“You think he’s okay?”
“Physically, yeah.” He wrinkled his nose. “Well, apart from getting beat up. But there’s something not right. The way he keeps looking over at Blake’s corner…”
“Yeah.” Michael had been thinking something similar. Someone had told him to either make the fight last or throw it. Michael really hoped it was the first option. He had no desire to see Aaron dragged out semi-conscious.
Round five began much like the previous ones. The two boxers eyed each other warily, neither daring to go for the killer blow yet. Martin danced forward, guard up, and then a lightning quick jab to Aaron’s ribs seem to take Aaron completely by surprise. When Martin followed it with an uppercut to his jaw, Aaron stumbled and fell backwards, landing in a heap on the floor.
Jesus, that had to have hurt both of them. Connecting with bone like that must take a toll on your hands. Sure enough, Martin shook out his right hand, grimacing as he waited for Aaron to get back up.
“Here we go.” The trace of excitement in Harry’s voice had Michael turning towards him.
“What?”
“Look at his face.”
Michael looked. Aaron’s whole demeanour seemed to have changed. From his determined expression, to the loose way he held his guard up, relaxed, as though just waiting for Martin to make a mistake so he could end this. He looked a different fighter.
Martin seemed to notice it too, and he hesitated instead of attacking like he’d been doing before. When he advanced on Aaron, every effort was blocked or dodged, and he stalked away in frustration at the end of the round.
In comparison, Aaron grinned.
As soon as they called the sixth round, Aaron was ready, focused on Martin like he was prey. He circled him slowly, searching for an opportunity, and when he found it, he shot forward, landing a punch to Martin’s jaw that floored him.
Martin didn’t get up.
After the slowest ten count Michael had ever heard, Martin still hadn’t moved.
“He’s not…?” He didn’t want to say it. They’d given Aaron immunity from anything that happened during his fights, but…
Thankfully, Harry was quick to shake his head. “Just knocked out. A’s good at that. It’s the quickest way to end the fight. No one can argue if your opponent’s out cold.”
The announcer-cum-referee still took his sweet time ending it. Almost reluctantly, he leaned over Martin, then moved his arms across each other in a way that apparently signalled they were done. A huge cheer went up, littered with the odd boo. The ref grabbed Aaron’s arm, shoved it up in the air, and declared him the winner.
Aaron took his applause, his smile re-opening his split lip.
Once again Michael was in awe that he could stop the injuries from healing. “Now what?” he whispered as he and Harry watched along with everyone else.
“You collect your winnings and then we go.”
At that moment, Aaron finally,finallyturned their way and stared straight at Michael. The intensity of that look seared his bones.
No, Michael wasn’t going anywhere. He wanted to see Aaron.
As Aaron leant down, grabbed his water bottle and towel, Michael shoved his betting slip into Harry’s hand. “You sort this. I need to go talk to him.”
“What? No! You’re not allowed to go—”
Anything Harry said after that was lost in the noise of the crowd as Michael hurried after Aaron. One of Smith’s hulking guys—Michael presumed he was anyway—led Aaron through the throng of people, and it was all Michael could do to keep them in sight.
Hanging back a little as they reached some space, he watched as the guy let Aaron go, and they went separate ways. Once the guy was out of sight, Michael slipped around the corner after Aaron.
The area where the fight had taken place was relatively intact, but the corridor Michael entered had scaffolding and plastic sheeting down at the far end, and a draught blew in from outside. On his right he spotted a door with the sign for the men’s bathroom and walked towards it.
Pushing it opened revealed a room a lot bigger than he was expecting. Instead of a line of urinals and a cubicle or two—which were there on the left—it opened up into more of a changing room. Six good-sized lockers lined the wall on the right-hand side, with a wide mirror and a couple of sinks next to them.
Aaron stood in front of the mirror, examining his face as he slowly unwrapped the bloodied tape from his hands. His eyes met Michael’s in the reflection. He didn’t appear surprised by Michael’s appearance, had probably heard him coming as he rounded the corner. He tongued the cut on his lip before saying, “You shouldn’t be back here.”
With great effort, Michael forced his gaze away from Aaron’s mouth. “Why not?”
