A fighters story

Previously

…“We’ll start the lads on footwork next week,” Patrick said quietly, looking at his friend. “Real footwork, mind. Not the left-footed kind.” Davie stood up, pulling his bunnet down tight against the cold night air. “Right you are, Paddy. I’ll see you at the whistle tomorrow.” As the door clicked shut behind his best friend, Patrick ran his thumb over the iron key in his pocket. He had his hall. He had his boys. And most importantly… he had Davie. With a mate like that in your corner, you didn't just build a boxing club. You built something that would never, ever fall down.