“No. It belongs to both of us.”
“Not after Friday.”
I turned to leave.
Then his hand grabbed my shoulder.
Hard.
Everything inside me changed.
Not emotionally.
Physically.
My body moved before my brain finished processing what was happening.
I dropped my weight.
Rotated.
His grip slipped.
I pivoted.
Suddenly Derek was standing in front of me, and I was facing him squarely.
I hadn’t thrown a punch.
Hadn’t raised my voice.
But the gym became quiet.
Derek stared at me.
For one second, I saw confusion in his eyes.
Then his ego took over.
“You’ve done this before.”
“Something like that.”
“What?”
“Nothing you need to worry about.”
He stepped closer.
“You’re still fighting Friday.”
“Yes.”
He smiled.
“Good.”
I walked out.
But before I reached the door, I heard one of the trainers whisper:
“Derek, don’t underestimate him.”
Derek laughed.
“Look at him.”
I kept walking.
He didn’t know.
Claire didn’t know.
Nobody in that gym knew.
Before I sold HVAC systems, I had spent years learning how to survive situations where losing didn’t mean losing money.
It meant not coming home.
That night, I opened the closet in my motel room.
Behind several boxes was an old duffel bag.
I hadn’t touched it in years.
Inside was my old military gear.
And beneath it was a photograph.
Five men standing shoulder to shoulder.
Young.
Tired.
Alive.
I stared at the faces.
Then at mine.
I barely recognized that man anymore.
I put the photograph back.
I wasn’t going to become him again.
I just needed to remember how he thought.
PART THREE — FIVE MINUTES
Friday night, the gym was packed.
Claire stood near the front.
She looked nervous.
Derek looked thrilled.
I walked onto the mat wearing a gray T-shirt and black sweatpants.
The crowd laughed when they saw my limp.
Derek bounced on his toes.
“You sure about this, old man?”
“Start the clock.”
The timer began.
Derek attacked immediately.
Jab.
Cross.
Low kick.
His shin slammed into my injured leg.
Pain exploded through my knee.
The crowd cheered.
Derek grinned.
He threw another combination.
I blocked the first punch.
The second caught my cheek.
I tasted blood.
Claire gasped.
Derek shouted:
“You should’ve stayed home!”
He rushed me.
And that was when I stopped fighting like a civilian.
I stepped off his line.
His punch missed.
