The old man looked up.
"Maybe."
"Gym isn't really a waiting room."
"I noticed."
His voice was deep and quiet.
Travis smiled.
"You ever train?"
The old man glanced at the ring.
"Once or twice."
Mike snorted.
Travis folded his arms.
"What'd you train?"
"Different things."
"That's vague."
The old man shrugged.
"Question was vague."
A few fighters nearby turned their heads.
Travis's smile disappeared for a moment.
Then returned.
"You funny?"
"No."
That answer made several people laugh.
Travis shook his head.
"What's your name?"
"Caleb."
"Caleb what?"
"Caleb Morgan."
Travis nodded slowly.
"Well, Caleb Morgan, you ever been in this gym before?"
"No."
"Then you probably don't know how Friday sparring works."
"I've watched."
"Watching isn't fighting."
Caleb looked at him.
"I know."
Travis stepped closer.
"Then maybe you should stick to watching."
Caleb nodded.
"Probably."
Something about that calm answer irritated Travis more than an insult would have.
He turned away.
Then he stopped.
"Unless..."
He looked over his shoulder.
"You want to put those dusty boots to work?"
The gym became quieter.
Caleb looked down at his boots.
Then back at Travis.
"I'm not dressed for it."
Travis laughed.
"Neither was David when he fought Goliath."
Raymond immediately stepped forward.
"Travis."
But Caleb raised one hand.
"Let him."
The room went silent.
Travis smiled.
"Seriously?"
Caleb stood.
At sixty-three, he was tall but slightly stooped. His shoulders were broad beneath the worn shirt. His hands were rough, with thick knuckles and old scars.
He looked nothing like a fighter.
Travis looked delighted.
"You sure?"
Caleb nodded.
"I'll go easy."
Laughter erupted around the gym.
Caleb smiled faintly.
"That's what I meant."
Travis didn't understand.
Not yet.
Dust on the Mat
Raymond pulled Travis aside.
"You don't have to do this."
Travis grinned.
"Why? Afraid Grandpa's going to hurt me?"
"I'm warning you."
"About him?"
"About yourself."
Travis rolled his eyes.
"You always make everything dramatic."
Raymond looked directly into his eyes.
"You're confusing confidence with control."
Travis didn't answer.
Raymond turned toward Caleb.
"You don't need to prove anything."
Caleb nodded.
"I know."
"Then why step in?"
Caleb glanced at Travis.
"Because he asked."
Raymond sighed.
"Fine."
He looked at Travis.
"Three minutes. Technical sparring. Light contact."
Travis smiled.
"Of course."
Raymond pointed at him.
"That means light."
Travis raised both hands.
"I heard you."
Caleb removed his boots.
He placed them beside the mat.
The entire gym watched.
Without the boots, he looked even more ordinary.
His socks were gray.
His jeans were still on.
He rolled his sleeves higher.
Raymond approached him.
"You're not wearing gloves?"
"No."
"We have loaners."
Caleb shook his head.
"Don't need them."
Travis laughed.
"Coach, come on."
Raymond's eyes narrowed.
"Travis."
"Fine."
Caleb stepped onto the mat.
The difference between them was almost comical.
Travis wore professional sparring gear.
Caleb wore jeans and a faded work shirt.
Travis bounced lightly on his feet.
Caleb stood still.
"Ready?" Raymond asked.
Both nodded.
The timer beeped.
Travis moved first.
He flicked a jab toward Caleb's face.
Caleb leaned slightly backward.
The glove missed by an inch.
Travis threw another.
Caleb stepped aside.
Another jab.
Another miss.
Travis smiled.
"Come on."
Caleb remained still.
Travis threw a right hand.
Caleb moved his head.
The punch passed beside his ear.
Someone laughed nervously.
Travis increased his speed.
Jab.
Cross.
Hook.
Caleb avoided every punch.
Not dramatically.
He barely moved.
A half-step.
A shoulder turn.
A slight shift of his head.
Nothing more.
Travis's smile faded.
He attacked again.
This time Caleb raised one hand.
His palm touched Travis's chest.
He didn't strike.
He simply stopped him.
Travis looked down.
Then back up.