Chapter 27 River
RIVER
“Give it up for the women’s heavyweight winner, Alanna Price!” the announcer proclaims.
The crowd cheers loudly for her. I never expected the college boxing matches to be so well attended, but between Dyschord, St. Rathmund, and Stoltzburg U, we gathered a decent crowd.
I’m sitting on a chair near the ring, flexing my hands. Fenrir is talking to a woman who walked up to him, and judging from their body language, Fenrir fully intends to get laid when his match is done.
Coach pats my shoulder. “You ready? You’re up after the next match.”
I glance up at him. He’s a balding man in his early forties, and even though he hasn’t touched a mat in years, he’s still as fit as the rest of us.
He tries to play father figure, but I’m not interested.
“Yeah,” I tell him, but my mind isn’t on this match.
I glance out at the crowd, my eyes finding Blaze, Asch, and Pandora.
Even though Asch had texted Pandora to invite her here, I hadn’t actually expected her to show up. Pandora hasn’t come to one of my matches since high school.
Not that I’d done much boxing in the aftermath of my finger getting removed. Funny how recovering from an amputation and a beatdown makes it harder to punch things.
I glance down at my hands, at the stark empty spot on my left hand where the pinky should have been.
Looking at it is supposed to make me angry.
I clench my fist, trying to feel the phantom sensation of the missing digit, but there’s nothing.
The ref announces another winner, bringing me out of my thoughts. I insert the mouthguard and stand up. I let Coach help me into my gloves, and he checks the straps before clapping me on the shoulder.
“Good luck, River,” he says.
I nod to him, then head into the ring.
My opponent is already waiting. He’s about my height, with a mop of red curls and bright green eyes that take me in with thoughtful consideration. I nod to him, and he nods back.
I don’t think he’s going to be the careless type.
The ref checks my gloves, then my opponent’s. There’s the usual spiel about fair fights, reminding us of the rules, then the bell rings.
I circle my opponent, waiting for an opening.
It would be easier if we weren’t in the ring.
It would be easier if I wasn’t wearing gloves.
No need to worry about scoring points or having good form. It’s only me and my opponent, doing one of the most primal things a man can.
My opponent suddenly lunges forward, and I raise my arms to block the attack. He tries to get his arm over my shoulder to keep me in place, but I duck away and get a punch into his side.
He backs away, bouncing on his feet.
Just get it over with.
A few more blows back and forth, and the first round is over.
I go back to my corner. Coach gives me a few pointers about how he thinks I can take out this boxer from St. Rathmund. I tune him out and glance toward the bleachers.
Weird that Pandora is sitting next to Blaze, and not between him and Asch.
Blaze and Asch gesture toward the ring, arguing about something.
Pandora looks down at her phone, tapping away at it. When she notices me, she gives me a half-hearted thumbs up.
Something tightens around my heart.
I should’ve known none of them would actually give a fuck about the match itself — especially Pandora, who couldn’t look less interested if she tried. When she’d attended my matches in high school, she’d at least pretended to look like she was into it.
I guess that had all been a lie.
It sours my mood, and I tune back in right when Coach finishes yapping at me.
“Got it, River?” he asks.
I nod, biting down on the mouth guard before I stand up again.
The next round starts, and it’s more of the same circling, taking a few swings, backing away. My opponent lands two blows, but I get four in.
I hear him grunt when my fist collides with his chest. It must have been a hard blow, but it doesn’t reverberate through my fist like I want it to. I’m not feeling it.
Christ, this is stupid and pointless.
The round ends. We return to our corners, then go back in for all the rounds, punches and blows and carefully dancing around each other and making sure the ref can see us at all times and that the judges can appreciate our forms.
My breathing gets heavier, but my lungs aren’t burning yet.
The ref calls an end to the match. I head to my corner so Coach can remove my gloves for me.
“You did great,” he says with a smile. “Good job.”
I take the mouthguard out and nod. “Yeah. Sure.”
My opponent and I line up in the center while we wait for the judge’s tally.
“And the middleweight victory goes to… Rafael Rivera!” The ref takes my arm and lifts it up.
The Dyschord U crowd cheers. I see Fenrir grinning widely. Asch and Blaze are both standing up and cheering.
Pandora stands too, but she’s clapping slower than everybody else, and her smile is strained.
My gaze lingers on her for a moment, and I wonder why she bothered to show up if she’s not even going to pretend to care.
