“What’s going on?” I asked him quietly. I didn’t want to alert Em but something must be up for them to be coming round this early after fight night.
“Danny wants to meet you,” he explained. I figured this would be about the loss last night. It wasn’t uncommon for Danny to want a postmortem of what went down.
“Fine,” I huffed. “I’ll stop by the gym tomorrow.”
“No, Con. He wants to see you now. He sent us to come and get you.”
“Shit,” I said, because there really wasn’t anything else to say.
*
Liam dropped my sorry arse Driscoll’s Gym then took off with the guys leaving me with no backup. They knew I was about to get a bollocking for my shitty performance and were too chicken shit to stand in the line of fire. Sitting down in the crappy chair opposite Danny was like sitting in the headmaster’s office all over again. I’d been in this seat and under his spotlight many times before for drinking too much and fighting outside the ring, but it was the first time I’d sat here since I’d met Em.
“I’m sorry Danny. I don’t know what to say…” I started.
“I don’t need you to say anything, Con. I need you to listen. Last night weren’t just a feckin’ shambles, it were the first time in a long time that I thought about jacking in the boxing for good.”
I sucked in a breath. That was a serious thing to say. Danny ate, slept, and breathed boxing. I wasn’t sure he could ever walk away from it, and I wasn’t sure what I would do if he ever did.
“All because I didn’t run the fight like you told me to?” I asked, pissed that he was completely overreacting just because I’d gone off the reservation once.
“No, Con. Because if you were any other fighter, Rico Temple would have killed you last night.” It was on the tip of my tongue to argue with him, but the look on his face told me to shut the fuck up.
“Look, I know that everything that happened with Em screwed with your head, but last night I watched fear and anger eat you alive until the only thing I could see was a beaten-up, scared-shitless kid. So you wanna tell me what the fuck’s going on?” I hung my head in shame, knowing that he was right and ran my hands through my hair in despair.
“A few days ago Em got a letter from Frank. There was no note, just an envelope full of pictures. Turns out the sick fuck had taking photos of her for years without her knowing.”
“Shit,” he mumbled, looking as devastated as I probably did.
“You told the police?” he asked.
“I took it down to the station yesterday. It’s being tested for fingerprints but unless they find any, there’s nothing to tie it to Frank. This shit’s got me worried, Danny. I can’t get her through this while he’s messing with her head. And where does it stop? Even when he goes down, we don’t know how long he’s gonna get and it’s clear he can still get to her from the inside. So how’s this gonna end?”
“It ends when you say it ends, son. Frank’s in prison and he’s gonna be there for a long time. He’ll keep messing with your head as long as you let him. Bring me or Kieran any suspicious mail and let us vet it. Don’t set up voicemail and tell Em not to answer any calls where she doesn’t recognize the number. Cut the cancer out of your lives and start living. Otherwise Frank wins. The best way to stick it to him is to lead a long and happy life with the woman you love.” This was Danny’s epic advice but he didn’t know what it was like to have failed someone you loved and having them hurt because of it. It would always be my sin to bear and I couldn’t fuck up again.
“That’s easier said than done, Danny. I’m fucking terrified of letting her down again,” I admitted.
“Son, fear lives in the dark. Drag it into the light and you’ll see there was never anything to be afraid of in the first place. You tell Em how you’re feeling?” he asked, frowning.
“No. She doesn’t need to know all the shit going through my head. It’s my job to take care of her. She needs to know that I’ve got this handled,” I said.
“Bollocks. She ain’t some wallflower than needs wrapping up in cotton wool. That girl had the brass balls to stand up and walk away from that fecker long before she had you behind her. I’m telling you straight that you keep bottling shit up like you have been and not talking to her about it and you’ll end up losing her. Holding on to this anger is gonna eat you alive. So I think it’s time we brought someone in to fix your noggin and while we’re at it, you need a manager.
“I don’t need a manager, Danny. I’ve got you, and I sure as shit don’t need some fucking pansy-arsed head doctor,” I shouted at him.
Taking the cigarette out of his mouth, he turned toward me, his face a picture of anger. “Don’t you fuckin’ bark at me,” he yelled. “If I tell you we need something then we fecking need it.”