Back then, Sam Brooks had been known as The Quiet Storm.
He had never been world champion.
Never had the promotional machine that Travis had.
But he had fought some of the best fighters of his generation.
He had beaten men twenty pounds heavier.
He had survived wars that should have ended careers.
And he had walked away from boxing at thirty-eight.
Without a farewell.
Without a final fight.
Without an explanation.
Only Eddie knew why.
Sam had not stopped because he was afraid.
He stopped because boxing had taken enough from him.
His younger brother had died after a fight.
A promising amateur named Isaiah Brooks.
Sam had blamed himself for encouraging him to keep fighting after a concussion.
Isaiah never recovered.
Sam quit the sport soon afterward.
He became a trainer for a while.
Then disappeared.
Years later, he showed up at Grant's.
He asked Eddie if there was work available.
Eddie gave him a mop.
Neither man mentioned the past.
They didn't need to.
Now, watching Travis chase him around the ring, Eddie felt something he hadn't felt in years.
Fear.
Not for Sam.
For Travis.
Ten seconds remained.
Travis suddenly lunged.
This was no longer controlled sparring.
It was pride.
He threw a powerful right hand.
Sam moved.
The punch missed.
Travis turned.
Sam was already behind him.
The old man touched his shoulder.
Travis spun around.
The gym laughed.
It wasn't cruel laughter.
It was surprise.
Travis's face darkened.
“You think this is funny?”
Sam shook his head.
“No.”
“Then stop running.”
“I've never run from a fight.”
Travis charged.
Sam planted his feet.
For the first time, he threw a real punch.
A short left hand.
Not hard.
But perfectly placed.
It struck Travis just below the ribs.
Travis stopped.
His breath caught.
His eyes widened.
The punch had not been powerful.
That was what shocked him.
It had been accurate.
Pain spread through his side.
The timer showed five seconds.
Travis swung wildly.
Sam stepped aside.
Three.
Two.
One.
The bell rang.
The entire gym erupted.
Sam lowered his hands.
Travis stood frozen.
He had not been knocked down.
He had not even been seriously hurt.
But something much more damaging had happened.
The old man had made him miss.
Again.
And again.
And again.
Then had touched him whenever he wanted.
Marcus stepped between them.
“Time.”
Sam nodded.
He turned toward Danny.
“You okay?”
Danny nodded.
“Yeah.”
Sam extended a hand.
“Good.”
Travis remained in the center of the ring.
Kevin climbed through the ropes.
“That's enough.”
Travis didn't answer.
He was staring at Sam.
“Who taught you?”
Sam looked at him.
“My father.”
“You train fighters?”
“Used to.”
“You're not a janitor.”
Sam smiled faintly.
“I clean floors.”
“That isn't what I asked.”
Eddie finally walked toward the ring.
He moved slowly.
He was seventy-eight, but his voice still carried.
“Travis.”
The champion turned.
Eddie looked at him.
“You got your thirty seconds.”
Travis swallowed.
“I wasn't trying.”
Eddie nodded.
“That's what every embarrassed fighter says.”
A few people laughed.
Travis climbed out of the ring.
He looked at Danny.
For the first time that night, he appeared ashamed.
“I hit you too hard.”
Danny looked surprised.
Travis continued.
“I shouldn't have.”
Danny nodded.
“Okay.”
Travis walked toward the locker room.
But before he disappeared, he stopped.
He looked back at Sam.
“This isn't finished.”
Sam leaned against the ropes.
“Yes, it is.”
Travis frowned.
“You don't get to decide that.”
Sam looked at him.
“That's exactly what you haven't learned.”
Then he climbed out of the ring.
And went back to mopping the floor.
The Man Behind the Mop
The next morning, Travis arrived at Grant's earlier than usual.
He told Kevin it was because he needed extra training.
That wasn't true.
He wanted answers.
The gym was nearly empty.
A few amateur fighters worked the bags.
The old coffee machine hissed in the corner.
Sam was already there.
He was cleaning the ring apron.
Travis walked toward him.
“You knew what you were doing last night.”
Sam kept cleaning.
“I've been boxing a long time.”
“Who are you?”
Sam smiled.
“My name is Sam.”
“I know your name.”
“Then you have your answer.”
Travis's jaw tightened.
“I watched the video.”
Sam stopped.
“What video?”
“Someone filmed the sparring session.”
Sam nodded.
“People have phones.”
“You embarrassed me.”
“I didn't.”
“You made me look stupid.”
Sam turned.
“No.”
Travis stared at him.
“You did.”
Sam shook his head.
“You looked stupid when you decided winning a sparring round against a twenty-three-year-old would make you more impressive.”
Travis had no answer.
Sam returned to cleaning.
“You want to know why you lost those thirty seconds?”
“I didn't lose.”
Sam looked at him.
“You spent the entire time trying to hurt someone.”
“I was trying to hit you.”
“Exactly.”
Sam pointed toward Travis's chest.
“You were fighting me.”
Then he pointed toward the floor.
“I was fighting the space.”
Travis frowned.
“What does that mean?”
“You kept chasing where I was.”
Sam tapped his own feet.
“I was deciding where you would be.”
Travis remained silent.
Sam continued.
“You're fast.”
Travis nodded.
“You're strong.”
Another nod.
“You have excellent reflexes.”
Travis's shoulders relaxed slightly.
“But you have become predictable.”
That angered him.
“Predictable?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“You believe your power will solve every problem.”
Travis looked away.
Sam spoke quietly.
“Power is useful.”
He paused.
“But only when you know when not to use it.”
Eddie appeared behind them.
“You're bothering the old man.”
Travis turned.
“I'm asking questions.”
Eddie smiled.
“Good.”
Travis looked between them.
“You both know something.”
Eddie sighed.
“Sam used to fight.”
“I know.”
“No.”
Eddie shook his head.
“You don't know.”
Travis waited.
Eddie pulled an old photograph from his office.