Split Decision: Ringside, #1

By Wendy Ely

Sports reporter Grace Avery is up for a promotion, but only if she gets an interview with the notoriously private, heavy weight champion, Rally Brewer. Grace discovers who Rally is beyond the boxing ring. Little does anyone know, as Grace gets Rally to open up, a two-year-old secret is in jeopardy. Is revealing his secret worth gaining Grace’s love?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Wendy Ely
• Release date: Mar 3, 2015
• ISBN: 9781507017074

Wendy Ely

Wendy Ely is a contemporary romance author. She writes some romantic suspense, really hot stories, and the wonderful happily-ever-after. She lives in Phoenix, Arizona with her own real-life hero and her two teenagers. Wendy loves to hear from readers. Email her at [e-mail]

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Dedication:

To Trevor: Thank you for listening to my story ideas and answering all of my questions after you come home from your training. You help inspire this series and your encouragement lights the fire to keep going. Thank you! I love you, son!

Acknowledgment:

To Piper Denna: We worked together on my books for several years. After a brief pause, we are back at it. Thanks so much for your hard word, writing/editing expertise, and your comments added to my manuscripts that make me laugh out loud! I couldn’t ask for a better person to work with.

To Mhairi Harrison, Leeanne Perrin, and Crystal Seeran: Thank you for your hard word on Split Decision. I value each of you and respect your opinions when it comes to my stories.

Chapter One

An ache spread across Rally Brewer’s cheek where a piece of skin had gotten caught between two pieces of the mouth guard. Rally flinched at the coppery taste of blood in his mouth and bit harder against the plastic mouth piece. He squinted his eyes with anger even though his opponent, Elliot Hudson, was his friend outside of the ring. Once the announcer yelled for them to start, all bets were off.

Elliot hopped away from his corner as Rally entered the center of the ring, ready for another round. The bald guy in front of him shifted his weight from one foot to another, his gloves raised and ready to take another hit at Rally’s already split lip. Sweat ran down Rally’s back, and body odor assaulted his nose.

Rally’s trainer, Felix Manzi, waited ringside, twisting his hands with anxiety, no doubt. Rally needed to end this showdown soon. He switched his lead foot and moved forward. A jab to Elliot’s stomach brought cheers from the Las Vegas crowd. Elliot guarded his face with his left glove, granting Rally full access to the other side of his abdomen. One, two, three hits, sending Elliot bending forward, his arms losing the power to protect his face. A quick shot into his cheek sent him flying backward. He bounced against the floor.

One. Two, the ref called out. "Three. Knockout. The ref sauntered over and raised Rally’s exhausted arm in victory. And the winner of the match is Ralph ‘Rally’ Brewer."

Rally wanted to wave his hand at the roaring crowd but fatigue even weighed down the corners of his smile. Elliot was one of the best and this match counted as a barnburner, an intense fight between the opponents. Rally just wanted to shower and head back to his hotel room for a quiet evening. He wiped a river of sweat from his face and turned toward his corner. Too bad for Elliot, though. While the other guys from their gym were headed to the casino for a fun night out, Elliot would be headed to his room, too, to heal the pain. Rally knew because he’d been in Elliot’s shoes many times.

Rally climbed through the ropes and dropped his feet down to the cement floor. He high-fived a fan and caught the gaze of another. This time a female. With emerald green eyes and a smile that had the power to warm even the ice king’s heart. She held a notepad in one hand a pen in the other. Fuck. A sports reporter. Were the magazines sending the pretty ones out to ensure a story? He rolled his eyes.

Mr. Brewer, she mouthed, but he couldn’t hear her voice over the crowd’s uproar.

I’ve got to go, he said, pointing to the exit.

A slow, burning smile spread over her pink lips. No, they weren’t sending the pretty reporters out to the field. They were sending the gorgeous women to do the job. And Rally needed to stay the hell away from her. The constant reminder of the last time he’d fallen for a pretty smile and breathtaking eyes made him walk a little faster toward the exit.

Rally pushed through the locker room door and slung the towel over his bare shoulder. A drop of sweat glistened on his skin above his top lip. He swiped at it with the end of the towel but missed some, the salty liquid hitting his split lower lip. He flinched. The good news was that he’d lucked out with only minor soreness to his biceps and hamstrings and a cut on his mouth tonight. The muscle aches were easy to fix by a masseuse and heated medicated lotion. The lip, on the other hand, would need to be cleaned and checked by the medic from their gym.

