17. Chapter 17

It had been three weeks since Arthur and I had headed home, and they had been the best three weeks of my life. By day, I was taking a more active interest in the gym. By evening, Arthur and I spent the time watching films, or having me model for his sketches. His drawings had started off well enough, but they were getting better every single day. And we were happy. So happy.

We still each had our niggles. Arthur had refused the Maldives holiday, saying he wasn't willing to ride on my coattails any more, and that he'd save his money for a holiday so that we could go together. With that in mind, I hadn't gone myself, much as I'd wanted the sun. I needed Arthur to understand that we were a unit, and we certainly wouldn't ever be really financially equal unless he sold a million-pound sketch. Well, around fifty, million pound sketches.

"C'mon Diego, give me that fight, that drive." Diego and I were circling one another in the ring. We were each wearing headgear, but otherwise I was treating this as if it were a real boxing match. If I got a real hit on him, I'd be the winner. I was a couple weight classes up, but he was one of the fastest man I'd ever faced. Every jab or hook I sent his way was dodged or blocked like it was effortless.

Diego's glove came from nowhere and got a glancing blow across my headgear that sent me reeling. I grinned around the mouthguard. "Again!"

We sparred until we were both so sweaty that the gloves were almost slipping off our hands with every punch. When Diego threw a punch and we both ended up stumbling because of the fast movement, I held up both hands to signal him to stop. I dropped the gloves and smiled at him, panting almost too hard to get words out. "Enough….good."

Diego popped out his mouthguard. "Good enough? Good enough for what, old man? To whoop your arse?"

"Almost…" Despite the sweat, Diego wasn't panting at all. Maybe I really was getting too old for this shit. "I think we can get you on the undercard of a good fight, if you keep up your training and diet."

Diego smiled, took a step forward and winced. He tried to hide it, but I gestured to him casually to follow me out of the ring again as if I hadn't noticed. He took another step forward, and the wince was even more noticeable this time.

"Calf? Ankle?" I asked.

"I'm fine…" muttered Diego.

"Cut the bullshit." My words came out harsh, and Diego flinched like I'd gone in for another punch. "Boxers have to be strong, yes. But not stupid. Admit when you're in pain at times like this, because if your trainer sends you into the ring on an injury then it could end disastrously for you. So I'll ask again. Where does it hurt?"

"My ankle. I think I twisted it when I lunged at you." Diego looked downtrodden.

"The masseuse should be here this afternoon, they can take a look if it's muscular," I said, resisting the urge to roll my eyes. Despite his flirtatious nature and lack of professionalism, Arthur had rehired Rory, who'd previously hit on me until I could see it was affecting Arthur's job. A bit of me wondered if Arthur just wanted to mark his territory now we were openly together.

"R…Rory is coming here today?" Diego lifted his armpit and gave a quick sniff. "Mind if we hit the showers now? Unless you want to carry on…"

I almost warned Diego off starting anything with an Imperial Gym employee, and then realised I'd be the biggest hypocrite in the world if I did.

"Sure," I said. We made our way over to the showers, and washed off. I wondered where Arthur had gotten to. The last time I'd seen him he was arguing with the gas man he'd called in to check on the boiler, but give the showers were hot, I could only presume he had worked his usual magic.

As we were drying off, the door swung open. I looked up, hoping to see Arthur. Instead it was Rory standing there. His eyes slid straight past me to Diego. I almost laughed, knowing how he'd clung on to me before. Absence, it seemed, made the heart grow weaker.

Diego, for his part, managed to completely drop the towel he was holding, then scrambled to pick it up. Rory's lecherous look only got more brazen.

Ignoring the weird choking sounds that both Diego and Rory made as they clocked what I'd said, I headed out to the main body of the gym. At the back of the gym, I could see the kitchen doorway was ajar and the bright, almost clinical light was spilling out from it.

I pushed the door open as quietly as I could, and crept into the room. Arthur was stood in front of the blender, pouring a carton of pre-separated egg whites into it alongside all the other gross ingredients I'd put up with for years. Maybe now I wasn't boxing professionally, I could let him experiment a bit more with sweeteners, to make my shakes a little bit more tolerable. But then again, I was addicted to fitness, to looking as good as I did. I couldn't give them up altogether.

