“Thirty percent is outrageous.” I gave in to her stupid way of cheering me up. Fuck, I hated that she had an effect on me.

“I’m worth it.”

I looked her up and down. “Unless you would be delivering me scripts naked, thirty percent isn’t worth it.”

“Watch it,” Jett warned, making me laugh from his jealousies. I had just been in a bad mood. Damn them.

“I can do naked for thirty percent.” Goldie held out her hand to shake on it.

Quickly grabbing her arm and shoving it back down to her side, Jett said, “The fuck you will. I swear I can’t let you out of the house.”

“Is that a threat to tie me up?” Her eyes lit up.

“Don’t tempt me, little one.”

Leaning past Jett so she was looking me in the eyes, she said, “I will do naked for twenty.”

“You’re done,” Jett responded.

With one big swoop, Jett wrapped his arms around Goldie and turned to me. He pointed to the room on the right at the very back. “That is your new sanctuary. Learn to deal with it. You deserve this, and you owe it to yourself to at least give it a shot.”

Jett took a squealing Goldie down the hall and into the other corridor of the community center, leaving me to my thoughts. Sometimes I wanted to punch the cocky motherfucker for his “saving” ways. His attitude to those in need of second chances was commendable, but I didn’t want to be one of the people he saved. I didn’t believe I deserved it.

I turned toward the room in back and observed the black door that had a small window just big enough so someone could peek in to see if the room was occupied. Since the doors were new, there was paper still on the window, covering up my view of the inside.

Next to the room was a plaque that displayed the name of the space. As I drew closer, a knot in my throat started to grow tight from what was written in raised metal. I ran my fingers across the plaque as I read what it said.

“The Haze Room,” I read out loud, lowering my head.

I was instantly pitched back to the day I’d earned the nickname Kace “The Haze” Haywood. It had been my first ever fight. I was still an amateur, but I was someone to be watched on the circuit, someone to look out for. I’d been so fucking young and full of life and goals.

My opponent had been young too, not as well trained or as talented as me, and with one swift punch to the jaw, he was down. Total knockout. That evening, the announcer said I’d cast a haze over the arena, putting out a warning to all future opponents I wasn’t one to be messed with. I was going to take the sport of boxing to a new level.

Anger set in and I itched to rip the plaque off. I didn’t want the reminder of who I used to be. That man was dead.

I grabbed the edge of the plaque and tugged on it but knew there was no hope in pulling it down. Knowing Jett, he’d told the construction workers to embed the damn thing so I wouldn’t be able to remove it. Little did Jett know, I wasn’t opposed to tearing down walls.

Standing in front of the door, I played with the idea of walking in, of seeing what was inside, but the hammering of my heart prevented me from entering. The moment I walked inside that room, the memories were going to come flooding back, and I wasn’t sure if I was ready for that.

Fuck!

I dropped to the floor and ran my hands through my hair. I was distraught, confused, conflicted.

I wanted this new change. Standing outside the building, I had told myself this was a good change, this was a fresh start. So how come it was so hard to accept?

The guilt I’d lived with for the past several years had weighed down on me in a way that was hard to explain, to the point that living my everyday life had become almost unbearable.

Growing up, my parents had told me my actions had consequences and that night, the night I’d taken a man’s life, I’d found out how right my parents had been.

Pain erupted in my chest from knowing how much I’d let my family down, how much I’d let my friends down, how much I’d let myself down, all because I’d trusted the wrong person.

No, I couldn’t blame someone else for my bad decisions. I decided what I put in my body. I should have done the research. I should have known better.

I was a sorry motherfucker with no future.

Pressing a hand against my chest, I wondered when the pain was going to stop, when I was going to finally just live a numb life without feelings, without the possibility of being happy.

That was what was killing me the most. I flirted with chances to be happy. Small opportunities gave me a peek into what my life could possibly be like if I gave into the temptation, and it was torture because every time I thought I could live a different life, it was snatched away from me.

I looked at the door and thought this could be one of those moments where I had the chance to find some peace within myself, but I was too fucking nervous to go after it, to accept it, because like everything else in my life, it could be taken away from me, right from under my feet. It had happened with my boxing career, it had happened with my future, it had happened the moment I met Lyla. It was the reason I couldn’t get close to her. I couldn’t chance it.

This could be different, right?

Standing up, I played with the knob. This all could be different. Who would take this away from me? Jett couldn’t; he was the one who gave me this opportunity. What about my reputation? Would that tarnish the center? Would people not want to come inside because they wouldn’t want to associate with me?

Jett’s voice rang through my head about how this center was for those who needed second chances, those who wanted to be free and learn. Maybe I could possibly show others that second chances were possible even though deep down, I didn’t believe in them.

Nutting up, I took a deep breath and entered the Haze Room.

The smell of fresh wrestling mats and leather hit me dead-on as I pushed the door fully open. I wiped my mouth in shock and took in my surroundings.

In the center of a room was a state-of-the-art boxing ring with black and purple ropes circling the mini square. To the right, an exposed brick wall flanked the side with punching bags dangling from the ceiling. I counted at least five from where I stood. Next to the hanging bags were speed bags, and off to the side there were two body bags and two double end bags. There were brand new boxing gloves piled in the corner, and on the wall opposite the bags was a variety of TRX bands, weights, jump ropes, medicine balls, and even a trampoline.

The room was state of the art, and I itched to take advantage of the training facility. Combinations of punches ran through my mind as I stepped up to the punching bags and gave them a light push.

Fuck, this place was amazing.

I walked along the ring and glided my hands over the ropes, testing their strength. The smooth texture brought back distant memories of leaning up against the ropes while trying to catch my breath during a brutal practice. When I was in the ring, it felt like I was home. I busted my ass whenever I set foot on the canvas because I respected sacred ground. That was what I’d been taught. That was what was ingrained in my brain.

Behind the ring were mini bleachers that could probably hold ten people. It was a small viewing section, but it was strategically placed so viewers could watch all the hardworking aspiring athletes in the room.

I shook my head in disbelief that Jett had put this together with me in mind, knowing full well once I saw this room, there was no way in hell I would be able to say no to his offer. The fucker had known what he was doing all along.

Needing to sit down, I sat on the top bleacher and surveyed the room. Visions of kids training, learning self-defense and discipline, flooded the space. I could smell the sweat, I could hear the smack of gloves on the punching bags, and I could see the comradery that would form among them.