and I go through after every fight. Even before I was making millions, I still did my own thing after fights. I work my ass off for months in preparation. I don't think it's too much to ask for a little time to unwind afterwards.

I lie facedown on the table for Chris to rub down my back. "Go. Party your ass off, but I'm out of here."

"Slate, you are the heavyweight champion of the world. Act like it. Go out and mingle with the people. Maybe find a woman and break your vow of celibacy."

"I'm not celibate, you ass. Since when are you worried about my cock? Last I checked, it doesn't make you a damn penny."

"Not yet. But if you give me enough time, I'm sure I could get you a Magnum condom sponsorship," he halfway jokes.

"Oh for the love of God. I turned down Nike. You think I'd do a Trojan ad?" I groan at his ludicrous idea.