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I’ll be lucky to get out of this at all.
Pretend,Bristol says.
I’m not pretending now. This is who I am. This monster in a boxing ring. This monster who’s going to get himself killed by a human mountain just because it feels better than his sham of a life.
If I died, someone would have to tell her.
Who? The receptionist at Summit? Some anonymous person at the temp agency?
Fuck thattwice.It’s not just that there’s nobody else to bail her out when her apartment caves in. It’s that nobody’s going to tell her that I let this bastard take me from her.
I’m not the one who leaves.
I’m the one whostays,goddamn it.
I don’t want to go.
I don’t know whether it’s Bristol’s voice or mine or somebody else’s in my head. The words go off like a bomb. They separate out all the seconds of this fight like splinters of wood. Like freeze-frame photos of being hauled out of a dark closet and into the light.
I’m not letting him do this again.
I register shock on Mountain Man’s face through a haze of red, and then I’m on top of him. Hit after hit. I sacrifice my knuckles to the cause. Every future mouse click.
He’s not used to a left-handed fighter. That’s obvious now. He keeps preparing for hits from the opposite side. Keeps failing to be ready.
I’m dimly aware that Mountain Man’s fallen. That he has one arm up to try to protect his face. That the crowd noise has become a sustained, bloodthirsty howl.
I hear the bell, but I don’t stop.
He’s down and tapping out, but I don’t stop.
Blood drips down onto my hand, but I don’t stop.
I can’t.
Somebody pulls at my wrist. The ref, probably.Fine,I say.I’m good.But I keep throwing punches. We’re not even yet.
Arms wrap around my shoulders and haul me away from the man I’ve beaten. Is this what it feels like when Sinclair tackles Emerson? Does it hurt this much?
Whoever it is drags me toward the ropes and turns me around. I blink away blood and try to focus. I’ll be damned. I’ve never seen eyes like that before. Every shade of blue I can imagine. Like the entire ocean in one spot. It’s the dark-haired guy from earlier. The one with the wife who will murder him for some kid Jason.
He’s talking, but I can’t hear him at first. The ocean stares into my eyes, searching for something.
Oh. He’s scolding the ref.
“—see that one of your crew is about to snap? Should’ve called it earlier. Jesus Christ. Where’s the closest hospital?”
The ref comes to my side, grabs my wrist, and thrusts my hand into the air. A roaring cheer echoes off the warehouse roof.
“You’re banned,” he shouts into my ear. “What the hell were you thinking?”
“Fine.” More blood in my mouth. I spit it onto the mat. Someone presses money into my hands. My winnings. It’s victory, but it doesn’t feel like it. Bristol’s not here. “How long?”
“How long are youbanned?” The ref’s incredulous. “For a month.”
“Two weeks,” I counter.
“Don’t come back for a month,” the ref warns. “I mean it, Will.”