But I guess Pandora Pavone is above all of this.
I know it’s not a fair thought. I know she’s struggling. I know that.
I can’t help but resent her anyway.
Even my mother started leaving voicemails.
I stretch my fingers, clenching and unclenching them. “I’ve gotta go,” I tell him.
I don’t wait for a response before ducking out of the ring, and I don’t even glance in Pandora’s direction before bailing.
I should feel bad. It means I’m going to miss Fenrir’s fight, and I didn’t even bother to say anything to Asch or Blaze. But the itch to feel something gets stronger.
I rush to the gym so I can take a shower. After less than five minutes, I get out. I’m still sopping wet when I pull my clothes on.
I have to get out of here.
I’m out in the hall when I hear familiar voices. I duck around the corner and press myself against the wall.
“He ran straight to the lockers?” Pandora says. “I thought he’d want me to give him a victory kiss or something.”
“Or something,” Blaze mutters. “It was a great match. He could give you a run for your money, Asch.”
“Boxing is different from MMA,” Asch says in that tone that means he’s explained something at least a dozen times. He relents, though, adding, “But I wouldn’t mind seeing what he can do out of the ring. We sparred a bit, but didn’t go all out.”
Maybe I should have.
Would that have felt better than this hollow victory, where the rules that dictate the fight make it less exciting?
I’m not going to get that exhilaration here.
I know where I can.
I know where I can get the high I’m craving, where I won’t think about Pandora’s lackluster response or the fact that boxing doesn’t make me feel as good as it used to.
I wait for them to enter the locker rooms, then take off toward the parking lot.
I have a few messages, but I ignore all of them as I shove my phone into the center console. Out of sight, out of mind.
Besides, what do they actually care?
No. What does Pandora actually care?
About me, and about anyone else… even about Rachel?
I bury my anger as much as I can, but I can feel myself fraying at the edges.
I leave the parking lot in a haze, barely paying attention to speed limits or red lights on my way to the warehouse.
There are a surprising number of motorcycles parked close to the warehouse. I have to maneuver around them to park my car.
The people at the warehouse know me by now, and I’m waved through the door around a belligerent couple who isn’t given the same courtesy. It’s still early in the evening, but people are milling around, every bit as ready as I am for the first fights to start.
“River,” one of the fighters greets me with a lopsided grin. “Here to get your ass handed to you?”
I scoff at him. I’m too jittery, too on edge, to think that I’m going to have several flawless victories tonight. But I’m also in the mood to knock someone’s lights out, and that counts for something.
Fuck Pandora.
I don’t need her approval.
“We’ll see who gets their ass handed to them, old man,” I tell him.
Never mind that he’s maybe five years older than I am.
It makes him laugh, and I try to crack a grin but can’t quite manage one.
As I make my way through the crowd, I notice the different edge to the atmosphere. It’s always humid in here, the throngs of people pressed close together, but usually there aren’t this many people in leather jackets.
Leather jackets that are covered in patches.
These must be the bikers who’d crowded up the parking lot with their bikes.
I squeeze past a surly man with a handlebar mustache and go to sign up.
“Hey, River,” Gabby greets me. She’s the same woman who signed me up that first night. She smiles and takes my twenty bucks. “Make sure to win. I’ve got two hundred bucks riding on you.”
“No pressure,” I tell her, going for dry but only managing a flat tone. I force a grin. “Just be sure to cheer me on.” I scan the crowd. “Who am I up against first?”
“Me,” a guy says.
I give him a good look. He’s taller than I am by a few inches, with black hair tied back into a pony tail. He pulls his biker jacket off and hands it to the guy with the handlebar mustache. He’s only wearing a black tank top underneath, showing off his large biceps and forearms.
He looks familiar, and it takes me a second to realize he’s Pandora’s friend Reaper.
Just a friend, right?
I think back to how many guys she’d slept with in high school, how I’d always been thoroughly kept in the friend category until…
I swallow around the lump in my throat.
Until they found Rachel’s body.
That had been when everything went south with the two of us. The day we’d slept together, the day we’d thrown insults at each other.
The day I’d lost my pinky finger.
I don’t think she’s sleeping around anymore. She’s claimed the three of us, and no matter how much she wants to ruin our lives, I don’t think she’s given up on us.
“Great,” I say.
This will be a good fight. This will be what I’m craving.
I hope.