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“Awesome! Let’s shake it up!”
Al helped me get my hands taped, and I climbed through the ropes to meet Graham in the middle of the ring. I bounced up and down on my toes and squeezed my hands into fists a few times to get the feel back. It had been a long time since I did this—no gloves, unknown opponent.
We circled slowly, both of us watching the other intently and not feeling too rushed to get into the battle. I figured he was going to wait for me to make the first move anyway, so I went for him.
He was quick.
He dodged, grabbed both my shoulders, and kneed me in the side.
With a grunt, I turned back, got my balance, and punched out twice. He backed up, his eyes widening in surprise. Bare-handed fighters rarely punched outright—you were as likely to hurt your hands as someone else’s face, but I was used to it. I’d cracked my fingers so often, it was a wonder they didn’t just fall right off my hands.
I followed after him with a jump, and came down with my knee to his chest. He grabbed my leg, flipped me over, and we both went down on the mat. I could hear people yelling—we must have gathered a little bit of a crowd—but I didn’t pay much attention to it.
I was focused.
My vision sharpened.
I was in my element.
Spinning around, I flung my elbow into his chin, which slammed the back of his head into the mat. He rolled enough to get away, and kicked out with both feet as I came at him again. I felt the ropes dig into my back as I flew backwards, bounced off of them, and then went back to my opponent.
Back and forth.
He’d kick; I’d punch.
Hitting him with a quick succession of jabs from my foot into his stomach, I finally got the upper hand when his diaphragm had a spasm, and he couldn’t catch his breath. A moment later I was behind him with my arm around his throat, pressing against the side of his neck.
His hand slammed the mat three times, and I released him.
“Holy shit,” he muttered. “You have a hell of a hit.”
Al laughed from the side of the ring as he tossed us both bottles of water. I popped the lid off one of them before helping Graham back to his feet.
“All good?” I asked.
“Very,” he replied. “I’m gonna be sore tomorrow, though!”
Laughing, I climbed through the ropes and dropped to the floor, and Graham followed.
“You really are good,” he said. “I’m impressed.”
“Thanks,” I said. “It’s been a while—I think I’m a little out of shape.”
Graham turned back to Al and the two started talking as I gathered up my stuff.
“Good to see you haven’t lost your touch.”
The voice startled me, not because I didn’t realize there was someone behind me—I had heard the footsteps as I was talking to Graham—but because I recognized the voice.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” I snapped.
“Checking up on you,” Yolanda replied.
“Bullshit,” I growled back. “You’re done with me, remember? Besides, my parents aren’t paying you anymore.”
Yolanda took a half step back. She actually had the decency to look embarrassed, but it didn’t really matter.
“That wasn’t…” She paused, took a long breath, and then looked me in the eye. “That wasn’t the reason, you know.”
