(LIAM'S POV)
"Then senior year I met Coach Ramirez. Old Mexican guy who ran the boxing gym on the edge of town. I walked in one day with a black eye from Louis and told him I wanted to learn how to hurt people back. He looked at me for a long time, then said, 'Kid, you already hurt. Let's teach you how to make it count.'"
I smiled through the tears, small and broken. "I trained like a demon. Every night. Every weekend. Push-ups until I puked. Bag work until my knuckles split. Sparring until I couldn't see straight. I got strong. Faster. Meaner. And one night after a particularly bad… session… with Louis and his crew, I snuck my phone into the locker room. Recorded everything. Their faces were clear as day. Mine? I kept it angled so you couldn't see me. It was insurance."
The memory of that final confrontation burned bright in my chest like a lit fuse, every second of it replaying in perfect, brutal clarity.
