called the Eiffel Tower, cowboy.” Laise grins through his beard and ’stache. “What were you expecting?”
“I don’t know. I’ve seen it on TV and in pictures. I guess I wasn’t expecting the base of it to be so…wide.”
“That’s what she said,” I mumble.
Caleb’s head whips toward me. “Holy shit. You just delivered a Daniels’ line like it was nothing.”
I shrug, grinning at the iron masterpiece before me. “I did, didn’t I?”
He slaps me on the shoulder. “The old man would be proud.”
My chest warms at the thought. Truth be told, regardless of how I left things with Blake, I miss the guy. It’ll be good to go home and see them, talk with Cam, and announce my plan to come back and fight in London for another five years.
It makes sense. My career is at its peak. I have a great team. Leaving would be like backsliding.
“Killian, come here!” Fleur waves me over to where she’s standing with a guy I’ve never seen before.
It took weeks for things to normalize between us after our night together. I felt so horrible about what I’d done I confessed my history with Axelle to Fleur as if I was lying on a psychiatrist’s couch. Just what a woman wants to do, listen to a guy go on and on about another woman.
I’m such an asshole.
No matter how many times I’ve apologized, she insists it’s not necessary. She swears she seduced me and knew exactly what she was getting into. I suppose that’s true, but I never should’ve let it happen. The good news is we both value our friendship too much to allow my moment of instability to screw it up.
“What’s up?” I look between her and the guy who, now that I’m closer, is more like a kid.
“This is Rene; he’s a huge fan.”
I reach out and shake his hand, which is a little clammy, and if I’m not mistaken, he’s shaking. “Nice to meet you, Rene.”
The kid rambles off a string of French, and although I have no idea what he’s saying, I can sense his enthusiasm.
“He says he has never missed a single one of your fights, and that your fight against Lyon was the most impressive under-one-minute fight in UFL history.” She cups her mouth to whisper. “He’s kind of obsessed.”
Flashbacks of when I was this kid’s age, looking up to Jonah at the airport and spouting off his fight stats, flicker in my mind. If I’d only known then the future that awaited, my fate hanging in the balance and depending on that one seemingly random connection… I set eyes on the kid, his grin contagious. “Thank you. I appreciate that. You ever consider becoming a fighter?”
Again he and Fleur go back and forth, and she turns to me. “He said, ‘Yes, but it’s difficult because his parents think he should study to be an engineer, saying it’s a safer route.’”
“I know the feeling. Someone once told me I was too smart for sports.”
She translates.
I pat the kid on the shoulder, and his eyes widen and move to where I touched him. “Don’t give up on your dreams, okay?”
He nods as the translation is completed and then holds up a black Sharpie marker, shaking it and pointing to his shirt.
“He wants you to sign his shirt.”
“Sure.” I grab the pen, and he turns around and offers me his back.
I don’t have to think of the right thing to write. I already know. It took one sentence to inspire me. I think the same can be done for this kid.
Rene,
No one dictates your future but you.
—Quick Kill McCreery
I’m finally able to pass along the one piece of advice given to me by The Assassin to someone who needs to hear it.
Rene turns back around and holds up his phone, indicating he wants a photo. Our little interaction has attracted some attention, and people gather around, snapping photos. Rene and I get a quick selfie, and he hugs me before running off to a group of waiting teens.
This is why I should stay—for kids like Rene. I had The Assassin, and there were days in high school that I’m not proud of where I contemplated putting an end to the bullying and the suffering. It was the promise of seeing another UFL fight that helped me hang on most days. Then it was Axelle, but she’s gone.
The crowd closes in, snapping photos and asking questions in French. I hook my arm over Fleur. “Think we better go before the paparazzi