"Don't stick around
Don't stick around
Don't stick around…"

Terrace Martin – "Turning Poison Into Medicine"

Athena wanted more time with Damian.

Long work hours and responsibilities to her management team had her on the go, but as it came closer to the holidays, there would be vacation time due that she could use to see him longer. They kept the relationship lowkey because he worked graveyard hours. He finally had his own transportation thanks to his grandmother leaving behind a decent and reliable ten-year-old SUV. Damian told her if he hit rock bottom, he could at least sleep in his own vehicle and not on the street.

They talked twice a week on Tuesdays and Thursdays, and their in-person contact stayed limited to her drives to see him work out on the beach because he grinded at his job on the weekends. She didn't mind, though. Watching him run around the beach and pump iron half-naked was a feast for the eyes. She brought him a workout parachute to tie onto his back for resistance training while sprinting. He was a thing of beauty, digging his feet into the sand, thick thighs rippling, arm muscles glistening, and that heated look of determination powering him across the sand with the parachute blown open behind him.

She took pictures and videos to show him his form and gave him pointers. He acted shocked when he playfully threw jabs at her in fun and she tagged him a few times with fast combinations, striking him in the lip and the side of his head. She ended him with a roundhouse kick from her mixed martial art days.

"Do that again," he said, staggering back on his feet and raising his hands up to block her.

She demonstrated some new moves and showed him things she learned from watching private home videos of her father. Damian acted like she had given him the secrets of the lost ark.

"You should get back in the ring yourself, Athena. With those hands… the speed alone… think about it," he said.

Sitting on a beach chair, she shielded her eyes to gaze at his magnificence running full speed across the beach. He stopped to catch his breath, holding his hands on his hips as he watched waves roll in sea foam. Damian had to jump back to keep the salt water spray from touching his ankle monitor. He had another month to wear it before it could come off. Until then, he didn't want to go into the water. When he was truly free, he planned on swimming for hours.

Athena handed him a fruit punch Gatorade to replenish his electrolytes. She longed for a kiss, but since their first proper date, Damian shied away from doing that again. He held her hand after running, and she luxuriated in the contact.

"You better get going," he said, glancing at his watch.

"Rushing me off," she whined, pushing his shoulder.

"I gotta hit the gym. Smokey's letting me spar today and I want to get there early," he said.

She admired his discipline and dedication to the craft. His body was jacked beyond belief and she could only imagine what he had been like when he won the Golden Gloves, beating out grown men nearly twice his age. Damian spoke to her about keeping a tight regimen in prison, exercising every day, no matter if it was day or night. His voice became soft and unsure when he shared that part of his past. The intestinal fortitude it must have taken to keep a methodical mind full of hope had to be tremendous.

"My grandmother used to bring me out here," he said.

She glanced at his face. He stared at the ocean.

"Most of the kids on my block just stayed on the block, but Big Mama used to pile us up in her car and drive us out here so we could see how big the world really was. There were places far beyond all that water. I felt bad when I let her down. She saw so much for me even when I couldn't see it for myself. Bringing me out here was an escape that I needed. Taking me in was her way of saving me…"

His voice drifted, and she turned her head to watch the small curling waves.

"My Dad loved the beach," she said.

Athena took a big inhale of sea air and tilted her neck.

"He liked to run up and down the sand like you. I would try to catch up, but I never could, even when he slowed down for me. He'd throw me and A.J. up in the air so high and the fall would be so exhilarating before he'd catch me in his arms again. I miss that so much. Sometimes when I'm falling out here in life, I'd give anything to have my father catch me and make everything better."

A lump swelled in her throat, and she stood up from her chair.

"Time for me to run," she said, picking up her purse.

Damian stood next to her, and the sheen of sweat on his body made his skin look oiled up for a photo shoot. She waited a beat to see if he would ask her to stay longer, but he wiped sand from his large hands and glanced at the water again.

"I have something for you," she said.

She pulled out a small white envelope with his name scrawled on it. Damian took it from her and opened it. Donnie and Ricky Conlan's faces were on the top of a fight ticket worth a mint to fans desperate to be in the arena watching the title bout of the decade.

"It's time to see what you're working toward up close," she said. "You'll be my guest."

