against his side. “Why so emotional, T? It’s just a fight.”
“He has no one in his corner.”
He chuckles, and I look up at him, scowling.
“You see him in school, right?”
“Of course I do,” I snap.
He nods to the guys. “He doesn’t even hang with his boys in school. Clearly, it’s what he wants.”
I look back at him. “Then he’s an ass.”
Patrick laughs. “If that’s how you feel, then enjoy the show.”
I look at Brisa, and she nods toward the couch.
“Brisa and I are gonna sit,” I tell Patrick.
“It’s about time. Wish there was a pillow and blanket around. I’m beat.”
I look past him and see the women eye-banging him, even Dee. I glare at the posse before catching Harrison chuckling behind them.
My finger itches to flip him off, but that would probably not be helpful if I’m deciding to be at least cordial to him over the next fourteen months until graduation.
I give him a tight-lipped, semi-smirk as the bell rings again.
It feels like it should be round seven billion, eight hundred and fifty-five million, four hundred fifty-four thousand, five hundred and forty-three, but the girl in the barely-there bikini, holding the sign high above her head, tells me it’s only round three.
I lean back, cross my arms, and look at Patrick. “I’m with you.”
Ranger strikes first, and I see the pain flash in Tobias’s swollen eyes as his whole body twists to the left. He raises his arms above his face, shielding himself from blow after blow.
I look down and watch his feet stagger as he tries to gain his footing. When he finally does, a light bulb goes off in my head. I pull my phone out of my pocket and open the notes. I try my best to void the emotions and focus on the mechanics.
Ranger’s arms are longer, giving him a farther reach, but Tobias is stronger. Each jab he lands rocks Ranger. Neither have their footing right, though. If they did, they would be able to hold a stance better, take a harder hit. Where Ranger clearly hits to inflict pain wherever he sees an opening, Tobias strikes with intent to bring him down. Ranger is quick to find a way to take them both to the mat. He’s more flexible. Tobias, being stronger, can maneuver them so he’s only down for a few seconds.
The bell rings, and I look up at his face as he spits blood onto the mat, his eyes meeting mine, disdain evident. They shift, and I see he’s watching Harrison walk toward me.
Harrison squats down in front of me and asks, “What do you think?”
“I think it’s shit that he doesn’t have at the very least one of you up there in his corner,” I snap.
“Do you think we haven’t offered before every one of his fights?”
Patrick leans forward. “Told you, T. Some guys need to be inside their own head.”
“Well, when his eyes are swollen shut and he can’t see after the bell, and he steps out and gets annihilated, you’ll wish you’d have fought harder for him to change his damn mind.”
He stands and holds out his hand. “Then let’s stand at the rope and cheer him on, shall we?”
When I don’t take his hand, he tilts his head. “Thought you wanted him to feel not so alone? Brisa and Patrick should come, too.”
“Brisa is sitting right here, cheering for Ranger,” she replies, talking about herself in third person, and looks at me. “Just like you should be after tonight’s crap.”
I look at the ring and see Tobias in his corner, back to the crowd, holding the ropes, head hung low. My chest aches.
I sigh loudly and reach out my hand to take Harrison’s. “Fine.”
“Truth, are you kidding me?” Brisa calls to my back.
I look over my shoulder at her and yell, “I’m a sucker for an underdog!”
Standing at the rope, Tobias turns back toward the center of the ring. I may be imagining things, but he seems to look at the couch where I was sitting then scans the area until his eyes find mine then Harrison’s then back to mine.
Harrison leans in and whispers in my ear, “He’s pissed.”
I watch Tobias’s eyes home in on our hands and realize I’m still holding Harrison’s hand. Something unspoken tells me to release it. When I attempt to, though, Harrison lifts it and places a kiss to the back of it.
I look at him in confusion. His response is the smugness of the lips pursing.
The bell rings, and I