Chapter Two

He was on the cover, the biggest sports magazine in the world Sport Illustrated and he was on the cover. There in his dark blue and gray trunks, red gloves, and lean muscular body, he looked like he could really kick someone's ass with his blue eyes glassed over. Inside the mind of a Champ, an intimate looking at the life of defending IBC middleweight champ Ryan Atwood.

The man sat in the back seat of the cab and thumbed through the magazine almost laughing to himself as he did. He shook his head as he read through the article again

Undefeated as both an amateur and a professional with a professional record of 23-0, Ryan Atwood has become a proven force in the world of boxing. A heavy-handed fighter with both the eyes, hearts, and wit for boxing. Atwood's story starts in Chino California, where he lived with his mother and older brother, until at sixteen he landed in juvenile detention. Atwood is skittish about the details of his past not talking about his mother or brother and only saying that he meet his former trainer/manager Joey DiAntonio when he taught at the detention center Atwood was being held at.

The man skimmed down to the end of the article, "Atwood no longer trains in Florida, many thought that his fame as a champ gave him reason to abandon his trainers in Florida. However Atwood himself says his reasoning was much simpler than that. His reason… A girl. Just after his number one contender's match Atwood reunited with his former girlfriend, a California resident. So he opted to moved back to California, where he remains living not in Chino, the land of his uphill upbringing, but in Newport Beach with his girlfriend Marissa.

A snort came from the man's lips, 'Newport Beach,' he mumbled to himself then looked out the window. He gazed at the hillside homes and rolling ocean of Pacific Coast Highway. "Yeah this is Newport Beach," he harshly told himself.

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"You sure this is it?" He asked the cab driver as they pulled up to a set of townhouse apartments.

"Well if you're sure about the address, you gave me, then I'm sure about the place."

"Ok then, thanks," he reached into his pocket and handed the cabby a wad of crumpled up bills.

He sighed as he got out of the car, and all of a sudden not only was his heart racing out of his chest, but he was concerned about what he looked like. His hand ran across his face, he wished he'd had a better shave, or a decent pair of jeans. At the least a tee shirt that didn't have holes in it. However there wasn't anything he could do about any of that, he stopped at the door and gave three hard loud knocks. He waited a few moments and when no response came, he gave three more loud knocks.

"Hold on, I'm on my way, ouch shit, there's a table there," he heard the voice of a woman call out as he waited. A smile crossed his face, 'must be the girlfriend,' he thought to himself. The door flung open to reveal a petite brunette with softly rounded features. "Hi, you must be Marissa," he tried to smile.

"Wrong, which means you must be a reporter. I do like how you tried with the whole old clothes 'I'm just an old friend not a reporter look.' I might have bought it if they didn't look like something you bought at the thrift store two minutes ago." She paused from insulting him and sighed, "Chino's not doing an interviews right now. Look I know he's on the cover of Sports whatever right now, but that doesn't mean it's like cool to just show up and expect an interview."

"Chino?" The man raised an eyebrow and waited for a response.

Summer shook her head and looked at the man in disbelief. Why hadn't he left yet, most of them were gone by the time she got a chance to get a good insult in, she silently hoped this wasn't going to be a case in which they ended up having to call the cops.

"I'm sorry, Ryan's not giving any interviews today."

"Ok that's all great but I'm not a reporter."

"Yeah they all say that. You tried hard though, next time run the thrift store clothes through some dirt before you knock on the door, the look will work better next time."

Marissa heard Summer bickering with someone at the door from the kitchen, and being that Seth was in the living room playing a video game with Ryan, the only other person for Summer to bicker with and insult would be a reporter. She moved quickly to the front door to do damage control.

"Coop, would you please make him go away, I am so sick of these guys, every since that cover came out, they get more and more persistent. This one's even trying to the whole I'm not a reporter approach just to get in the house."

Marissa politely smiled and met his green eyes with her own. Something felt familiar when she looked at him, his eyes, his features, it was like they belonged to someone else, she couldn't quite place it but it made her feel uncomfortable. She cleared her throat preparing for the polite and professional tone she'd taken with the other reporters. Growing up in Newport had taught her that you didn't want to give anyone anything they could use for a scandal. "I'm sorry, but we'll tell you like we tell everyone. Any interviews or pictures or anything else, need to go through Ryan's publicist, and I'm sure whatever magazine your with has that number. He'll be happy to do your press but you must go about it properly, this is our home and we can't just have all you guys showing up hoping to scoop something on the other."

"You his publicist?" The man took a cocky tone and pressed his lips together at her.

Marissa was caught off guard, she knew that look, it seemed so familiar but from where. His tone however was unmistakably rude, and she saw Summer's annoyance.

"Ok I've had enough of this, look you're not going to get your interview today," she moved to slam the door on him.

Ryan heard the commotion and began to get upset with the reporter who wouldn't leave. He hadn't made it a habit to handle them as it only encouraged them, however this time he felt the need to step in.

The man's hand flew out to stop the door, and pushed it back at Summer. "Look I'm not a reported I swear. I just need to see Ryan. I'm promise to you I'm not a reporter."

"He's my brother."