She expected more of a reaction from him than what she was getting. Damian held the ticket with a passive expression.

"Damian?"

"Thank you."

"If you don't want to go—"

"I do. You've given me a lot already with your friendship, and I don't want you to feel obligated."

"Obligated for what?"

"Caring about me. Feeling sorry about my situation and trying to make it up to me by giving me stuff. I'll turn into a guilty burden for you, and I don't want that."

"I don't see it like that, Dame."

"I want to be the one to give you things when I'm in a better position. You coach me, check on me, fill my head up with ideas… just like my grandmother."

He grinned at the thought and then his face turned serious again.

"The women in my life have always given until there was nothing left. It makes me feel like a parasite and I don't want that dynamic anymore. A man is supposed to hold a woman down no matter what. Not the other way around. I want better for myself and when I get it, I can be a better man on equal footing."

Damian reached for her hand.

"You make all the hard work I do worth it, Athena."

She nodded and didn't know why she wanted to cry. Damian kissed her cheek, then folded up her chair, handing it to her. Looking at his ticket, he sighed.

"I suppose I have to get dressed up for this," he said.

"You better. I already have my dress ready."

"What should I wear?"

"Surprise me," she said.

She flounced away from him, secretly thrilled he was going. Her drive to work was upbeat and stepping into the lobby brought her face to face with a flurry of excited co-workers. The Creed-Conlan fight was a corporate bonanza and all the lucrative tie-ins available made her company money, primarily because she was related to two heavyweight champions, was a former champion herself, and carried the Creed name proudly on her desk.

Her assistant Max rushed into her office with a list of projects she needed to sign off on. He brought her coffee and a raspberry danish while running his mouth as she settled in. There was an afternoon meeting with her new clients and a quick check-in with her boss later. Athena's mind shifted to work mode until she noticed the oily presence of Buddy Marcelle slinking past her office window, heading toward the conference room. She jumped out of her executive chair and chased him down the hall.

"What are you doing here?" she asked.

Buddy stopped. The suit on his back was worth more than a few thousand dollars, and the diamond and silver cufflinks screamed even more. Polished like a sharp knife aimed to kill, Buddy's vulpine smile was charming toward her.

"Athena Creed. I was hoping to see you before I leave here today."

"Answer my question, Buddy," Athena said.

His eyes raked across her form.

"Damn, I wish things had worked out differently for you and me," he said.

She rolled her eyes.

"Think of the money you could make if you came to work for my company. The offer is always open. Your name, talent, and intelligence are wasted here," he said.

"And yet you still use this place. Funny how that works."

"Only because of you, my dear… only because of you."

He patted her arm.

"Excuse me, I have to see your boss."

"Don't play with me. You only come here when you have something up your sleeve to capitalize on."

"You know, it's all about the C.R.E.A.M. in this business. Your brother is about to hand over a bonanza with his retirement."

Athena's eyes darted around the open floor plan. The office staff hummed along, ignoring them. She grabbed Buddy's hand and dragged him to her office, slamming her door shut.

"How do you know about that?" Athena said.

"Close sources told me."

"Donnie would never tell—"

"He was my close source. With his permission, I was given the task of teasing out rumors of this being the last fight of the great Adonis Creed. It'll stir up a ticket frenzy and broadcasters will reap the rewards of new subscriptions for streaming revenue… oh yeah, big sister, your brother is going out it in style. Who else to promote and publicize this momentous occasion but me?"

"He doesn't even like you."

"Like has nothing to do with making money. Your brother is about to fill my pockets up with gold. I could retire if I wanted to."

Buddy strolled to her office door.

"When you're done making chump change with these white boys, come holla at me, Athena. A Creed belongs at the top, not in middle management."

He stopped and turned around.

"Whenever you're ready to bounce, call me," Buddy said.