I waited for him to press the button and turn the blender on before I moved, letting the noise cover up the sound of my footsteps as I pounced forward and dug my fingertips into his hips to tickle him.

Arthur's reaction was swift and vicious. One hand came off the blender button, silencing the machine, and then he turned and swung the half-empty carton of egg whites at my head so fast that even with reaction timing honed through years of boxing I didn't have time to step back. It hit my temple with a thunk and for a second we both stood there, stunned.

"Jesus fuck, Bradley! You scared me!" Arthur shouted, and then his expression softened. "Shit, I'm sorry, did I hurt you?"

It took a second before I cracked. I giggled, and then almost fell to the floor from laughing. "It stings," I admitted through wet eyes. "But I deserved it."

"So sorry babe, but you are a bit of a dick." Arthur stroked my temple absently right where he'd hit me, and then leaned up on his tip toes to give me a peck on the lips. I pushed him backward with the weight of my body, until he was pressed up against the counter. I made the kiss more than a peck as I ground my body up against his.

Arthur pushed against my chest hard to break the kiss. We both looked at each other, panting, and I could see from his jeans that he was as turned on as I was. "Wanna sneak off to the changing rooms?" he suggested.

"Ah, fuck. Rory and Diego are in there," I groaned.

"Kick them out. Diego can get a massage any time," Arthur pouted.

"Pretty sure they've commandeered it for the same reason we were about to," I said.

"Damn it." Arthur stepped forward and grabbed at my bulge. "We'll just have to wait."

I opened my mouth, no idea what I was about to say as my brain had short-circuited in every possible way, when Arthur's phone buzzed. It did funny things to his grip and made my head go even more haywire.

"Let me just…" Arthur took his phone out of his front pocket, and I busied myself with pouring the protein shake and drinking it down. It wasn't until I was almost done that I realised that Arthur still hadn't said anything. I looked at him, and his face was white as a sheet, his hands gripping his phone so hard his knuckles had turned white.

"Are you OK, love?" I asked. "Is it your dad? Or…"

Arthur took a deep breath, then looked up from the phone to meet my eyes. "…It's you," he said. "Or rather…it's Bartosh. His manager is offering a rematch, and it seems the promoters are already on board."

I could feel my heart rate ramp up instantly. The thought of a rematch against Oleksandr Bartosh…well, my first thought was yes. Because I knew I was better than him. I knew I could do it. I was capable of winning.

But then I took another look at Arthur's face. Thos big, earnest eyes. "I can't, can I?" I said.

"Why can't you?" There was a hint of challenge in Arthur's voice. There always was. Even when I could tell he didn't want me to fight, here he was, trying to get me to talk it through. To tell him why I felt how I felt.

"You'll never forgive me if I go back to it. If I let myself get back into that frame of mind," I said.

Arthur put the phone down on the counter, face down, and reached out to take my hand. I took his, and, after a second, pulled him close. So we were sheet to sheet. No kissing, no sexual fission running through the space between us for once. Just the two of us, breathing the same air, feeling one another's hearts beating.

"It's not about whether I'll forgive you, I always will," said Arthur. "It's about whether you'll ever forgive yourself if you turn this down. And I think the answer is no. You won't. You'll regret not fighting when you had the chance for the rest of your life."

"And if I lose?" I whispered. Months ago, I would have admitted that fear to no-one. But I could say anything to Arthur when it was just the two of us.

"Will you lose?" Arthur asked. His voice was quiet, but when I looked down at him, he was arching one eyebrow. Another challenge.

"…no," I said. I could feel the trickle of fear deep down, but with the knowledge that Arthur might be OK with it, the usual roar of challenge, the feeling that I could do anything, was drowning out every bit of fear. I was stronger than Bartosh. I was faster, and cleverer, ad if I hadn't showboated and he hadn't cheated in the last fight… "I'll have him down in two rounds."

Arthur drifted one finger down my arm, along the words I'd had inked in service to him. "There's a space here," he whispered, pointing at a conspicuous blank patch of skin close to my wrist. "You only get to fill it if you fight."

"So I fight?" I asked. I knew now that I wanted to, but only as long as he let me.

"You fight," he said. "And I'll be waiting on the other side."

I was ready. I would win. And I would retire knowing that no matter what, the most beautiful man in the world would be stood by my side.