We Can Settle This Like Gentlemen or Meet Me out the Back to End It All and Start Again

“Bye.” Halle said to Conner as they pulled up to her dorm the next day.

“Bye.” He replied back, bringing his head in to kiss her.

She smiled and was about to open the door of his truck and get out when he grabbed her arm.

“Wait, uhm, I have training right now, but tonight do you want to go out?” he asked her, not knowing why he was so nervous, they were already together.

“Yeah.” She said grinning. “Just call me and tell me when you’ll pick me up.” She told him, then they kissed goodbye once more and she got out of his truck.

Conner smiled as he pulled out of the college dorm parking lot and made his way to the gym that his dad owned.

Andrew Mark, Conner’s father, was really a detective and police officer for the local police department, and was a boxer when he was younger, just like Conner. Originally, Andrew did not own the gym where Conner trained, an old family friend named Ralph did, but after Ralph died of a heart attack suddenly at the age of fifty, his wife couldn’t keep up with the gym, so she put it up for sale.

Andrew refused to let any money hungry business man buy the gym just to tear it down and build something else, so Andrew bought it and has been running it for the past twenty years.

Conner smiled as he pulled into the large building that served as the gym. It wasn’t perfect, it needed a new paint job, and sometimes the ceiling leaked, but it had been Conner’s home away from home ever since he had been born. Conner felt safe here, and most of the time, whenever Conner got very upset or stressed, this is where he would come. It was the only place that could calm him. Granted, the reason he was calmed was because he would take his anger out on the punching bags, or jump rope, or speed bag. But Conner knew that there was more to it than that. He loved this old beaten up gym, and he always would.

Conner got out of his truck and slung his duffel bag over his shoulder, quickly making his way into the building to go to the locker rooms and change. He had to hurry, just because it was his father that trained him didn’t make it okay to slack. That’s what made Conner so good, not that he believed it.

Conner was the kind of guy that stuck with his word, that never backed down, and never gave up. He was the type of guy to help others before himself and he never, ever, slacked. He went hard no matter what and all those reasons added up to his talent, to why he was so extremely good, and everybody tried to explain that to him, but he still didn’t realize just how amazing he was.

Conner’s family never had much money, between his father owning the gym and his mother working for an insurance company, so he never let himself get excited for things. Conner was never the kid to be upset on Christmas day when he didn’t get the one toy he really wanted, or the kid to dream big, because he never let himself get his hopes up. He learned at an early age that you never get everything you want, especially with a family that struggles to pay the bills. So he naturally acted the same way with boxing. Sure, he knew that he was alright at the sport, because he usually won, but he didn’t realize just how amazing he was, and he never, ever, dreamed of becoming a professional boxer, because why get his hopes up for something so life changing and amazing when that would never happen?

Conner shook his head of the thoughts as he stepped into the gym from the locker room, wearing sweatpants and a wife beater with a large sweatshirt covering it.

He knew the drill, first his father would make him run.

“You know the drill,” his father said walking up to him and pointing to the door. Conner smiled inwardly, having just thought that exact sentence. “Five miles, here to City Hall and back.” He said, shooing his son away with the flick of a wrist.

Conner walked towards the doors, putting his hood up over his head, his headphones in his ears as he stepped into the chilly September air.

As usual, Conner got in his automatic yet subconscious routine of running to the beat of his music. His father preferred it that way, always making Conner listen to music as he ran. All Conner had on his iPod were upbeat fast songs, so if he ran accordingly to his music, his five miles would take less time than if he weren’t listening to music.

Conner stayed to the side of the road, not on the sidewalk to disrupt the flow of walking people, but staying on the edge of the road. No body ever hit Conner, with their car at least.

Conner smirked at that thought.

Nobody hit him with a car, but he was forever being slugged in the ring, as was every boxer.

No matter how good of a boxer you are, every boxer will be hit over and over again. At that point it’s just a matter of how quick your reflexes are and how well you can block yourself while still throwing your own punches. Conner recited the saying in his head.

It was something that his father had always told him, since he first started to box and was afraid of being hit. Of course, his father didn’t sugar coat it, stressing that he would get hit, but somehow that made Conner feel better. Having a trainer that told you straight up what to expect so that Conner was ready and prepared, so that when he stepped into that ring, he knew exactly what to expect. No surprises, no fear, just reflexes.