Chapter 17
So, what do I do about Knox? I’ve had the same question running around my head for a month now.
I’d brush it off as a coincidence: there must be plenty of men called Knox.
But a quick search says fewer than one thousand.
Which covers kids as well as adults. The stupid part is I know it’s him; there are too many factors that point it out.
Geography, age range, and a gut instinct that’s never wrong.
The next question is what to do about it.
Should I ask Saint more questions? No, he’s not going to give away anything.
He’s not going to break any confidences.
I wish I’d been quick enough on the uptake and asked more about him when I was in the chair.
I haven’t even got time to go and get more ink.
My fight is coming up at the weekend, and it’s full-on training now, with hours in the gym.
I know how easy it is to lose focus and drop your guard.
I’ve lost fights for that very reason, and the bollocking I get from Dougie is not one I want to repeat.
“Okay, that’s it for today. Go get showered and then get to the physio for a massage. I don’t want those muscles locking up because you’re too lazy to get through the cool down procedure.” Dougie hands me a water bottle and a hand towel.
“I’m not going to lose this fight. I’m focused and ready.
” It’s the first fight since I won the second championship.
The crowds will want to see a show. Some will want to see me fail, to be on the canvas.
Others will want a taste of what got me the title.
I obviously want to be the winner, although my opponent is a tough bastard with a wicked kick and a fast punch.
It’s fight night, and I’m hyped up and ready. My fight is the last one of the night. It gives me time to watch other fighters, read the crowd, and see how the judges are scoring. It helps to have an idea on the methods. Of course, it also gives my opponent the same cues.
It’s a full house tonight. I can’t see any vacant seats as I gaze around the audience.
Then I halt, staring at a row of men. I recognise two of them, Saint and Noah are laughing and joking with the other men.
Then I see him. There’s no doubt in my mind that the man on Saint’s right is Knox.
He’s a grown-up version of the boy I used to know, one I used to call Ellis.
He’s sitting and holding hands with a very cute twink.
In fact, they all seem to be in partnerships with men.
I think its brave of them to be here and openly gay.
Maybe it’s the fact that four of them are built like brick shithouses.
I haven’t given any indication of my sexuality; I don’t think it would be received well.
Not that I’ve seen too much blatant homophobia, but it’s a heavy testosterone fuelled event.
The first two fights go the whole five rounds, with all fighters coming out a bruised and bloody mess.
The judges are fair and doing a good job with the scores and the eventual winner.
I’m not planning to get through five rounds; I want Raoul Diego on the ground.
He’s a vicious fighter, known to play dirty.
He’s likely to risk a dodgy punch, hoping it doesn’t get penalised for.
If he gets a penalty for it, he’ll still think it’s worth it to hurt his opponent.
That’s why I have to be in and out, a couple of solid jabs, followed by an uppercut and head kick to bring him down. That should do the trick.
“You up in fifteen, boyo. Time to get warmed up again.” Dougie goes on to list the kicks and punches Raoul likes to start with. He does this every time I fight. We both know that I know everything he’s saying, but it works to keep me focused.
The crowd is being hyped up by the announcer. He’s calling out our statistics and laying the odds on who’ll win. I’m glad he’s bigging me up as the winner.
I enter the octagon, a place that had become my own.
It’s where I learnt how to conquer my fears, to fight my demons, and ultimately find myself.
Raoul is dancing foot to foot, his eyes fixed on mine as his trainer gives him the final pointers.
He nods but stays looking at me. If he’s going for intimidation, he’s got no fucking chance.
There’s not much to scare me anymore—I’ve already survived that.
The referee calls us forward, and in words I’ve heard a hundred times over, tells us the rules. Which basically means don’t play dirty or kill each other. When I reach out my hands to bump fists with Raoul, he turns away. The prick.
If that’s how he wants to play this, then fine. I know he’s going to play dirty, and I can work with that. He’s going to be too busy looking for a spot on me to deliver his kick or punch that I can bring him down before he’s realised.
His first punch comes fast, but I’m faster and dodge it with ease.
As we circle each other, the crowd start to get loud, egging us on to fight.
I suppose I should; it’s the reason I’m here after all.
I throw a jab at his jaw and follow with a cross punch.
The impact is hard, and his head whips back, and his arms drop.
With his head still reeling from the punch, I kick him low.
The rest of the first round is more of the same: he tries to get close, but I’m getting more contact, and he’s hardly grazed my skin.
When the bell rings, we retreat to our corners.
Dougie is ready with a water bottle and his opinion.
I’m listening but also looking out for Ellis.
He’s in his seat still but is watching me intently, bent forward with his forearms on his knees, his hands clasped together.
He’s a beautiful man and as ripped as fuck; he could be up here fighting.
I see the moment he notices me watching him, and he stiffens, changing his position and sitting upright again. The cute twink says something, and he nods and smiles, then leans in and kisses him. It’s brief kiss, but jealousy rears up in my body. Whoa! What’s that all about?
Dougie gets my attention again, and my focus is back on the fight. I want this over with now. I need to get to Ellis. I have to speak to him, to tell him I’m sorry. Not that he needs it; he looks like he’s made a man of himself.
This time, it’s me bouncing on my toes, adrenaline rushing through me like molten lava.
I don’t give him time to think. Without giving him any ground, I’m in.
A fluid motion of jabs and a low kick, then the punches roll from me, along with a kick to his thigh.
As Raoul drops his hands just a little, I have room for a high kick to the head, and he’s down and out for the count.
Fight over.
I feel amazing. He hardly touched me, but he’s got bruises already blooming on his thigh, a split eye, and a bloody nose. As I raise my hands in the air, I roar.
With the fight over, I look to the stands again. The eight men are still here. Can I get a message up to them?
As I reach the exit of the octagon, Dougie is there with a towel and a huge grin. “Awesome job. No messing around.”
“I need you to get a message up to the guy in the middle there,” I say to him. He looks around and sees who I mean and frowns.
“Who is he?”
“Some guy I knew before.” I know he’ll understand what I mean, but when his frown deepens to Grand Canyon scale grooves, I add some more context. “From before, y’know before. I was in foster care with him.”
“Maddox, I don’t think it’s a good idea. You don’t know what his life has been like. He could know your past enemies.”
I shake my head. “No, he got lucky and got a good place to live. The huge blond guy? He’s the tattooist that did my last one and his brother.”
“I don’t like this, but if he was important to you in a good way, I’ll do it. Be prepared for him to say no and mean it. He may have turned his back on everything to do with his childhood.”
I nod. “I’m going to get showered and changed. Can you ask him to wait?”
I usually take my time in the shower after a fight.
It’s a good way for me to swap from one role to another.
To being me again, the me that now finds time to read, to know how to turn everything off and relax.
It took a lot a therapy and meditation, but I’m happy with who I am now.
It’s been over ten years, after all. This time I rush through it, in a hurry to get out to the hall again.
It’s empty. He didn’t wait.