Chapter 37
Ethan: The fight’s about to start.
Ethan: I’m sorry I hurt you. I need you. Don’t make me do this without you.
Ethan: Please come.
Ethan
The gym’s locker room looks brand new and smells of fresh paint. But mostly what I can smell is my own sweat.
My hands are already wrapped, my gloves waiting. Jamie’s uncle paces in front of me, firing instructions that blur into white noise. All I can think about is Jamie.
I get that she’s angry with me, but she should still be here. Where the hell is she?
"Focus, son." Vito snaps his fingers in front of my face. “You can’t afford to be distracted.”
I nod, but my eyes drift to the door. Still empty.
“I don’t think she’s coming." Vito's voice softens. “Whatever happened between you two, you’ve got to put it aside.”
“I made some mistakes,” I say. “But we should be able to talk about it. If we can’t talk through problems, then what are we even doing? How could she bail on something this important?”
“Work through your issues later, okay?” He grabs the sides of my head, forcing me to look at him. “Get your head in the game. You want to lose?”
The door opens, and I jerk my head free so I can see who it is.
But it’s just a boxer friend of Vito’s who’s helping out. My stomach sinks. Not Jamie. She really isn’t coming.
“Three minutes," the man announces.
My stomach knots. I stand, rolling my shoulders, trying to settle into my body. Everything feels wrong. My skin feels too tight, my limbs restless, my thoughts scattered.
The renovated gym is packed. I can hear the crowd through the walls, their voices a dull roar that makes my pulse spike.
"Remember all the things Jamie taught you." Vito works my shoulders, his fingers digging into the tension I can't shake. "Stay light on your feet. Don't telegraph your moves. Think before you swing."
Jamie.
My chest aches at her name. Last night, my apartment was silent and lonely. She’d filled it with life and laughter, and without her, it felt desolate.
Her angry words echo in my head. She’s wrong, I don’t want to change her. But I can see how she might feel that way, and I shouldn’t have gotten jealous about her wrestling match. I want the chance to fix things, to put things right between us. But how can I if she’s not willing to see me?
Vito’s friend puts his head in again. “It’s time.”
The walk to the ring is a blur. Bright lights hit me as I duck through the ropes, and the crowd's noise swells. Some cheers, plenty of boos. I scan the faces, but she's not there.
The announcer's voice booms through the speakers. "Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to First Strike Boxing and Wrestling Gym's boxing event!"
I pace the corner, trying to focus. The ring feels different from training, the lights brighter, the crowd a distracting blur of noise and color.
The crowd roars as Miles climbs through the ropes. He's massive, all coiled muscle and barely contained violence. His eyes lock onto mine, and his lip curls.
“You’re finished, Kane.” His voice carries across the ring.
“Fuck you, brother,” I say.
He snarls, his face flushing red.
"In the red corner," the announcer continues, "weighing in at two hundred and twenty-eight pounds, with an amateur record of eight wins and two losses, including a regional Golden Gloves championship win, it’s Miles ‘The Machine’ Marzoni!"
Miles lifts both arms, walking around the ring and shaking his fists in the air, playing up to the cheering crowd. He loves this shit. He’s gobbling up the attention like a pig at the trough.
“And in the blue corner," the announcer says. “Weighing in at one hundred and ninety-four pounds, it’s Ethan ‘Killer’ Kane!”
I frown, wondering who came up with that nickname. It sure as hell wasn’t me.
“Go on,” says Vito, giving me a shove.
Oh yeah. I lift an arm and wave to the crowd. But I don’t care about any of them. It’s just another opportunity to scan their faces, to look for Jamie.
She’s definitely not here. I can’t see her anywhere.
The referee calls us to center ring, where Miles towers over me.
“I’m going to tear you to pieces,” he snarls.
“Whatever,” I mutter, glancing back toward my corner. At least Vito’s there.
"Touch gloves," the ref orders.
I extend my hands and Miles pounds on them hard enough to hurt. I go back to my corner, heart thumping. I was counting on having Jamie in my corner. How can I do this without her?
The bell rings.
Miles comes at me like a freight train, no feeling-out period, just pure aggression. His first punch catches me high on the guard, the impact rattling my teeth. I backpedal, trying to find my rhythm, but he's relentless.
