20. Chapter 20

Ihad complete faith in Bradley. Though his decision to fight had left me stressing, I knew it was what he needed to do to finally put it all behind him, and I would be there for him at the end. Win or lose. So long as it was a fair fight, it would be a healing one for him. My only concern was that Oleksandr Bartosh would play dirty just to try and claw back another win, and that Bradley might spiral back into what he was.

I did a little lap of the canvas, slap bang in the middle of what was usually a rugby field. Soon, the spectators would start pouring in, all seventy-thousand of them. But there were only camera crews and stadium staff around now. Jason would be giving Bradley a pep-talk behind the scenes, I knew that much, and I didn't want to take his mind off the fight.

My phone buzzed in my pocket, and I pulled it out. I grinned at the sight of the picture Sophia had sent me. A very hairy chest had been shaved, and the terrible cursive tattoo about the size of Theo's penis had been covered with my design. It looked even better than I could have anticipated, and I got a little thrill knowing a piece of my own artwork was now permanently on someone else's body. I texted Sophia thanks, and asked when I could head back to the tattoo shop for more instruction.

My phone buzzed again, and my grin faltered. It was my father, texting again with a request for money. I had ignored the last three texts, I'd been so focused on Bradley's fight. And Bradley's feelings on me propping up my father had started to sink in.

I flicked back to the picture that Sophia had sent along. Kowtowing to my father's every need had taken my art away from me, and I hadn't realised how much joy I was missing out on over the years. I had orbited Bradley completely. And as much as I loved him, that had been wrong.

"Penny for your thoughts?" asked Jason, and I jumped.

I spun. He was leaning up against the ropes and looking into the ring instead of at me. "I'm thinking…about what's next," I admitted. "I've followed Bradley blindly for so long. And I can't wait for us to move into the next chapter of our lives. I just think he won't need my work as much any more."

"I'll drink to that," said Jason, holding up a plastic bottle of water. "Do you know, he's the fifth world champion that I've had a hand in training?"

I nodded. "I've seen the pictures in the gym. You were quite the boxer yourself."

"Eh, it wasn't as glamorous back in my day. Before Ali and Tyson made this sport into the spectacle that it is, we just got in the ring and hit each other until someone went down." Jason ran a hand through his grey hair, and I noticed in the light how thin it was getting.

"What's next for you, then? Helping Bradley train up the next generation?" I asked.

Jason gave a wan smile. "I think this is the end for me. I'm not as young as I was, and Bradley will want to put his own stamp on the coming generation. Diego looks up to him in a way that Bradley always did with me."

I reached out toward Jason and took one of his hands in mine. "You can't leave. Boxing is in your blood."

"It's not the only thing in my blood," said Jason with a frown. "I need to take the step back now or I never will. It's not that you won't see me, it's just…" he hesitated. "You said you were thinking about what comes next for you. Why is that? You have a good job with Bradley, you get to work with the love of your life every single day."

My thoughts went back to what I'd been thinking before Jason interrupted them. "I've been orbiting Bradley like a moon around a planet for the last three years. And I'm so glad that I have him, but he's helped to open my eyes to the fact there's more out there for me. Bradley can be the most important thing in my life without being the only thing in my life. It's time for me to figure out what my other passions are, and what else I can turn my hand to."

Jason smiled. "Bingo. Imagine you were only coming to that realisation in your seventh decade of life. I've been boxing for so long that I can't see what comes next, yet. I need to step back before I can step forward."

"I get it," I smiled. "But I will miss you."

"I'll still be around, just less often. I'll be the fun uncle who encourages overeating rather than micromanaging the diets of every sportsman in a five-mile radius," he said. "Anyway, I only came out to get you for Bradley. I think he needs some fighting words from you right now."

"Isn't that your job?" I teased, already turning toward the green room.

"Not anymore. He needs you more than he needs me, believe me."

I smiled at Jason, and he smiled back at me. I'd never thought of him as old, not really. But I could see it now. And the old man needed rest. Halfway to the green room, I turned. He was looking wistfully into the boxing ring, and I wondered how far back in time he was gazing. How many fights he had seen. It was enough to bring a tear to my eye.

I pushed open the room to the green room tucked away underneath the spectator stands. My eye fell immediately on Bradley, already dressed in his shorts, sat on the long bench that ran along one wall. His eyes met mine, and I wasn't sure if I imagined the shine in them.