Athena stood near her desk and watched Buddy make his way to her boss. Although pompous and irritatingly smug as he could be, the man made a ton of money. She looked around the office. Middle management was a cushy gig for her. Unlike the higher executives, she negotiated for a higher salary with the use of her name in their corporate promo in a middle-tier position, for fewer responsibilities that would free her up. The best part of her job was that she could enjoy the perks of access while influencing their decisions, without all the drudge work. Of course, she was luckier than most as a trust fund baby and having a mother who knew how to quadruple coin. Money wasn't a need. Power and influence were, and that was something she wasn't willing to give up to be under Buddy Marcelle's thumb as his prized possession. The man was obsessed with the Creed family and salivated at the chance to have her by his side in any capacity. Even sexual if she allowed it.

Donnie must've been pulling out all the stops if he linked up with Buddy's flashy operation again.

Athena checked her computer tablet. She could spare a few minutes to snoop.

"Max, I'm going to a meeting. Have my early lunch ready when I return," she said, whisking down the hall.

She wanted to know what Buddy Marcelle was up to with her brother.

###

His taped-up boxing shoe was on its last leg. Damian didn't care. He was inside a ring for the first time in years, and the feel of the floor under his feet centered him. Smokey sat on the sidelines with Tony and a few spectators, forcing Damian to shake off his discomfort of so many eyes on him. Prison made him overly cautious of looks, tones of speech, and sudden movements. He didn't think he had PTSD, but his body reacted like it did when he grew nervous about being stared at by so many.

The fighter in front of him was a cocky Mexican dude with a slow drawl to his voice when he spoke. They nicknamed him Sleepy because of it. Damian ducked through the ropes to get into the ring and Sleepy took one look at his ankle monitor, pointed a glove at it, and said, "That's cute." A few chuckles went around, but Damian ignored the soft ribbing. He punched his gloves together and shook out his legs waiting for the bell to ring. The clang rang out, and he shuffled forward. Sleepy danced around him with a wide, maniacal grin on his face and threw the first punch. Damian ducked and protected his midsection, letting the other boxer get in a series of quick hits.

"Show me what you got!" Sleepy yelled, feeling himself.

Damian chomped down on the mouthguard protecting his teeth and gums and leaned into Sleepy. In his mind, everything around him blacked out, and all he could see was his hands pummeling his opponent. The man was in his way and the only goal was to remove him. His glove struck right, then left, a jab, a lead uppercut, a cross smash to the face. Sleepy tumbled back and scrambled to hold his bearing, but Damian pounced, making the man's body tender like a cook beating a slab of meat.

A bell rang, but Damian ignored it.

"Hey! Hey! What you doin', man?!" Tony shouted.

Donnie ran down from his loft office.

Sleepy thrust his chest into Damian's.

"You trying to hurt me?" Sleepy yelled.

Damian pushed him hard, and three other men jumped into the ring to separate them. One grabbed Damian by his waist to prevent him from moving. Another held Sleepy back, while the third stood between them both with his hands spread out.

"Little bitch," Damian mumbled.

"Fucking lunatic. You see this, man?" Sleepy shouted to the appointed referee.

Smokey called to him from one end of the ring as Tony approached the center to confront him.

"The fuck are you doing, Damian?" Tony spat out.

"Boxing," Damian said.

"This is a sparring session, not some street brawl," Tony said.

"My bad. Just getting used to being in the ring again," Damian said.

"You need a time out then, homie," Tony said.

"Dame."

Donnie waved to him from the side. Damian leaned over the ropes.

"What's going on?" Donnie asked.

Smokey intervened.

"He's rough around the edges. We'll tighten him up," Smokey said.

"I got this," Damian said.

"You good, Sleepy?" Donnie shouted, still staring at Damian.

"Yeah."

Damian rolled his neck around and waited for them to decide about continuing. The bell rang again. Sleepy was leery of moving in on Damian. The sass in his footwork toned down once he knew Damian was a solid mountain to get past, not dance around.

"Look alive, Damian," Smokey shouted.

Other boxers in the gym crowded around the ring. Donnie stood with his arms crossed, observing every move by him. Damian held back the full power he could've unleashed. Sleepy's breath became a gaspy hunt for a reprieve as the better boxer gave him that work. A second bell rang ending the round and Sleepy gulped down water in his corner, sending Damian cool looks.

"Drink," Smokey said.

Damian took a sip from the water bottle offered and waited for the bell to ring again. Smokey called out combinations and forced him to be conscious of his footwork and form. Muscle memory came back to him with his old rhythm as the techniques he learned from Smokey came into play.