Left jab. Right cross. Each blow lands with crushing force. My forearms burn from blocking.
I throw a counter, but he sees it coming and blocks it. Then he drives forward, cutting off my escape.
I lunge, throwing hooks that he slips easily. His counter catches me in the ribs—once, twice. Pain explodes through my side.
The crowd's roar becomes a dull buzz in my ears. I have no rhythm. No plan. Everything Jamie taught me goes out the window as Miles backs me into the ropes.
His right hand comes in like a sledgehammer, slamming into my eye. I feel the skin split. My brain scrambles, and I stagger.
The bell rings, ending round one. I stumble back to my corner, legs shaking. I have warm liquid in my eye, maybe sweat, but probably blood. It blurs my vision.
Vito shoves the stool under me, cursing under his breath. "The hell was that?" He yanks out my mouthguard, squirts water between my lips, then over my forehead, stinging my wound. “Didn’t Jamie teach you anything?"
“I’ve got this, Uncle Vito.”
It’s Jamie’s voice. My head snaps up, and everything inside me goes still.
Jamie stands at the ropes, her face set in familiar lines of determination. Her arm is bandaged and in a sling across her chest. Her face is pale, and she’s wearing an old singlet and a pair of jeans that are too big for her, like she borrowed someone else’s clothes.
“You’re hurt,” I blurt.
“I’m fine.” She takes the towel from her uncle and moves in front of me, then dabs my eye.
I grab her hand to stop her movements, careful not to jostle her injured arm. “What happened, Jamie? What’s with the sling? Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. Minor flesh wound. Could have been a lot worse.” She smiles, but it looks strained. “I’ll tell you all about it after you’ve won the fight.”
"I thought you weren't coming."
Her eyes meet mine, fierce and certain. "You think I'd let you fight alone? I’m really sorry I was late, but I got here as soon as I could. They wouldn’t let me go, so I had to sneak out.”
“Who wouldn’t let you go?”
“Tell you later. I promise. Let me finish cleaning your eye.” She pushes the towel against it gently, wiping away the blood.
"I love you.” The admission tears out of me.
“I know. I love you too.” She gives my eye one last wipe. “Now go out there and beat that jerk wad.”
The bell rings, but it sounds muffled because my heart is pounding in my ears.
“You love me?” I ask.
“Later, Ethan. Go!”
I stand. My ribs ache, but something has shifted inside me. Jamie is here. She loves me.
Miles charges in again. I dodge backward, letting him come.
But this time, everything seems different.
Suddenly, I don’t care that he’s the only son my father ever acknowledged. He’s a spoiled, petty, vindictive asshole. Why did I even want to be recognized by him or his father? I no longer care about either of them.
It’s enough that Jamie loves me. Hell, it’s more than enough. It’s everything.
Now I just need this fight to be over so I can make sure Jamie isn’t more badly injured than she’s letting on. She’s all that matters. And this asshole? Well, he’s in the way of me seeing to my woman. He’s going to regret that.
Jamie shouts from behind me. “Don't telegraph your moves, Ethan.”
The reminder doesn’t come a moment too soon. I slip his jab. A moment later, my counter catches Miles in the body. I put all my rage behind the punch, and his grunt of surprise is satisfying.
“That’s it!” Jamie's voice cuts through the noise. "Stay inside! Work the body!"
I do. Miles has reach on me, but inside, I can work. Body shots. Short hooks. Everything Jamie taught me about using an opponent's size against them.
He swings wild, his frustration showing. I duck under his fist and pop up with an uppercut that snaps his head back.
The crowd roars.
Miles's face darkens. He comes in hard, trying to overwhelm me, but I keep my cool.
Slip. Counter. Move. Let him make mistakes.
Jamie's voice guides me through each exchange. “Guard up! That's it! He's getting tired!"
My arms burn. Sweat and blood sting my eyes. My ribs scream with every breath. But I'm landing more than I'm taking now. Miles's breath comes in ragged gasps.
Final round. We're both exhausted.
I get in some more body shots, then Miles backs me up, loading up a big right hand.
Time slows. I see his weight shift, see his shoulder dip. Everything Jamie taught me crystallizes in that moment. I know exactly what he's going to do.
His fist flies toward my face. It’s a knockout punch aimed straight at my jaw.