"Are you OK?" I asked.

"I'm OK," he confirmed, but his eyes dropped to the floor.

I took a few steps forward and snack down in front of him, forcing him to meet my eyes. "Be honest with me," I said. "That's what I'm here for."

Bradley gave a smile that was barely there. "OK, I'm a little bit scared," he confessed.

"Only a little bit?"

"Of losing?"

"Not at all," said Bradley. "I've been thinking about last time, and it's not just the shame…he could have done some serious damage, and he wasn't even punished. What if he tries to pull the same shit again?"

"I will be watching, and I will rain hellfire down on him," I joked. Bradley's lips quirked up properly this time. "In all seriousness, we know the ref is watching out for foul-play this time. Bartosh knows it. He'll be too scared to try anything stupid. You haven't got the rest of your career to worry about, he has."

"And you think I can win?" Bradley asked, still not admitting it was a fear.

I kissed each of his knuckles in turn. They were bruised from the amount of hard training he'd been doing. "I know it. And when you win, I want you calling out to me like Rocky Balboa. And we can celebrate by having lots of sex and eating all the food you've not been allowed for weeks."

"That sounds good," he admitted. "Too good."

Bradley hooked one finger under my chin and pulled my head up to his level, then leaned in and kissed me, slow and gentle. We didn't need words. Just a slow burning kiss that could set the world on fire around us.

There was a knock at the door, and a timid-looking steward popped their head into the room. "Mr…Mr Bradley, you've been asked to attend the interview station," he squeaked.

"I'll be there now," said Bradley, and kissed me again. I could feel myself blushing, and Bradley didn't help by stroking along my cheek with his thumb. "If I win, you're doing the next tattoo," he said.

"When you win," I corrected.

Bradley stood. "When I win," he said. I wasn't sure if it was to me or himself. But he seemed determined.

The stadium was buzzing with anticipation, and I was in full boxer's-assistant-manager-whatever he wants me to be mode. And I was bossing it, despite my own personal nerves. I was never more in my element than when I was running the show, and running it well was what I did.

"Get them out of here!" I shouted to one of the security guards. A group of overzealous fangirls had pushed past others in their designated pen and were causing a potential safety issue as they pressed up against the railings separating them from the VIP seating around the ring. I spotted a couple of Cardiff's only billionaire family, the Cranes, in the front row opposite where I would be, as well as all of Bradley's family.

As the security guards ushered the poor girls away, I heard the crackle of static on my walkie talkie before a voice asked me to attend to Bradley's family. I radioed in my affirmative, and headed through the network of tunnels to the door where I always met them. Melody and Gez were at the front of the pack, as usual, but I noticed Melody seemed restless, less poised under her usual resplendent facade. She pulled me in for a tight hug.

"I can't believe you let him do this," she whispered in my ear, though she didn't sound angry.

"I only gave my blessing. He's stubborn enough that he would have done it either way," I replied.

"I know."

I extricated myself from the hug and then shook Gez's hand, and gestured for them to head the way they knew by now. I greeted Cory, who was without his usual Scandinavian accompaniment, and gave Theo a grin. What I wasn't expecting was that Theo would have brought Sebastian García with him.

"Hola," he said, reaching forward to clasp one of my hands between both of his.

"Hola-I mean, hello," I replied. He was breathtaking, with his bronzed Mediterranean skin tone and piercing blue eyes. I rarely got star-struck around celebrities, but Sebastian seemed to radiate star-power like no one I'd ever seen. He was wearing a white shirt, but had unbuttoned it so that it showed his bare chest. His bare, decorated, chest.

He had caught me looking. "I hear I have you to thank for this…striking…design," he said. His smile was wide, white and genuine. He parted his shirt more to show off the design, and my heart gave a little flutter. Why did the universally beautiful Tylers feel the need to surround themselves with other beautiful people? Couldn't they have an ugly entourage?

"No…no thanks necessary," I said, trying to catch my breath, and then led the three of them - one professional footballer and two star race drivers - through the warren of tunnels until we reached the stadium floor.

"How come you two are here together?" I asked Theo.

"I lost a bet," said Theo, as if that explained everything.

Once we'd reached our seats, I collapsed in one between Melody and Cory. "I won't be doing this again. Not even if your son decides to come out of retirement."

