Page 100 of My Family

"Welcome to the losers' bench," he says. "We have melted ice and tears."

"I'll take both."

He chuckles and leans into me, laying his head on my shoulder. He doesn't move even when Griff comes to check on me.

Griff knows.

Everybody knows.

He doesn't care, which is amazing.

"Tyler's up," Liam says, nudging me.

I look up.

My brother is walking onto the mat, and he looks great.

Alive, the most important thing.

Three months ago, Tyler was in a hospital bed with tubes in his arms and machines around him.

Now he's here.

On a mat.

And I'm so happy my heart could explode.

He's my little brother, and I'll always see him as an annoying four-year-old.

His opponent is Ridgecrest's best. He's fast, technical, the kind of fighter who makes you work for every opening. Tyler can't get to him and ends up losing.

But when he joins us on the losers' bench—Liam's words—I couldn't be prouder of him.

The championship match is announced, and everybody is screaming.

Reed walks to the mat looking psychotic, as usual. He doesn't bounce, doesn't shadowbox, doesn't perform.

His opponent is Ridgecrest's champion.

Dominguez.

The one who beat Liam.

Liam looks shocked to see him.

"See, you lost, but you lost to the best," I tell him.

He giggles excitedly, like a little kid.

"I knew there had to be an explanation," he jokes.

Dork.

They touch gloves.

Reed lets the Ridgecrest fighter come forward first.

This surprises me. It's not his usual style.