Page 78 of The Beginning and End of Everything
It's a big fight tonight,and the pub is packed. The roar from the crowd is a constant in the background, and adrenaline fires though my veins. There’s nothing quite like the fervor of a big fight. It’s infectious.
Poppy sits on the metal bench to the side of the room, her leg bouncing and her arms folded over her chest.
I stare at her as I yank my shorts over my hips. Her bouncing stops, as those grey eyes linger on my bare torso. She slowly lifts her gaze to my face, and a blush touches her cheeks. It's so damn cute.
"You know I hate that you do this," she says, standing and walking over to me.
I smirk. "Easiest money I ever made, poss."
"Yeah, I'm pretty sure drug dealers make 'easy' money, too. Doesn't mean you should do it." She glares at me, and I can't help but see that little girl she once was, sulking because she didn't get her way. "I mean, if he beats your ass, fine, but don't let him hit you just because you like it. Don’t be a Neanderthal, Brandon."
"It's manly. I'm just making him feel better about himself anyway."
"It's idiotic."
I grab her waist and pull her against me. "You concerned about the preservation of my dashing good looks?" I brush my lips across her jaw, placing a kiss below her ear.
It's strange being able to touch her. I've always loved her from afar. She was like the sun, beautiful and so unattainable. Now she’s right in front of me, and I can't quite believe she won't burn me.
"I won't let him 'beat my ass,'" I say in a poor imitation of her American twang.
“Dick.”
"Stay here." I kiss her forehead and walk away, heading to the exit. The second I open the door, the noise from outside becomes deafening:Breaker, Breaker, Breaker.
"You let him hit you, I'm flushing your weed down the toilet," she shouts, her soft voice just carrying over the cries from the crowd.
I glance over my shoulder and wink at her before stepping through the door. I don't want her watching, out here amongst this lot. It's too distracting.
The audience presses all around me. The shouts and cheers rise like a crescendo, beer sloshing everywhere as they jostle against one another.
I slide between the ropes lining the ring. Larry is standing in the middle, microphone in hand as he riles up the crowd, encouraging them to bet more of their money.
"It's Brandon 'The Breaker' Blaine!"
The roar is insane, and I remain in the corner, my hands loose at my sides.
"He is undefeated, ladies and gents. A legend in this here ring." More cheers. "And fighting him tonight is a monster, a rebel, the undisputed bad boy of the professional middle-weight world, Ronnie 'Wreckage' Sanders!"
My opponent climbs through the ropes with his head held so high it makes me smile. The crowd boos him the way they do every outside contestant. The thing about The Pit, they support their own. And given that Larry loves to big up the whole ex-military shit, they're all about supporting Larry's guys. Of course, that means they bet on us, and that's no good, so Larry keeps trying to bring in bigger and badder fighters in an attempt to make some money.
Ronnie Sanders is just such a guy, banned from professional boxing because he half ripped a guy’s ear off with his teeth. The guy clearly has no morals, and truthfully, that’s how I like it.
Larry steps out, and then the bell rings. Ronnie grins as if he's about to slaughter me. When I’m here in this ring, everything outside of it ceases to exist. Something in me shifts, and I morph into nothing but raw aggression and lethal instinct, because, to be a fighter—a good fighter—you have to stop thinking and simply react.
I take the few steps towards him. His smile drops a fraction, eyes narrowing as he studies my approach. I feign left, and he lifts his guard, defending his face. I drive my fist into his gut hard enough that I know he'll be winded, but he takes the opportunity to swing at me. Usually, I'd stand here and take it; hell, I'd even be excited at the prospect of being smacked by a guy with his kind of reputation, but I force myself to think through the simple blood lust and remember Poppy’s request.
I duck and pop up, pulling my fist back and using all the strength I have when I drive my fist into his temple. My knuckles crack under the pressure, and a dull ache explodes over my hand. He staggers back on his feet for a second before he goes to his knees in front of me and then falls like a felled tree.
The shouting and clapping explode around me. I glance to the side of the ring where Larry stands flanked by Finn and Kyan, and Larry looks pissed. Finn has a small smile on his face, and Kyan, well, he's got his arm around some blonde in a tight dress, staring at her cleavage.
When I step out of the ring, people part like I’m Moses and they’re the Red Sea, scampering away as I make my way to the door in the corner. I grip the door handle, pause, and take a deep breath. It doesn't matter how calm I try to be, fighting does something to me, forces something primal and aggressive to the surface. My blood burns through my veins. I close my eyes for a second and try to force the rage back to that place where it sits, waiting to break free at the slightest provocation.
No sooner do I step into the small corridor than Poppy appears in the doorway of the storeroom. Her eyes search my face, and I know she sees the bomb waiting to go off. It’s here, when I'm in this place, that the line between reality and nightmare becomes so very thin. Being in that ring is a dulled down version of war. There are no bullets, and I’m not going to die, but it still brings out that reflexive survival instinct.
Poppy watches me for a moment as though she’s unsure what to do next. "You okay?"
I nod stiffly. "Just...give me a second."