"There you go, Dame!" Donnie shouted in support.

They went five rounds until Smokey stepped in with padding for his hands and chest to work on combos with him. Damian continued watching Sleepy lick his shattered ego in a corner outside of the ring. Tony's grim reaper glare bored into Damian's face and he whispered to Donnie.

"You have the talent, Damian," Smokey said. "We gotta manage that brutal nature."

"Brutal nature?" Damian said.

"You wanted to hurt that dude. Sleepy is a little punk in the ring, but coming at him that hard wasn't necessary. You don't want to develop a reputation for bad gym behavior."

"I clock fools," Damian said.

"But you want to be paid to do that. Right?" Smokey said.

Damian clamped his mouth shut.

"You're better than most of the fighters in here. I saw that on day one with you. We'll get you ready for an actual fight soon… just respect the folks in here while we work toward that," Smokey said.

"I'm not here to make friends. This is my livelihood."

Smokey scratched the back of his head and sighed. He pinched the bridge of his narrow nose and closed his eyes.

"Son, I'm trying to get you to understand the lay of the land. You are in a unique position to know and have the support of the heavyweight champion of the world. He's in your corner. The table is set before you and I promise you will eat. Just wash your hands first. Feel me?" Smokey said.

"I hear you."

"Good. Come with me."

Damian stepped out of the ring and Smokey assisted him with cutting off the tape from his gloves. He followed him to a small office on the ground floor.

"I got your amateur license, passbook, and your first fight scheduled," Smokey said.

Damian picked up his license.

"You wanted to move fast," Smokey said.

"Five fights and I can go pro."

"We need three winning ones to make that step."

"I'll win all five," Damian said, lifting his passbook.

"Good work today. Let's meet up tomorrow an hour earlier to look over your opponent."

"Bet."

Damian shook Smokey's hand and carried his gloves to his changing room locker. He showered, changed into new clothes he bought, and stuffed his sweaty gym clothes into a blue duffle bag for washing. Checking his cell, he missed a message from his probation officer.

"Shit."

Damian secured his locker and rushed out of the gym to his car.

"This is Damian Anderson," he said into his cell.

"Damian, this is Mr. Lucas. Tried to reach you earlier," Lucas said.

"I was in the gym working out with my trainer."

"Can you come by here within the next half hour?"

"Is there a problem? I've been following all the mandates of my probation."

"They filed a motion for your case to end your probation early. For now, we can take your ankle monitor off today."

"I'll be there right away!"

Damian shook his hands before pressing his face against his car to weep. At last. The visible link to his incarceration was leaving him.

"Dame."

Damian wiped his eyes and turned around. Donnie stepped forward.

"You alright, man?"

"Yeah. My P.O. gave me some good news. This damn thing is coming off," Damian said, kicking up his heel.

"Nice. Do you have time to get together later? Dinner with me and my wife? We're trying out a new place that's supposed to have bomb ass food. My treat. I want to talk to you about some things I'm cooking up that I'd like you to be a part of," Donnie said.

"You feel comfortable bringing me around your wife?"

"You plan on acting a fool?" Donnie joked.

"Nah, man. You know how it is."

"Smokey told me he has your first bout lined up. I'd like to come see it. Show you some support."

"If you have time."

"I'll make time."

Donnie touched his lip with his thumb and studied Damian's face.

"That thing in there with Sleepy—"

"It was nothing. Just getting my sea legs back. Eager to prove myself and I came on a little strong with a weaker opponent."

"Weaker? Sleepy is pretty badass."

"Not really."

Donnie grinned.

"I'll send you the address for tonight. Let's say seven-thirty," Donnie said.

"Cool."

"Smokey's a great trainer. Follow his guidance and you'll go far."

Donnie's cell buzzed in his hand. He headed back inside the Delphi.

Damian's stomach churned. Pangs of envy shot through his body often whenever he was around Donnie. It was hard not to see the life that should've been his. He opened his car door and hopped in. He kicked his ankle monitor with his free foot.

"Getting this shit off and then I'm going to swim naked in the ocean," he said out loud to himself before starting the motor.

True freedom was almost there. He could taste it.