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heavy bag. God, he couldn’t wait to get back to his training. He missed the feel of the gloves on his hands, the dampness of sweat on his skin. Just standing in the gym, taking in the smell of hard work and being unable to join in was killing him.
    Shakes’s hand clapped down on his shoulder. “Sounds good. I’m looking forward to you getting back in the ring.”
    Trevor nodded. “Me too, Shakes. Me too.”
    ***
    After the gym closed for the evening Trevor walked to his apartment. Usually he drove, but the crisp evening air lured him down the street. Still reeling from the big news, walking helped to release his nervous energy. The idea of going up against a guy like Dion Nash fueled his desire to start training again, with or without his doctor’s approval.
    But, he’d made a deal with Daniella, and if she’d gone to bat for him and landed a contender like Nash, he didn’t want to fuck things up by training when he shouldn’t. His hand closed in a fist. Excitement poured through him. He could hardly contain himself.
    Reaching his home, he knew the first thing he should do: Study Nash. He let himself in and made his way across the small living space to his television. His apartment might not be much, but what little money he had, he’d invested in a sweet home theater setup. DVR. Surround sound. The works.
    Dropping down on the sofa, he kicked back and sunk into his comfortable spot. Remote in hand, he searched for a replay of Nash’s Olympic fight. He saved most matches on his DVR because, in boxing, he’d seen old tapes come in handy for fighters time and time again. After a bit of scrolling, there he was. Dion Nash. One hundred and eighty pounds of muscle appeared on the screen. With a seventy-two-inch reach, the dark-headed Georgia boy threw a mean uppercut. He liked to dig in close to his opponent. Fighting close in early rounds meant Nash reserved his energy to use toward the end of the match. It was a tactic younger boxers used to make sure they didn’t run out of steam.
    Trevor had surpassed all that. He’d hate to be the one to make a name for knocking the hell out of an Olympic favorite, but if that’s what it took to launch his professional boxing career into the stratosphere, he wouldn’t hesitate.
    His eyes followed Nash onscreen. His brain recorded every move, every punch. He sat through four rounds, watching Nash not only take abuse, but also deliver one hell of a beating. Then, at the start of the fifth round, the scorecard flashed across the screen.
    Trevor cocked his head to the side. Something didn’t add up. Sure, Nash gave a gold-medal performance, but even under the traditional scoring system, his score shouldn’t have been that high, should it? He didn’t remember Nash throwing so many head shots, the kinds that earned real points on the card. Didn’t he stick his punches close to the body?
    Trevor lifted his hand and rubbed his eyes. He stretched his mind back to round one. Damn. He couldn’t remember who’d won that round. Was it Nash or the guy from . . . Wait. He lifted his eyes to the screen. He didn’t remember what country Nash’s opponent was from, much less the guy’s name.
    Trevor shook his head. Didn’t he just watch this freaking fight? What was going on? He let out a sigh. Spending a whole day at the gym must’ve taken more out of him than he thought. Tiredness clouded his mind. Fogginess engulfed his brain. His lapse in memory was nothing a good eight-hour snooze couldn’t solve. He’d probably overdone it. Started doing too much too fast. That was all.
    No biggie.
    Trevor pointed the remote toward the television and darkened the screen. He’d rewatch the fight in the morning with fresh eyes and a pen and paper. He’d take notes. That’d help him remember things until he felt back to normal.
    His stomach growled. On the ride home from the