Page 15

EVEREST

After making a quick trip to my apartment, I return to today’s event, the grand opening of the youth center’s boxing gym.

The hum of laughter and music rolls down the block. It feels like the whole damn neighborhood showed up. The place is packed with vendors and families. A bounce house sits in the back corner, already leaning like it’s taken a few too many roundhouse kicks from sugared-up kids.

It's a hell of a sight.

The club and our community showed up in full force today. It’s good to have people willing to protect, build, and give back. This gym will become a good foundation, a shot at something better for this community and kids who often don’t get second chances or even first ones.

The new sign on the building now reads Hope Youth Center & Boxing Gym in bold letters. Seeing it sends a swell of pride through my chest. This is what all those long nights were for, and it feels damn good to see it finally come to life.

The women are in full force today, too. Luna and Tequila are set up inside the gym with their little ones, selling raffle tickets to win family fun packs to the Audubon Nature Museum and Zoo, as well as a family movie night fun pack.

Across the parking lot, near the bounce house, Piper is helping a local animal shelter with adoptable dogs, while nearby, Jo and her daughter, Sawyer, are busy face painting with Payton and Josie helping.

My gaze drifts to where Promise, Sadie, and Ruby are stationed, serving up all the grilled food being cooked by Riggs, Nova, and their old man.

My gaze drifts, searching for one particular person. Then I catch a glimpse of her and fight back a smile that she is here. My eyes stay locked on London as she smiles warmly at an elderly man waiting for a food tray.

I tear my eyes off London and glance down just in time to see a wild-eyed kid sprinting past, shrieking joyfully.

“Watch where ya goin’, Jacob, and keep the water wars in the field,” Charlie bellows across the lot at the kid, towing a wagon full of ready-to-use water balloons.

“Sorry,” a kid shouts as he bolts, his hands wrapped around a couple of water balloons.

I chuckle as Charlie trudges past me while Kiwi approaches.

“You’re fightin’ a losin’ battle, mate,” Kiwi says, then takes a bite of the mustard-smothered hot dog in his hand.

“What are you goin’ on about?”

Kiwi points across the parking lot. “London.”

I grunt, saying nothing but not denying it either. It’s not like I can argue because he’s right. And the battle has amplified since discovering London’s little secret.

Nova strides over, holding out a couple of cold beers. “The place looks damn good, brother.”

I nod and look toward Charlie, who referees a group of kids, grabbing as many water balloons as they can take from the wagon.

“Charlie deserves most of the credit.” I grab the bottle of beer from Nova and take a sip.

“Charlie gives the center much more time and energy than I do. The community and kids are the soul of this place, but Charlie is the heart of it.”

Riggs claps his hand on my shoulder, pulling me from my thoughts. “Hell of a crowd.”

Wick joins us. "Nothing brings people together like free food.” His tone is light, but beneath the surface lies a palpable tension.

We fall into a tense silence, the chatter, joyful laughter, and pulsating music swirling around us, failing to penetrate the weight of unease in the air—my gaze darts across the crowd, searching for anything or anyone out of the ordinary.

We’re here for the kids, but the looming shadow of the mill fire lingers in our minds, alongside the message warning me to watch my back.

It’s been quiet lately, but silence can be a prelude to danger in our world. So, we remain on high alert.

I catch sight of a familiar face standing near the corner of the building, Jace.

He’s shifting from foot to foot, his eyes fixated on the ground.

I haven’t seen him since the night I busted him with those two drug pushers.

My gut tightens with a mix of relief knowing he’s okay, and fresh anger that he even entertained talking with those motherfuckers in the first place.

“I got something to take care of,” I mutter and break away from my brothers, weaving between a cluster of sticky-faced kids by the baked goods table, heading in Jace’s direction.

When I’m near the corner of the building, he finally looks up.

His eyes widen slightly, and he straightens. “Everest.” His voice is low and unsure as his eyes dart nervously.

“Jace.” My tone is steady, giving nothing away yet.

Jace clears his throat. “I thought I’d come to look at the gym now that it's finished.” He tries to smile, but it falters under my stare.

I cross my arms over my chest. “Wasn’t sure I’d see you again.”

Jace drops his gaze and rubs his hand over his neck.

