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Conor: I miss you too!
Me: I'm okay, Finn.
Me: I just got home from work and am tired.
Me: I just wanted to let you know I missed you.
Conor: Did you watch Ry's fight last weekend?
Me: Shit. I forgot he had a fight.
Me: It has been a crazy few weeks.
Me: How did it go?
Finn: I can't believe you missed it.
Finn: You never miss a fight.
Conor: Fuck that.
Conor: If you want to know, check the highlights.
Conor: Or ask Ry yourself.
Me: Ugh. I'm sorry.
Me: I will text Ry now.
Releasing a deep breath, I sighed, then I scrolled through my phone, rereading the texts.
2
MACKENNA
Ryan was Conor's best friend since kindergarten, and Finn had just joined the friendship. Ryan was a mixed martial arts fighter. Both my brothers trained him in our family gym. My dad, long ago, was a fighter and was known for holding back-alley fights. He set them up, negotiated the fights, and took bets. Completely illegal, but if you had asked him if he regretted doing it, he would have said no way; it brought him to my mother. My mother went to a fight one night with a few of her girlfriends. My dad saw her, and he used to say that was it. He was in love.
She eventually got him to stop the illegal fights and gambling. Instead, he opened a gym. It started small, but he stuck with it and grew to bring on legitimate fighters. Conor and Ryan were always there growing up, and when they became teenagers, they started to train. Conor was never interested in headlining a fight; he always liked training the fighter. Finn, on the other hand, loved to be in the octagon. When Dad passed last year, they took over the gym and all the fighters at the gym.
I did a quick search on my phone and easily found the highlights from the fight that was on pay-per-view last Saturday night. Ryan was a good fighter. He was in the light heavyweight division. Ryan was six-foot-three inches and usually weighed around two hundred twelve pounds.
Ryan had trained with my family since he was fifteen and joined Conor and Finn. Both my brothers trained Ry. I was not surprised when the highlights showed Ryan winning in the second round by knockout. Ryan was quick on his feet and knew how to throw a punch.
Opening a new text message, I quickly typed out a text to Ryan.
Me: Hey, Ry, I just watched the highlights.
Me: Congrats on the win.
I wanted to say more, but I couldn't bring myself to type what I really wanted to say. Instead, I sent a quick congratulations and put my phone down on the coffee table. My apartment was dark, but I had very little, so I made my way over to the bathroom in the dark, shut the door, and hit the light switch.
Glancing at myself in the mirror, ugh, I looked exhausted. I had bags under my eyes, and my cheeks were sunken in. I had lost some weight from being emotionally withdrawn. I quickly washed my face and brushed my teeth. I had a t-shirt hanging on the door hook. I undressed and threw the t-shirt over my head and through my arms.
I took one last look at myself in the mirror and shut the light. My bedroom was right beside the bathroom. The door was closed, so I opened it and walked over to the left side of the queen bed. It was about the only thing that fit in the room. I had one small end table that fit on the right side of the bed and another small dresser on the opposite wall next to—you guessed it—a small closet.
Slowly, I slipped under the covers and lay on my back, looking up at the ceiling. I didn't move when a leg draped over mine and an arm over my chest. I didn't make a sound, just continued to stare at the ceiling, wishing my eyes would close and I would get some sleep.
"You're home later than usual."
