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Old boxing thoughts began to run through his head.
Keep your gloves up.
Move your feet. Don’t stand still.
Watch for the open attack. Strike fast when you see it.
Be on the defensive, not the offensive.
That last one had been the hardest for him over the years. He always wanted to be the one in control, but prison had taught him to be more submissive. To accept what he couldn’t control and make the best of what he could.
“Ready,” his corner said, and Luke opened his mouth for the guard. It went in, and he hated it as much now as he had five years ago. He also valued chewing food with his teeth, so he wore the mouthguard in the ring without fail.
Someone plunked sparring headgear on his head, tightening the straps in the back. Luke felt a whole new energy come over him, and he tapped his gloves together. Their weight was familiar, and welcome, and his adrenaline ran through his body now, setting his cells vibrating.
At the same time, he couldn’t believe he was going to fight today.
He’d never felt this level of control, though, and he knew that was because he wasn’t on steroids. They’d definitely amplified him in every way—physically, mentally, emotionally. He rather liked himself without them, and he climbed into the ring and started the shuffle-step he’d done as a fighter.
The crowd jeered louder, but Luke tuned them all out. His focus existed on the edge of a knife, and when he looked across the ring, all he saw was the blond-haired man.
The bell rang, and Luke shuffled forward to tap gloves. Then his flew in front of his face and he hunched down into them, dancing backward as his opponent tried to get in an early swing.
It met dead air, and Luke saw the gap where he could’ve hit the other guy on the right cheekbone. A jab, straight out and back, and he’d been reeling backward.
Luke didn’t make the punch. He skirted around the ring, the noise almost deafening as men yelled at him to do something. His opponent clearly wanted him to come closer and stop shying away, but Luke knew how the early rounds of this went.
He only had to last two minutes, and he only had to get one punch in. It didn’t matter if it happened in the first ten seconds or the last ten. He blocked, and he danced, watching as his opponent grew tired.
Tired, in only two minutes. Luke remembered feeling like that, but today, he didn’t.
The other guy came at him again, and this time, Luke held his ground. The other guy swung, leaving his whole right side open, and Luke dodged left, striking out with that quick left jab he’d been known for.
The other man’s head snapped back and he stumbled away from Luke.
Horrified, Luke watched as a trickle of blood came from the man’s nose. His gloves lowered. His feet stopped moving.
Before, the sight of blood would’ve thrilled him. It spurred him to hit harder next time, to go right for that same spot.
Gloves up!shouted in his mind, and he barely got them back in place in time before the other guy was on top of him. He took many little, tiny steps to get away from him, and his momentum took him right into the ropes.
Luke lashed out with a right uppercut, catching his opponent right in the kidney.
Two hits, and Luke felt like throwing up again.
His head pounded in time with the screaming on the outside of the ring, and Luke didn’t need anything else to win this round. So he stayed away from his angry opponent, kept his gloves up, and waited for the bell.
When it sounded, he stopped and lowered his gloves.
His opponent rushed him, swinging for all he had. Luke went down in a wave of pain, trying desperately to cover his face again. Someone pulled the other guy off, and Luke looked up into the bright, white florescent lights above him in the ceiling.
Everything was so clear now.
He’d kept hitting after the bell. What he’d done waswrong, and not just because he’d broken the rules of the sport.
He honestly had no recollection of how many times or how hard he’d hit his opponent. The steroids did induce a rage inside him he hadn’t even realized until that very moment.
You were wrong, he thought.You did something wrong.
