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Jonah
Fight night is the best. The air of anticipation. The feeling that we’re doing something clandestine.
The lights flicker on in the gym as I push open the studio door, Jason hot on my heels, his friend Andrew behind him.
Fight night is an insane tradition that Theo invented. We used to do it once a month, until the split lips and black eyes became a liability. Callie photographed me with a spectacular purple bruise once, and the speculation ran rampant for weeks. Now, we have rules. Punches are kept below the neck. Ten rounds, a thousand dollars to fight, winner takes all. The thousand dollars are just to make sure you really want to fight. Because once you’re in, there’s no tapping out. Only passing out. Theo’s crazy like that. And even though he’s not here to enforce the rules, we still play by them.
“I fucking need this.” Jason drops his bag on the floor and walks to the wraps, already keyed up and ready to go.
“You good, man?” This from Andrew, who has an easy confidence about him. His gloves hang from his gym bag.
Jason can be a ball of anxiety and anger on bad days. I know because I’ve gone drink for drink with him on enough of them, or punch for punch. He’s usually more relaxed now that he’s with Cynthia.
“Yeah.” Jason shakes his body out, still in his warm-up clothes. “The fucking firm. It’s my last bonus season. The hours are ramping up. I can’t wait to be done.”
I wince. Jason works like a dog, especially now that he’s between Texas and New York. “Just a few more months. And the office space you picked out is great.”
He gives me a real smile. “Thanks.”
I turn to Andrew. “You box? Jason told Miles he was bringing someone who could actually fight. I’m tired of kicking their asses every time we spar.”
Andrew shrugs, grinning, and starts to wrap his hands. “For fun. I learned in college. I don’t know that I’m good enough to beat anyone. But Jason said you were itching for a real fight.”
Jason is a mind reader. We’ve always been more aligned in our moods than Miles and me, even though Miles is my best friend and business partner.
Speaking of the devil, he swings in the door, dressed in all black and looking murderous.
“Let’s do this.” He tosses his bag in the corner and starts stripping off his outer layers.
“What’s eating you?” Jason asks.
“Lane. She won’t stop trying to give me back the Montauk house.” Miles gifted his girlfriend his family home in some sort of insane bid to win her over. “I told her I don’t want the damn house. She’s making me talk to an estate planning lawyer tomorrow. I should just marry her and then everyone can have the fucking house.” He tosses his coat on the ground, and Jason starts laughing.
Andrew looks at us with wide eyes, like he’s walked into a den of lunatics. “I thought this was your fight night.”
I smile, baring my teeth. “Everyone’s grievances are welcome at fight night. Let’s do this.”
We glove up, and then Andrew and I step into the ring. He’s taller than me by an inch or two, with long arms and the muscle of someone who works out a lot. He guards his face like he’s done this before.
“Careful there. He’s being modest but he spars at a boxing gym all the time.” This from Jason.
“Ready?” I bring up my guard.
Andrew grins, nods his head, and comes at me with a swift jab-cross that outdoes anything Jason or Miles could throw. I roll back, but barely, and come back with an uppercut, pulling it at the last minute so he doesn’t get hurt.
“What the hell?” Andrew looks annoyed that I didn’t hit him.
“No hits above the chin,” I explain.
I’m light on my feet as we fight, a flurry of fists and bobbing heads. A left hook slams into Andrew’s ribs, followed by a powerful cross that hits me in the collarbone.
“Fuck.” I disengage and shake myself out.
“You good?” Andrew is panting slightly.
“Yeah.” I give him a sharp grin. “You’re not bad.”
“You holding back?” He raises his eyebrows.
