Page 60 of Book of Love


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When Sam was twelve, their father had signed him up for boxing on the advice of a police officer who’d caught him stealing. After discovering that Sam was good, their father had also enrolled Lincoln and pushed him to be better.

Like other sports and academia, it wasn’t a fair fight—Lincoln had been almost seventeen and never sparred with Sam—but their father, and eventually the trainers, had set their sights on him because of his track record in other sports.

As usual, Sam was pushed into the background, even though he could have been a much better fighter. Lincoln had quit boxing before college, but he’d kept at it recreationally.

“You still compete?” he asked Sam.

“Amateur bouts sometimes, but mostly just sparring.” Sam flexed his hand and glanced at the ring, where two boxers were ending a match. “Ring’s open, if you want to have a go.”

Lincoln hesitated. They’d never fought in the ring. They’d been in different divisions and age groups, and Sam had been on a more competitive track than Lincoln ever was.

“Unless you’re…” Sam’s voice trailed off.

Lincoln tightened his jaw. His brother hadn’t asked about his injury, and Lincoln hadn’t volunteered any details.

He stepped away from the speed bag. “Where are the gloves?”

Lincoln had never hit Sam before, not even in jest. They’d wrestled and argued, but their animosity had always seethed under the surface rather than exploding into violence. Though he’d often wanted to shake sense into his little brother, he’d been mindful of the fact that he was five years older and had always been physically bigger.

He went into the ring with the same old mindset. After they touched gloves and warmed up, he kept his jabs light and his intensity low.

They moved around the ring, exchanging punches with minimal contact. They’d agreed to a full sparring match with all punches allowed. Though the pacing ramped up, he kept his power at seventy percent.

Then Sam landed an uppercut in Lincoln’s solar plexus, taking the wind out of him.

Well, shit.

“You don’t need to go easy on me, man.” Sam narrowed his eyes and shuffled, his guard up.

Before Lincoln could respond, his brother landed a body shot on his torso.

All right, then.

His blood heated. The air thickened. Their punches got harder.

Lincoln might have been stronger, but his left shoulder was weak and already starting to hurt. Even if he’d been at full physical force, Sam had a harder edge. He was swift on his feet and threw well-aimed, powerful jabs. Another heavy uppercut got Lincoln under the ribs.

Sam was still a far better boxer. He knew how and where to hit. Lincoln landed a cross, then a body shot. Sam’s glove caught the side of his head. Lincoln blocked a punch and missed another.

After two rounds, they were both sweating and breathing hard. So much for an easy match. He should’ve known neither of them could keep any kind of competition friendly. They went at it for a third round.

Sam backed him into a corner. He threw a few counterpunches, then jabbed and stepped out to get off the ropes. His glove hit Sam square in the face. Only when he retreated did Lincoln realize his brother’s nose was bleeding.

The sight was jarring enough to make him mistime his reaction to a cross-hook. He turned just as Sam’s glove slammed against his headgear. The blow rang in his ears.

He landed two shots to Sam’s abdomen, but his brother’s footwork kept him guessing. Sam faked a step-out and threw a powerful straight shot. He ducked another punch and fired off a combination.

Lincoln’s focus went hazy. He lowered his arms the instant before his brother’s glove caught him under the jaw. Stars exploded behind his eyes.

“Shit.” Sam backed off, chest heaving. “You okay?”

Lincoln advanced, gloves up. Damned if he wasn’t going to finish the round.

By the time the bell rang, his head was buzzing. They touched gloves and climbed out of the ring.

After they pulled off their gear and grabbed water bottles, one of the trainers insisted on checking them both out. Sam had a bloody nose, while Lincoln had a sizeable cut on his jaw and the start of a black eye. His left shoulder throbbed.

“Next time, you don’t spar without a coach.” The trainer frowned. “This isn’t a place to work out personal shit.”

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