Chapter 203 A Small Time Celebrity?

By the time Darren walked into Stack & Co, the sun was sinking low over the street and every muscle in his body had settled into a deep, satisfying ache.

He’d stayed at the sparring center long after the fight, working the heavy bag until his shirt was soaked through.

He was exhausted. The good kind.

Now all he wanted was food.

The bell above the door jingled as he stepped inside. Vinyl booths, a handwritten specials board, the smell of grilled onions hanging in the air. It was the same narrow little burger joint he’d brought Keiza to, the night she’d asked him to be her plus-one at her cousin’s birthday dinner. He’d been broke then, scraping together cash he didn’t really have.

Things were different now.

He slid into a booth near the window and dropped his gym bag on the seat beside him.

A couple of heads turned.

Darren barely noticed. People always looked. He was six-foot-something of broad shoulders and thick arms, still flushed from training, and he’d long since gotten used to strangers sizing him up in public. He’d learned to ignore it.

"Well, look who’s back."

The waitress was already at his table, notepad in hand. Dana, according to her name tag, mid-thirties with a messy bun and a pencil tucked behind one ear. She’d served him enough times now to skip the formalities.

"Let me guess," she said. "No burger."

"No burger."

"Grilled chicken, no bun, side salad instead of fries, and a water with lemon."

Darren grinned. "You know me too well."

"I know you’re the only man who comes into a burger place and orders like he’s at a spa." She scribbled it down. "Coming right up."

As she walked off, Darren leaned back and stretched his arms over the booth. Across the room, a pair of guys in work jackets were glancing his way and muttering to each other. At the counter, an older man kept looking over his newspaper.

"Same as always," Darren thought.

Eating clean had never been hard for him. He wasn’t like Liam, who could talk himself into a pizza at midnight and then complain about it at the gym the next morning.

Darren had grown up with nothing, and discipline was one of the few things nobody had ever been able to take from him. Food was fuel. That was all.

And if he was going to start fighting seriously again, he needed every advantage he could get.

Not that he was worried. His skills were well above average, and he knew it. Even with barely any training, he could step into the ring with most fighters and walk out the winner. But that wasn’t really what made him dangerous.

It was the fear. Or rather, the absence of it.

Most fighters climbed into the ring with something to lose and a voice in the back of their head telling them to protect it. Darren had grown up in places where a bad night meant a hospital bed or worse. After that, a referee and a pair of padded gloves didn’t scare him at all.

He knew he could handle a threat. That was the one gift his past had given him.

Dana brought his food, and he dug in.

He was halfway through the chicken when he noticed a shadow hovering at the edge of his table.

He looked up.

A boy, maybe fifteen, stood there gripping his phone with both hands. Skinny, in an oversized hoodie.

"Um," the boy said. "Sorry. You’re Darren, right?"

Darren set down his fork. "Who’s asking?"

"Can I... can I get a picture with you?"

Darren blinked. Then he smiled, polite but firm. "Sorry, kid. I’m just trying to eat."

The boy’s face fell, but he didn’t leave.

Darren studied him. "How does he even know me?" The fight with Marco had been at a center with a sign clearly stating eighteen and over. No kids allowed. There was no way this boy had been in that crowd.

"How do you know my name?" Darren asked.

The boy hesitated, then turned his phone around.

It was an article on a local combat sports blog. Darren took the phone and scrolled through it.

[Unknown Fighter Pushes Kessler to the Limit]

It had been written by someone who’d clearly been in the crowd that night. It described the fight round by round: how Darren had come out of nowhere, how he’d rattled Marco Kessler in the third, how a fighter nobody had heard of had nearly taken down one of the favorites to win the whole amateur circuit. Raw, fearless, and frighteningly composed, it read. Remember this name.

And there it was. His full name. The name of his gym.

The post had been up for more than a day.

Darren kissed his teeth.

Darren knew this was an exaggeration, he was nowhere near taking down Kessler.

So that was why the fighters at the sparring center had looked at him like that. They’d all read it.

He didn’t like it. He’d worked hard to keep his head down and stay off anyone’s radar, especially with people from his old life still out there. Having his name and his gym floating around online was exactly what he didn’t need.

But it was just a small blog post. There was a high chance it would amount to nothing.

He glanced up. The two guys in work jackets were still watching him. So was the man with the newspaper. And now that he looked properly, they weren’t sizing him up at all.

They recognized him.

Darren sighed and handed the phone back. "Alright. One picture."

The boy lit up. He crouched beside the booth, held up his phone, and Darren gave the camera a small, easy smile.

"Thank you," the boy said, almost bowing. "Seriously. Thank you so much."

"Sure thing."

The boy scurried back to his table, showing the photo to a woman who must have been his mother.

Darren shook his head. "It’s just a picture."

A few minutes later, Dana returned with a small bowl of fruit salad and set it in front of him.

"I didn’t order this," Darren said.

"It’s on the house." She leaned her hip against the table and nodded toward the boy. "Looks like you might be somebody soon. I’d like you to keep coming back here when you are."

Darren raised an eyebrow. "That a bribe?"

"It’s an investment." She smiled. "Famous regulars bring customers. Customers bring tips."

Darren laughed and picked up his spoon.

Who didn’t like free things?