“Uh don’t you want to put that backpack in your locker?” I ask him.
He shakes his head with a frown.
“No. I uh like to keep it with me.”
I shrug. I have questions, but now isn’t the time.
One of my amateurs, Santiago “Saint” Ibarra, moves to stand near Arlo’s corner, giving me a silent nod. Saint is the embodiment of his nickname. He’s not on tonight’s card. He strained his left calf muscle, so he’s resting it this week. The tightness in my chest loosens knowing Saint is watching over him, and I head to the cage, heart lighter.
We’ve got a rowdy crowd tonight, which is always good for the fighters. Gets them hyped up, but not too much. Reyes told me he had a large family, but I think I underestimated them. It’s standing room only tonight, warming up in here despite all the fans. The big gym lights just add to the heat.
I put Diesel up against the new guy, Reyes. I haven’t seen him spar yet, but Diesel is a proficient instructor, especially with the new guys. He’s got enough skill to counter any stupid moves and enough experience to teach them a few things, plus he knows how I feel about safe sparring.
Reyes opens with a left jab. Diesel slips outside, rolling his upper body left. Hit goes nowhere. Reyes follows quickly with a cross, but Diesel parries, deflecting it across his body. I nod, and they both reset.
Reyes throws a low outside kick, but Diesel checks it, lifting his leg and turning his shin into the kick. Before Reyes can react, Diesel comes at him with a single shot of controlled power that catches Reyes on his headgear. Not too hard—Diesel knows better.
The crowd responds by chanting D’s name. He’s a favorite around here, but it helps that most of his family is here, too. If there’s anything I envy him for, it’s his family. They’re solidly supportive of everything in his life, and that’s something I never had.
“Hands up after every combo.” I tell them both.
Reyes adjusts, bringing his guard up.
I shoot a quick glance at Arlo. His eyes are wide and glued to the cage with intense interest. I like it far too much.
It’s not long before Diesel has him down on the mat. Reyes tries to frame, but there’s no leverage. He tries to turn, but Diesel adjusts his base easily.
Reyes taps twice.
Diesel is off him before the second tap, hand out to help him up.
I check them both over, then call the round. Reyes is breathing hard, but he’s unhurt, at least physically. Gonna take a minute for his ego to recover.
“Kid’s okay. Needs work on the mat. I’ll set aside some time next week.” Diesel says.
I nod, grateful for the assist.
“Thanks, D.”
Before the next match starts, I check on Arlo.
He’s asleep, death grip on his backpack, head leaning against the wall. Out like a light. I want to carry him to the couch in my office and insist he get some rest, but I know better. He wouldn’t appreciate it. Saint has positioned himself close enough to partially shield Arlo from the crowd. I take a moment to appreciate how lucky I am in my friendships.
That’s when something clicks and all the pieces come together.
The lack of sleep. His only other outfit stuffed in his backpack. How he zealously guards that thing as if it’s his most prized possession.
Because it is.
Arlo doesn’t get any sleep at home because he doesn’t have one.
Once I see it, I don’t know how I missed it.
Doesn’t matter. I just need to fix it.
Chapter 6
Arlo
