Chapter Twenty-Eight
Aubrey
Gabe fell to one knee, catching himself on his right glove.
I stopped breathing.
The referee jumped between the two fighters to prevent Gabe from being hit while he was down and began to call the count.
Come on, come on…
I didn’t care about the fight anymore or whether he won. I just wanted him to be okay.
He held still, taking careful breaths, blinking rapidly at the mat as if to clear his vision. The blow to his head had been hard, but it was the punch to his shoulder I was more worried about.
“Six!…Seven!…”
As soon as the ref called eight, Gabe rose to his feet. I let out a breath as he hopped in place and lifted his hands into position, but the stiffness of his movements cut my relief short.
At the back of the room, Evan stood with his arms locked across his chest. His eyes met mine, and the stress in his stare told me he saw it too.
Gabe was in pain.
When the bell rang to end that round, I nearly dropped to my knees in thanks.
It wasn’t over, though. There were three full rounds left in the match, and if Gabe didn’t fight them, he’d be out of the tournament.
He shuffled his way to the corner and sat stiffly between his childhood coach and Colin.
“Colin knows about his shoulder, right?” I asked Jase beside me.
“They talked about it before they first sparred.”
Colin kneeled in front of Gabe and said something. Gabe shook his head and rolled his shoulder in response. Colin spoke again, but Gabe kept shaking his head. The whistle blew for the fighters to take their places for the next round, and I thought I might throw up as Gabe got to his feet.
“Looks like he’s okay,” Jase said.
I wasn’t so sure. The look on Colin’s face said he wasn’t either. And when I glanced back at Evan, he was pacing in stiff circles, brow creased with concern.
The next three rounds were brutal.
By the end of the sixth, Jase no longer thought Gabe was okay.
Gabe’s movement was choppy, his punches slow.
He still managed to land a few hits with his right glove, but he was clinching way more than the previous rounds, getting in close to hold the other boxer’s arms at his sides in what looked like a hug rather than risk a hard jab.
It was a last-resort tactic, something boxers mostly pulled when tired or desperate.
Gabe looked both.
By the last round, my nerves were strung too tight for me to cheer. My eyes stayed fixed on Gabe, every punch that came at him a strike to my heart. Dani reached behind Jase for my hand, and I squeezed it like a lifeline.
Mr. Hardt stood on my other side and was the opposite. His cheers grew louder, his shouts more forceful with each stumble Gabe took, as if he could hold up his son with his own strength of will.
Finally, finally, the last bell rang, and Dani’s grip on my hand was what kept me from climbing into the ring. Jase, Dani, Jase’s brother Alec, Mr. Hardt, and I all waited in silence while the judges tallied their final scores.
Gabe stood to the referee’s right, the ref taking hold of his left glove while the announcer spoke.
“The winner by split decision is…Gabriel Hardt!”
The ref jerked Gabe’s left arm in the air, and Gabe did his best to hide his grimace.
I felt no relief he’d won. I couldn’t feel anything but a rising need to go to him and see that he was okay.
Only, when he stepped out of the ring, I was too afraid to touch him. Afraid I’d hurt him worse if I did. He met my eyes and held out his right arm, inviting me in.
“Your shoulder,” I said, carefully avoiding his left side.
“I’m fine. Just need to ice it and get some rest. I’ll be good as new tomorrow.”
The thought of him fighting again shredded my stomach. He’d have to in order to win the prize money, but I didn’t think I could watch eight more rounds like the past few. And if tomorrow’s match looked like the last half of today’s, I didn’t see how he’d possibly win.
I hated thinking it. Hated doubting Gabe in any way. He had only ever believed in me, and I wanted to repay that favor, but I couldn’t help the worry that filled me too.
Stepping aside so his dad could hug him next, I spotted Evan at the edge of our group. The other two nights, he’d left immediately, not bothering with congratulations or celebrations.
“He’s fighting again?” he asked when I reached him. His gaze was on his brother.
“He said he is.”
A muscle ticked in Evan’s jaw.
For once, his anger was a comfort. A sign I wasn’t crazy for thinking Gabe shouldn’t do this. It offered its own kind of relief.
Because where I refused to stand in Gabe’s way, Evan would have no problem doing just that.