Even though Asch had texted Pandora to invite her here, I hadn’t actually expected her to show up. Pandora hasn’t come to one of my matches since high school.
Not that I’d done much boxing in the aftermath of my finger getting removed. Funny how recovering from an amputation and a beatdown makes it harder to punch things.
I glance down at my hands, at the stark empty spot on my left hand where the pinky should have been.
Looking at it is supposed to make me angry.
I clench my fist, trying to feel the phantom sensation of the missing digit, but there’s nothing.
The ref announces another winner, bringing me out of my thoughts. I insert the mouthguard and stand up. I let Coach help me into my gloves, and he checks the straps before clapping me on the shoulder.
“Good luck, River,” he says.
I nod to him, then head into the ring.
My opponent is already waiting. He’s about my height, with a mop of red curls and bright green eyes that take me in with thoughtful consideration. I nod to him, and he nods back.
I don’t think he’s going to be the careless type.
The ref checks my gloves, then my opponent’s. There’s the usual spiel about fair fights, reminding us of the rules, then the bell rings.
I circle my opponent, waiting for an opening.
It would be easier if we weren’t in the ring.
It would be easier if I wasn’t wearing gloves.
No need to worry about scoring points or having good form. It’s only me and my opponent, doing one of the most primal things a man can.
My opponent suddenly lunges forward, and I raise my arms to block the attack. He tries to get his arm over my shoulder to keep me in place, but I duck away and get a punch into his side.
He backs away, bouncing on his feet.
Just get it over with.
A few more blows back and forth, and the first round is over.
I go back to my corner. Coach gives me a few pointers about how he thinks I can take out this boxer from St. Rathmund. I tune him out and glance toward the bleachers.
Weird that Pandora is sitting next to Blaze, and not between him and Asch.
Blaze and Asch gesture toward the ring, arguing about something.
Pandora looks down at her phone, tapping away at it. When she notices me, she gives me a half-hearted thumbs up.
Something tightens around my heart.
I should’ve known none of them would actually give a fuck about the match itself — especially Pandora, who couldn’t look less interested if she tried. When she’d attended my matches in high school, she’d at least pretended to look like she was into it.
I guess that had all been a lie.
It sours my mood, and I tune back in right when Coach finishes yapping at me.
“Got it, River?” he asks.
I nod, biting down on the mouth guard before I stand up again.
The next round starts, and it’s more of the same circling, taking a few swings, backing away. My opponent lands two blows, but I get four in.
