Chapter Twenty-Seven
Gabe
“Day three. You ready?” Diego asked as I went through my prefight warm-up. Coach Lou and Colin hung out in my corner, watching fight footage from yesterday.
“Hell yes. I feel good.” Better than I thought I would after my first two fights in two years. Better than I thought possible.
“You look it. I still can’t believe you got a knockout yesterday.”
I forced down my smile. First knockout of the tournament.
Like I said, I was feeling good.
Diego ran a hand along the dark hair of the short beard he’d managed to grow since we were kids. It sharpened that pretty tan face of his. “Buzz is building, man. People are talking about you.”
“Good.” People talking meant high ratings for his event and free marketing for my gym. The more local boxers who knew my name and respected it, the better. “Aren’t you glad I convinced you to give me a spot?”
“All right, you know what?” he said with mock reluctance. “Talk to me after you’ve won.”
“I will,” I said, grinning. I meant it, too. I was going to do this.
With my warm-up finished, I headed for Coach Lou to lace up my gloves. Colin flipped his phone screen to show me footage of my opponent.
“This Isaac Herman guy likes to play on the offensive, but his cardio’s not as strong.
” He pointed out the other boxer’s aggressive style.
I’d noticed the same thing when I watched his fights last night.
“Focus on slipping his punches. Let him tire himself out. Land a few good counters, and you’ll be golden. ”
I nodded, filing the advice next to the other reminders cycling through my mind as my focus narrowed to the next twenty-four minutes. Another knockout would be sweet but unlikely. I needed to be ready for a long match, and I needed my body to outlast his.
I looked at Coach Lou. “I’m going to get us that gym.”
A fresh start in a familiar place for me. The passing of a legacy for him.
I wouldn’t let it be torn down and replaced with luxury condos.
His eyes filled with emotion that he cleared from his throat. “Just do your best, kid.”
Five rounds in, and I was still feeling good. Tired, but so was the other guy.
He’d come out aggressive, just like Colin and I had predicted, but it hadn’t had its intended effect. Only a few of his shots had landed, while I’d blocked or slipped the rest, and with the handful of hard, clean punches I’d gotten in each round, I was confident I was ahead in points.
Still, it wasn’t this guy’s first fight. He and his coach must have decided to switch tactics because we were halfway through this round, and he’d hardly made a move. He was waiting to see if I was willing to take charge or if defense was my only strength.
Smart.
Except I could already see he was itching to lunge. Whether I was good at offense didn’t matter if he wasn’t comfortable staying on defense.
Sure enough, the second I threw a test jab, he jumped forward with a flurry of punches I deflected with my gloves.
I lured him in again with a three-punch combo, and when his counter move came, I slipped to the side but was too slow for his second jab. It came at my exposed left shoulder, grazing the muscle when I didn’t rotate in time.
I hopped back, putting space between us as I rolled out the twinge, trying not to be obvious about it.
Chances were he already knew my shoulder was a weak spot.
Every boxer here would have read about my rotator cuff when they did their opponent research.
If he realized he’d aggravated it, it’d be blood in the water for a very hungry shark.
Rather than give him time to think about it, I went on the offensive for real. He came at me with equal aggression—a back-and-forth barrage, each landing something here or there but nothing strong enough to do real damage.
Just as I stepped in to break his momentum by wrapping him in a clinch, he threw a wide punch hard into my left shoulder.
Pain exploded up my arm and blacked out my vision. Another punch connected to my cheek, and I hit the mat.