Mia Lytte's Arc

Chapter 3 of 4

The loss still stung the next night. Mia needed a coach and had five days left. She had no leads, so she did what she always did when she needed to think. She found a dim roadside bar with a crooked porch and worn wood everywhere. She ordered a row of small drinks lined up in colorful glasses. She sipped and stared at them like they held answers. "You gonna drink those or study them?" a man asked. He slid onto the stool beside her without asking. Late thirties, black leather jacket, a silver chain at his throat. He dressed too sharp for a place this rough. He grinned like he owned the room. "Depends," Mia said. "You always sit down before you're invited?" "Only when it's worth it." He nodded at her glasses. "Let me guess. Bad week." "Bad rule." She turned one glass by its stem. "Turns out you can't hold someone and hit them. Nobody told me until a referee did." That stopped him. He looked at her wrapped knuckles, still faintly bruised. "You fight?" "I try. I signed up for a tournament. Then I lost on a foul I never heard of." He laughed, low and pleased. "You. In a tournament." "You doubt me." She smiled sweet. "That's fine. Everyone does. It's kind of my thing." He leaned in, working now, wanting to impress. "I used to fight. Real fights. Places like this, but worse." He tapped the bar. "I know every rule they'll throw at you. And a few they won't." "Sure you do," Mia said. "Washed-up guys always used to be somebody." He blinked. Then he laughed harder, caught off guard by her. Most people flinched when he pushed. She pushed back and made it look easy. "You're quick," he said. "Quick doesn't win fights. You just said so." He studied her for a long moment. Something shifted in his face. The grin cooled into something more careful, more interested. He'd come to charm her. Now he saw something he wanted more. "Here's the truth," he said. "You've got a mouth that could run a room. But you're wasting it on drunks in a bar. That mouth won't block a punch." "Then teach me." The words came out before she planned them. But she meant them. He went quiet. He drummed his fingers on the wood. "Five days," he said. "That's nothing." "I learn fast." "You'll hate me by day two." "Probably." Jake stuck out his hand. "I don't chase and coach at the same time. Pick one." "Coach," Mia said, and shook it. "Then we start tomorrow. Six a.m. Bring the wraps." He stood and dropped a bill by her glasses. "And stop drinking your problems. You've got a fight." He walked out into the dark. Mia looked at her untouched drinks and left them there. She had a coach now. In five days, she'd find out if that was enough.