Hey, Brewer, Trent ‘Triple T’ McGibbon said as he stood from the bench and touched knuckles with Rally. Nice fight. Wasn’t sure who’d win that one.

Me, either. Rally chuckled.

Trent glanced at the open cut on Rally’s lip. Elliot got you good.

You should see Elliot. I don’t think he’ll be going out with you guys tonight.

Trent shrugged. Probably not. Hey, you should go. He put up his hand. And don’t say no. We’re heading over to a new club in one of the casinos. We’ll celebrate your win tonight and I’ll even buy you a round or two.

Rally started shaking his head the moment he heard the invite. I need to get a quick shower in before I head back to my hotel. Thanks for the offer, though.

Turning us down again? We all aren’t usually at the same events. We lucked out with this one. Trent was right. They had six guys boxing tonight. Two had won already, Rally being one of them, so there was a lot to celebrate.

Felix’s raspy voice rose above the fighters’ loud locker room chatter. Trent, you’re up next.

Gotta go, man. Shoot me a text if you change your mind about the club.

Will do. Rally wouldn’t change his mind, and Trent knew it. He never went out with them anymore. Good luck.

They bumped fists again and Rally turned toward the shower.

***

Grace Avery rushed through the cheering crowd and climbed steps that would get her out of the boxing auditorium. Excitement rushed through her veins as she nearly ran down the hallway. She hadn’t actually heard Mr. Brewer instruct her to meet him in the locker room, but he’d mouthed a series of words that resembled such. And he’d pointed toward the exit. She reached the corner of the hall, only a few feet from the locker room. The arena’s guard ushered other press-badged people through. She ran faster. Once that door closed, she probably wouldn’t be able to grab anyone’s attention long enough to get inside.

And she needed this interview.

The door started to close. Wait! she called, her notepad in the air as her heels clanked against the cold, gray cement floor. Don’t go yet!

The guard rolled his eyes as he held the door open two inches at the most. Can I help you?

"My name is Grace. Grace Avery from Boxers United Magazine. She shoved her press identification toward the guard. I’m here to interview Ralph Brewer."

He pushed the door open a little farther for a closer look. The guard, a two hundred fifty pounds at the least beast of a man, shook his head. "Nobody gets in to see Rally." He tapped his clipboard against the doorframe.

Grace tried looking around the bulldog but couldn’t see anything beyond his massive chest. But Rally said to meet him here. He just did. She pointed in the direction she’d come from. Right out there by the ring. He said—

Sure, lady, the bulldog growled, glancing down at the clipboard. Wearing a faked shocked face, he said, Oh look. Your name isn’t here.

Grace looked down one side of the hall and then the other in desperation for someone to magically appear to order the man to let her talk to the heavy-weight champion. She had to interview Rally. Failing this assignment wasn’t an option. Not getting this story by her deadline meant not having a job at the magazine either. Not even as an assistant as she’d been for two years. But—but I just talked to him after his match ended.

"Like I said: Rally never speaks to anyone. He let out a belly shaking laugh. Since you’re such great friends with him, call him on the phone. Oh, right. He’s not on your speed dial either? Have a great day, lady."

And the door slammed shut. Grace tried the handle with no luck. One damn assignment to prove she could handle this position and here she stood. First insulted by a big bully with an enlarged ego and then a door slammed in her face. Maybe she should just forget about this. A warm bed for her jet-lagged body sounded better than standing in a cold, cement lined hallway anyway.

She sighed. Giving up on this assignment wasn’t an option. Doing so meant returning to Los Angeles to face her boss, Ray Dickson. He would call her incompetent. He would mumble how he shouldn’t send a woman to do a man’s job. And then he would fire her from the magazine. The ‘or else’ threat had been part of the deal when she’d begged for the promotion.