I study him, keeping my face impassive. I’ve known Jace for a few years now. I’ve seen what he’s been through with a deadbeat dad, a mom working two jobs, and the pull of local gangs constantly gnawing at his door. “Those guys you were talkin’ to the other night, they still around?”

“I’ve seen them in the neighborhood a couple of times.” He locks eyes with me. “But I swear I haven’t fucked with ‘em.”

“You know what they do, right?”

“Yeah,” he mutters.

“You want that life?”

“No,” he quickly replies, but I’m not buying it.

“You got a lot stacked against you, kid. Your old man is doin’ time for the same shit those two pieces of shit you were talkin’ with are involved in. I know that’s a shadow hanging over you, but you don’t have to live under it.”

“I’m not selling or buying.” His tone hints at anger while defending himself.

“Doesn’t matter. When you’re seen with pushers, people start makin’ assumptions.”

His jaw ticks. “I'm not my old man.”

“Then don’t make the same choices he did.”

Jace sighs. “They came to me. I didn’t want trouble, so I listened to what they had to say. You know, show a little respect, they tend to leave you alone.”

I shake my head. “Respect doesn’t mean standing next to a pile of shit, hoping you don’t smell like it. Get what I’m saying?”

Jace shoves his hands in his pockets. “I get it.” He nods.

“Good.” I clasp my hand on his shoulder, giving him a firm squeeze, letting a beat of silence hang between us to stretch the moment. “You eat?”

“Not yet,” he replies.

With a nod, I draw back a little, still holding his gaze. “Go grab some grub and put some meat on them bones.”

Watching him walk away, my thoughts drift back to our conversation.

The drug pushers are still hanging around the neighborhood.

I can’t let them sink their claws into the kid.

But I know the streets—nothing’s ever that simple.

I know that for Jace, each day feels like he’s teetering on a razor’s edge with his choices.

Every day is a balancing act for him, risking everything with each decision.

I exhale slowly, tasting bitterness, hoping that when he faces tough choices, he finds the strength to choose a better path, avoiding prison or, worse, an early death.

I watch Jace making his way across the parking lot, then turn and head back to the guys, but stop mid-stride and drink in the sight of London, who’s just a few feet away at the clothing donation table.

She's standing in front of a large fan, sunglasses perched on her head, black hair pulled up in a messy bun, with a few rebellious strands curling down the side of her neck.

She's wearing cut-off shorts and a Hope Youth Center T-shirt. Nothing over the top, but it shows off her toned legs and hugs her curves in ways that make it damn near impossible to look away, even though I’ve seen more skin than this.

She turns, catching me eyeing her.

There’s a beat of silence between us, not uncomfortable, just thick and unspoken. It's almost like she's reading my thoughts. The sound of the crowd fades, and for a half second, I feel the same pull I always feel when she’s around, like gravity is getting stronger.

London speaks up, and I prepare for the usual sass. Instead, she surprises me with, “It’s an incredible turnout.”

“Not gonna bust my balls?” I respond blandly.

London smirks. “You want me to?”

I’d rather be balls deep in you. The thought sears my brain, and by the look on London’s face, I’m questioning if the words fell out of my mouth.

London huffs, crossing her arms under her breasts. “I’m trying to be nice. I know what this place means to you.”

“Seen the inside yet?” I ask, leaning into the pleasantries she’s dishing out.

“You offering to give me a tour?” She studies me.

“If you’re willin’.”

“I’ll lead the way.” London saunters toward the entrance, her hips swaying slightly.

The second we step into the gym, the shift in sound is noticeably quieter. I spot Luna and Tequila at the back of the room and feel their eyes tracking our movement as we walk around the ring. London walks beside me, taking it all in.

London scans the room. “Why boxing?”

I look at her. “It requires discipline. You have to follow the rules and learn respect. It encourages kids to think about themselves and others. This place can provide a refuge for kids when the temptations in the streets start whispering in their ears. I know it won’t save everyone.

But it might save one. That’s what matters. ”

Her gaze lingers on me for a beat longer. There’s something in her expression I can’t quite read. Whatever it is, it’s softening the edge she usually wears like armor.

I gesture to the ring. “You ever box?”

London smiles. “Only in court.”

I chuckle. “I believe it.”

We start walking the floor, passing walls lined with framed photographs of the kids we’ve helped and come to know over the years, along with headshots of famous boxers for inspiration.