Granite Grit (Fighting's in the Blood #1) Read Free Page A

you! I'll visit my Gran beforehand, then I’ll pick you up afterwards. There's a guy I know at the gym who could give you a lift home. He stays around here somewhere.”
      “Give me your number ‘en, and I’ll give you a shout. I'll have to clear it with the wife first, you know what women are like, eh? Could be doing with something to do like, been out of work for a while and bored out my tits.”
      Tim wrote his number on a receipt and handed it over. “You’re still wi’ that gorgeous May, are you?”
      “Of course mate, married wi’ a couple sprogs. Have you just the one?”
      “I wish. Twin boys and they're a fuckin’ handful.”
      “Bet they are. Tim, it’s been great to chat but I’d better finish this run before the old legs seize up. I’ll call you, alright?”
      “Sure, no worries Joe, nice to see you. Catch you later.”
      Tim rolled up his window and sped away in his flashy silver Mercedes C63 AMG, with the twin exhaust roaring through the big engine.
    I hadn’t seen him since ending my boxing career nine years ago.
      He was a tall gangly guy around six foot two, wide, bony shoulders, gnarly fingers on the end of long snarly arms, with more muscle in his elbow than his bicep. His face hadn’t changed, thin and gaunt with high cheekbones, a bony jaw usually coated in stubble and a ruffled head of shabby hair that hadn’t seen the use of a comb in years.
      He slogged around slowly but not sloth-like, never appeared to have a worry in the world as he scraped his knuckles across the deck like an orang-utan.
      Nothing would phase Tim, wise beyond his years and had been since we were young tearaways. Back in the day we did a lot of training together, competing at the same weight, but fortunately we never had to fight each other, only spar. We didn’t want to fight, we were too close.
      He was in an awkward category of boxer, limber with long arms, feet moving quicker than his hands and brains. He's the kind that would drive me insane inside the ropes. The constant game of chase was similar to trying to catch the Roadrunner, once you thought you had the clever cunt stuck in the corner or up against the ropes, he would slip away like a mongoose slips a snake. Just as your brain registered where he had slipped to, that's when he would lay his counter-attack, leaving you weary and confused.
      We knew each other too well, in and out of the ring. When sparring, we knew what each other had planned almost before we knew ourselves. Sharing countless rounds together, we were like two lost brothers brought together over the love of throwing leather.
      Our two coaches constantly got us together for sparring and training sessions when we had upcoming bouts. He fought for a club in the centre of town called Aberdeen City Boxing Club and I fought for the Drones Club, now renamed to Kilgours. It was good to see the guy after all these years.
      Finishing my jog, the memories flowed back, giving a much needed spring to my steps.
     

Chapter 5
     
    The House and Home:
     
      Our house was located on the outskirts of Inverurie in a fairly new scheme, the perfect place to bring up kids, with the only traffic being from residents.
      The houses were freshly up ten years ago, the area kept clean and still looked in great nick. The neighbours were OK, noisy bastards at times, but the whole town was and of course everyone wanted to know your business. I had learned that from working at the Mill all those years. My only advantage in the early years, I stayed in Aberdeen away from all the gossip.
      Lots of families lived around the cul-de-sac and our two young ones were always playing with the neighbour’s kids, out in the gardens or in their homes. We had a three-bedroom detached house at the end of the street, painted a creamy colour, with a short drive and a garage.
      I arrived home a bit later than normal after the chance meeting with Tim. I kicked the muck off my trainers before heading