CHAPTER ONE
G AGE R INGER , BETTER known as Savage in the fight world, prowled the interior of the rec center. His stride was long, his thoughts dark, but he kept his expression enigmatic to hide his turmoil from onlookers. He didn’t want to be here tonight. He’d rather be home, suffering his bad mood alone instead of covering up his regret, forced to pretend it didn’t matter. His disappointment was private, damn it, and he didn’t want to advertise it to the world. Shit happened.
It had happened to him. So what?
Life went on. There would be other fights, other opportunities. Only a real wimp would sit around bellyaching about what could have been, but wasn’t. Not him. Not publicly anyway.
Tonight the rec center would overflow with bodies of all shapes, sizes and ages—all there for different reasons.
Cannon Coulter owned the rec center. It was a part of Cannon’s life, a philanthropic endeavor that, no matter how big Cannon got, how well-known he became in the Supreme Battle Championship fight world, would always be important to him.
Armie Jacobson, another fighter who helped run the rec center whenever Cannon had to travel for his career, had planned a long night of fun. Yay.
Not.
At least, not for Gage.
Earlier they’d had a party for the kids too young to stick around and watch the pay-per-view event that night on the big screen. One of Cannon’s sponsors had contributed the massive wall-mounted TV to the center.
So that they wouldn’t feel left out, Armie had organized fun activities for the younger kids that had included food, games and some one-on-one play with the fighters who frequented the rec center, using it as a gym.
With the kiddie party now wrapping up, the more mature crowd would soon arrive, mixing and mingling while watching the fights.
The rec center had originally opened with very little. Cannon and some of his friends had volunteered to work with at-risk youths from the neighborhood to give them an outlet. They started with a speed bag, a heavy bag, some mats and a whole lot of donated time and energy.
But as Cannon’s success had grown, so too had the rec center. Not only had Cannon added improvements, but his sponsors loved to donate anything and everything that carried their brand so that now the size of the place had doubled, and they had all the equipment they needed to accommodate not only a training camp for skilled fighters, but also dozens of boys, and a smattering of girls, of all ages.
Gage heard a distinctly female laugh and his gaze automatically went to Harper Gates.
So she had arrived.
Without meaning to, he inhaled more deeply, drawing in a calming breath. Yeah, Harper did that to him.
He watched as Harper assisted Armie in opening up folding chairs around the mats. Together they filled up every available speck of floor space. She stepped around a few of the youths who were still underfoot, racing around, wrestling—basically letting off steam with adult supervision, which beat the hell out of them hanging on street corners, susceptible to the thugs who crawled out of the shadows as the sun went down.
Gage caught one boy as he recklessly raced past. He twirled him into the air, then held him upside down. The kid squealed with laughter, making Gage smile, too.
“You’re moving awfully fast,” Gage told him.
Bragging, the boy said, “I’m the fastest one here!”
“And humble, too,” he teased.
The boy blinked big owl eyes at him while grinning, showing two missing teeth. He was six years old, rambunctious, and considered the rec center a second home.
“I need you to take it easy, okay? If you’re going to roughhouse, keep it on the mats.”
“’Kay, Savage.”
Gage glanced at a clock on the wall. The younger crowd would be heading out in a few more minutes. Still holding the boy suspended, he asked, “Who’s taking you home?”
“My gram is comin’ in her van and takin’ all of us.”
“Good.” Luckily the grandmother was reliable,
G AGE R INGER , BETTER known as Savage in the fight world, prowled the interior of the rec center. His stride was long, his thoughts dark, but he kept his expression enigmatic to hide his turmoil from onlookers. He didn’t want to be here tonight. He’d rather be home, suffering his bad mood alone instead of covering up his regret, forced to pretend it didn’t matter. His disappointment was private, damn it, and he didn’t want to advertise it to the world. Shit happened.
It had happened to him. So what?
Life went on. There would be other fights, other opportunities. Only a real wimp would sit around bellyaching about what could have been, but wasn’t. Not him. Not publicly anyway.
Tonight the rec center would overflow with bodies of all shapes, sizes and ages—all there for different reasons.
Cannon Coulter owned the rec center. It was a part of Cannon’s life, a philanthropic endeavor that, no matter how big Cannon got, how well-known he became in the Supreme Battle Championship fight world, would always be important to him.
Armie Jacobson, another fighter who helped run the rec center whenever Cannon had to travel for his career, had planned a long night of fun. Yay.
Not.
At least, not for Gage.
Earlier they’d had a party for the kids too young to stick around and watch the pay-per-view event that night on the big screen. One of Cannon’s sponsors had contributed the massive wall-mounted TV to the center.
So that they wouldn’t feel left out, Armie had organized fun activities for the younger kids that had included food, games and some one-on-one play with the fighters who frequented the rec center, using it as a gym.
With the kiddie party now wrapping up, the more mature crowd would soon arrive, mixing and mingling while watching the fights.
The rec center had originally opened with very little. Cannon and some of his friends had volunteered to work with at-risk youths from the neighborhood to give them an outlet. They started with a speed bag, a heavy bag, some mats and a whole lot of donated time and energy.
But as Cannon’s success had grown, so too had the rec center. Not only had Cannon added improvements, but his sponsors loved to donate anything and everything that carried their brand so that now the size of the place had doubled, and they had all the equipment they needed to accommodate not only a training camp for skilled fighters, but also dozens of boys, and a smattering of girls, of all ages.
Gage heard a distinctly female laugh and his gaze automatically went to Harper Gates.
So she had arrived.
Without meaning to, he inhaled more deeply, drawing in a calming breath. Yeah, Harper did that to him.
He watched as Harper assisted Armie in opening up folding chairs around the mats. Together they filled up every available speck of floor space. She stepped around a few of the youths who were still underfoot, racing around, wrestling—basically letting off steam with adult supervision, which beat the hell out of them hanging on street corners, susceptible to the thugs who crawled out of the shadows as the sun went down.
Gage caught one boy as he recklessly raced past. He twirled him into the air, then held him upside down. The kid squealed with laughter, making Gage smile, too.
“You’re moving awfully fast,” Gage told him.
Bragging, the boy said, “I’m the fastest one here!”
“And humble, too,” he teased.
The boy blinked big owl eyes at him while grinning, showing two missing teeth. He was six years old, rambunctious, and considered the rec center a second home.
“I need you to take it easy, okay? If you’re going to roughhouse, keep it on the mats.”
“’Kay, Savage.”
Gage glanced at a clock on the wall. The younger crowd would be heading out in a few more minutes. Still holding the boy suspended, he asked, “Who’s taking you home?”
“My gram is comin’ in her van and takin’ all of us.”
“Good.” Luckily the grandmother was reliable,
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