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had set himself up for termination should Filstrup learn of their relationship. But now, there was no backing out.
    “Hey, there, Papa, let’s do some punching,” Emily said, angling her mouthguard to make her words intelligible. “I’m liking this. I can’t wait to see Kyle Smith’s expression when I pop him in the nose. He’s always bumping into me on purpose.”
    “You’re not going to pop anyone in the nose. That’s just Kyle’s way of saying he likes you.”
    “I know. And a pop in the nose will be my way of saying that I like him back.”
    Lou stifled most of a grin. Emily had grown several inches in the past few months, and her shape was changing almost as rapidly. Growing up with her was going to be a hell of an adventure. Still hidden in his bureau drawer was the baggy gray T-shirt he had commissioned when he finally gave in to her repeated requests to train in the ring. HEY, GUYS, BEHAVE. I’M ONLY THIRTEEN ! It read in front. The number 13 filled the back. Lou had resolved to wait until he saw any serious flirting, and then prepare for war and insist she wear it.
    With his hands baking like two loaves of bread inside his gloves, Lou fixed his gaze on his daughter. Her eyes were aflame with concentration as she circled him, keeping her hands up, precisely as he had told her. She had her auburn hair pulled back into a ponytail, giving him a clear view of the sweat beading up upon her forehead. Beautiful. Just beautiful.
    “Couldn’t somebody call the cops on you for fighting me?” Emily asked.
    “We’re not supposed to hit each other,” Lou reminded her. “This is just to practice your footwork.”
    “Then why am I wearing headgear and a mouthguard?”
    “Because you’re my daughter, my only child, the light of my life, and I’m pathologically overly protective. Plus I’m not exactly a kung fu master when it comes to stopping my punches an inch from your wonderful face.”
    “Makes sense,” Emily said after a protracted evaluation. She slid her mouthguard back into place.
    “Okay, let’s do it again,” Lou said. “Forward and back, then side to side, then shuffle, and last do the pivot. Ready?”
    Emily ignored her father’s instructions and instead lunged forward and, moving as quickly as a firefly, caught Lou off guard with a solid right to his gut. Only countless hours of ab work in the gym and on his living room carpet saved him from something potentially serious.
    He stepped back and dropped his mouthpiece into the palm of his glove. “Do you know who Harry Houdini is … I mean was ?” he asked.
    “A famous magician?”
    “Sort of. Before we step between these ropes again, I want you to be ready to tell me who he was and how he died.”
    Emily’s eyes narrowed in her personalized teen-versus-parent way. As in their titanic Monopoly struggles, Lou already knew there was no way he was going to win this encounter.
    “I have a feeling he got punched in the stomach,” she said.
    “The word is ‘sucker-punched.’”
    “That’s two words. Besides, I gave you warning when I dropped my shoulder.” Emily was a tribute to Charles Darwin—a perfect 50 percent genetic cross between Lou’s obstinacy and Renee’s cunning.
    “Powerless,” he said, as much to himself as out loud. The word was an AA mainstay. We are absolutely powerless over people, places, and things.
    “It’s your fault,” Emily pressed on. “When you’re in the ring, always be ready to be hit. That’s what Cap told me.”
    “But he didn’t tell you to sucker-punch anyone—especially your old man,” Cap’s rich bass echoed from ringside.
    Emily turned and broke into a broad smile. “Cap!” she cried, kneeling by the ropes, wrapping her arms around the neck of the tall, muscular Bahamian and kissing him on the top of his shaved pate. Cap Duncan hugged her back and then climbed gracefully into the ring.
    “Hey, Doc, your kid has fast hands. Girl, be careful when you hit that guy unless you’re