She turned toward the door and pounded until her knuckles burned. Then she pounded some more with the fatty part of her hand. After several minutes, she let out a big sigh and looked up at the ceiling. Why her? Why this assignment? Because Ray wanted her to not only fail but to fail big.  It didn’t matter that her father had been their full time writer for over ten years and she wanted to follow in his footsteps. She counted the pipes running along the ceiling to take the focus off the tears pooling behind her eye lids. One. Two. Almost better. Three. Four—

The door flew open and smacked her in the face, sending her backwards on her butt. Pain ripped across her nose and continued to throb against her cheek bones. No more blinking back tears. They flowed freely down her cheeks as she put her hand up to her nose. A sticky wetness coated her fingers.

Oh damn! I’m so sorry, said the gruff voice. She couldn’t make out the man’s features through her tear-clouded vision.

She cupped her hand over her nose, knowing that the sticky liquid was blood. Moving her hand would free the dam that had the potential to ruin her new white blouse. Do you have something to cover my nose with?

Is it broken? The blurry figure crouched down next to her. Let me see.

Blood’ll get everywhere if I move my hand.

I’m so sorry, ma’am, he said softly. Come back to the locker room with me. I’ll have Charity take a look. If she can’t fix it, she’ll at least clean you up.

Of all the luck. She’d been trying to get back there to meet Ralph Brewer and the only chance she got was by some asshole breaking her nose. Who’d want to talk to her now? Certainly not Rally. Letting out a whimper, she wiped the tears away on the sleeve of her jacket.

Can you help me up, please? she asked.

It’s the least I can do, he said, slipping strong arms underneath hers and pulling her to her feet. Once up, he put a hand on her elbow and guided her through the opened doorway.

Bulldog must’ve been close by. Hey, she can’t be back here, he barked from an unseen location.

She’s with me, the guy said, steering her down another hallway.

Various voices floated from opened doorways; cheers rang from some while tips on doing better in the ring came from others. Was Rally in one of these rooms? Maybe she’d get a chance to snoop if her nose wasn’t too bad. If only her eyes would stop watering. Over-doses of cologne and soap to fight away the stench of male sweat didn’t help either.

I didn’t bring my gym bag or I’d give you my towel. He shrugged against her arm. I was in a hurry today. Overslept, you know.

I can understand that. Grace had the horrible habit of oversleeping and being late to almost every event. You mentioned someone named Charity, but who is she?

She does our first aid.

They walked a few steps down another hallway and made a sharp right.  

She’s too pretty to be hanging out with someone like you, said a smooth voice. One hundred percent female. What did you do to her?

The guy guided Grace over to a chair. I, uh, hit her with the door. Can you check her out and clean her up?

Oh, no. I didn’t really mean it. Well, let me take a look at you. The woman pulled another chair over and took her place face to face with Grace.

Sorry again, said the guy before he left and shut the door behind him.

Charity folded a thick towel over Grace’s chest, allowing Grace to finally move her hand away from the damage. Thin fingers poked at her face, increasing the pain again. Some dabbing and then a wet compress was added. Another few minutes went by before her vision cleared.

She sat in an office type of chair. A table holding a variety of different sized organizers filled with medical supplies sat on top. In the right corner of the room was a stainless steel sink and a mirror. The medical bed dominated the room.

Yep. It might have a small fracture, but it’s not out of place. Rally always does this in the ring...never outside of it. Charity laughed.

Did she just say Rally did this? That was who brought her in here? Maybe she didn’t hear Charity correctly. You said Rally, right?

Sure did.

Holy shit. Just my luck, she grumbled. Deflated hope made her body relax against the back of the chair. Her one chance had been here and gone.

At least you got to meet him...kind of. Most people don’t. Charity went over to the sink and rinsed her hand under the water.

When the water was turned off, Grace asked, How long have you known him?

Maybe two years? He’s a gentleman but very private.  Charity cocked her head in the direction of the locker room.  At least he doesn’t show-boat all over the media like some of them. That in itself earns my respect.

Where’s he from?

Charity put on a fresh pair of rubber gloves. He trains at One Punch Boxing Gym in Portland, Oregon, so I assume he lives around there. I honestly don’t know anything about him. Most of the guys chat with me while they’re in here. Not Rally though. He’s tight lipped. He comes in, gets business taken care of, and leaves. She took the compress from Grace, tossing it and the rubber gloves in the trash. "It stopped bleeding. You can use the sink to clean up. Don’t worry about the discoloration around your nose. It’ll get worse tomorrow and then it’ll