"Oh, I'm sure you'll be keeping him occupied enough. I hear he's whisking you off to the Maldives," said Melody.

"Not if I have anything to do with it," I grumbled. "We can go to a caravan park in Skegness if he keeps this up."

A server appeared at that moment and offered us each a glass of champagne. When he thrust the tray toward me, I waved him away. "That stuff is expensive, for Tylers only. And I am still working."

"Nonsense." Melody reached forward and plucked the glass of the tray before presenting it to me. "It may be expensive, and it may be for Tylers only. But you're certainly a Tyler. And if my son doesn't make that official at his soonest convenience, I will be marrying you off to any one of my nephews."

Cory choked on his champagne, and Theo reached over to slap him on the back. "Don't worry, cuz, I'll marry him if you're not one for the boys."

Cory blanched, and sat back in his seat. Theo winked at me, and Sebastian puled him close and whispered in his ear. Theo gave me a long, hard stare, and then whispered something back. I saw him reach for Sebastian's hand and shake it quickly.

"What the hell did you just bet on?" I asked. Theo just grinned and shook hs head.

Melody was reading the programme when I turned back around. "That Diego is rather a dish, isn't he?" she mused as she flicked through. He was the only undercard fight of the night, and Bradley had been balancing his own training with making sure Diego was ready.

"He's a fantastic fighter," I replied, as if that was the statement she had made.

Just as the announcer started to talk, and the crowd noise escalated from a low hum to a roar, my radio buzzed again.

"Sir, there's a gentleman at the VIP entrance. Says he knows you, mentioned you by name," said the voice.

"Did you invite any more of the family?" I asked Melody. She shook her head.

Then another crackle of static. "He's rather drunk, sir. Says he's come to see his son."

I felt the red mist of rage descend. "I'll be there now. Do not let him step foot over the threshold." I turned to Melody. "I will be back for Bradley's fight, I promise you. But I've got an issue to sort first."

I stood and walked as quickly as I could back into the underbelly of the stadium. My heart felt as though it were pounding through my chest, and I took several deep breaths in order to calm myself down.

As expected, when I reached the VIP door there was only one man stood just outside, lit by the fluorescent light and leaning against the doorframe as if he would fall without it.

"Dad, you look awful," I said as I approached, motioning for the security guard to stand out of the way.

"I feel bloody awful, and they won't even let me in," he said. He was slurring his words and seemed to be struggling to focus on me. "I said I was a VIP and errything. Said you'd invited me, but…"

"You're not invited, Dad. In fact, you were specifically barred."

"You'vnt been answering my texts," he said, taking a careful step forward. I took a step forward to match him, and to stop him entering the stadium."

"I've not been answering your texts because I haven't had time," I retorted. "I work hard on these things."

"No time for family, then? I get it." My father turned as if to leave, and then turned back with a look on his face like he'd forgotten what he was doing in the first place.

"M'here for the fight," he explained to the bewildered security guard.

"Dad, you need to leave," I said. "I will send you the money you asked for this week, but I…I can't support this any more. I'm moving on with my life. You can't seem to move on with yours, but that's on you."

My father didn't even seem to notice my words, as he leaned in conspiratorially to the guard and stage whispered. "I had a bet on Bartosh last time, few hundred quid right? No one won, so I got it back, like. But my son'll send me another five hundred to put on him. He'll fucking beat Bradley Tyler."

For just a second, I could't speak. I was the kid scared of his alcoholic dad again. The kid who had been constantly let down by his parents' inability to raise him. I was sad, angry…no, furious. And then…I felt it all lift. Like my limbs had been freed of the ropes that still bound us together as family. Because Bradley wa say family now, too. And my father had betrayed that family.

"Get him out," I said to the security guard. "Not just out of the building, I want him out of the grounds. And then…" I pulled my phone out, took a picture of him. "I'll be sending this photo to your manager. I expect them to communicate with stadiums around the country. This man is barred from any fight managed by Bradley Tyler in future, and if I get one whiff of his stench anywhere near our company I will be rescinding our events from any arena that fails to adequately deal with him."

The guard, ever the professional, nodded and moved to escort my father out.

"My son…my son is coming in a minute, I've got VIP tickets," my father said to the guard as he was escorted out and into darkness. For a second, I felt sorry for the pathetic figure. And then I let him go. It was time to get back into the arena and support my family. The family I had chosen.