a ratty armchair in front of the television, The Price Is Right playing in the darkness, my big brother turns to me and smiles.
“Bubbles. You’re late.”
Jamie
The Heat is On
“Hands up, Jamie.”
Evie “Smalls” Kincaid stands on the outside of the octagon, with her wild curls clouding around her face, sweat dribbling over her temple, and a massive basketball smuggled beneath a Rollin On Gym shirt. It might be her husband’s shirt, perhaps her dad’s. But there’s no way in hell it’s hers, just as there’s no way in hell the rightful owner will ever get it back.
Evie is my cousin, she’s married to a champion fighter, and she’s well and truly due with their first baby. And yet, she has the energy to scream at me about my fighting technique.
“Hands up, dumbass! Bry, step in on the left. He doesn’t protect there anyway.”
So I cover my left a little better. I skip a wide arc around my opponent – also my cousin – then I dig a fast one-two-rip into his ribs, and finish it with a hook that sends his head snapping back, and his eyes wild with the hunt.
If you’re gonna make Bryan Kincaid bleed, then you’d better be prepared for when he rushes back in to take you the fuck out.
“Good! Finally,” Evie complains. “Jesus. Now we’re fighting. Jamie, come around to his right. Side step, side step, then dig a rip in. His ribs ache, so there’s your target.”
“Woman!” Bry drops his hands and turns. “Are we at war, or are we sparring? Because I think your absence from the octagon has made you forget how much this shit hurts.”
“Spare me.” She rolls her eyes. “There’s a baby the size of a watermelon in my belly, and I have a trapdoor the size of a quarter. Think about those logistics, then talk to me about pain. Until then, shut the hell up and lift your hands.”
Since I’m a bitter old man these days, I take advantage of Bry’s distraction. I swing around while his hands are down, and slam a fist to the side of his jaw, and then I… well, in my head, I shout ‘Timberrrrrr!’ as he slams to the canvas.
“Jamie!” Evie drops her hands to her hips and scowls. “We fight well, and we train hard, which means we don’t have to fight dirty. What the hell are you thinking?”
“I’m thinking that I’m sick and tired of listening to you bitch at me.”
I leave my cousin laying on the floor, and instead tear the Velcro open on my grappling gloves. I toss them down, one, then the other. Then I rip the rubber mouthguard from between my lips and tuck it into the waistband of my shorts.
“I’m done for today. It’s hot as Hades, and even though you annoy the fuck outta me, I still worry about you in this heat.” I slam the octagon door open and move down the steps. “Go and have a cold shower, then I’ll drive you back to your place. Your ass should be smooshed into a couch in the air-conditioning, not here in this filthy heat. What the fuck is Ben thinking?”
“I’m right here, culo.” Ben steps into the room we stand in, with sweat dribbling along his face and chest, and his own grappling gloves hanging between his hands. “You think I like her being here in this heat?” He stops by us, throws one arm over her shoulder, and uses the other hand to rub circles against her swollen belly. “I told her to stay home, but would she listen?”
“No,” she counters, “because sitting at home all alone is boring. I’d rather be here, yelling at you jerks. I love Dr. Drake Ramoray just as much as everyone else does, but there are only so many times I can watch that show before I wanna hurt somebody.”
“We’re going home now anyway.” Ben looks toward the octagon, to Bry groaning on the canvas. He’s not knocked out. He’s just fed up with today. With this summer. “Home, air-conditioning, and if we’re lucky, the baby will come and put us all out of our misery.”
“Baby won’t come until I give it permission to. And for as long as I have the watermelon-quarter conundrum unsolved, my legs are staying closed.”
I step away from Evie, since her man is here now, and head to my bag on the floor. I snatch up my water bottle and take small sips. “I’m pretty sure you aren’t the first chick in the