There was nothing tasteful about watching two men fight. It was especially grim when they were surrounded by a wall of screaming people with no way out. It was dirty and amateur, and not a thing about it was safe, but that’s why they were so popular. The crowd lapped this shit up with hungry eyes.
Maybe it was that I feared he’d get injured seriously, or maybe it was because I had a clear view to the impending chaos that was about to start – whatever was the reason, my nerves skyrocketed and a thrilling feeling coursed through my body. The anticipation was absolutely brutal. I couldn’t hold still as I watched Heath make his way to the centre of the circle where the steroid injector met him.
So immersed in the size difference between them, I zoned out completely. The noise level fell away. I focused solely on Heath’s impressive torso and the slight movement of his head as he waited for the referee to signal the start of the fight. His eyes were bright and wide, and his skin already sweaty from the humid air. He was calm and steady, and the slight flash of his relaxed face in my direction told me of his confidence, especially when he winked at a few girls.
Then, without warning, it began with a punch across his face.
*
There were very few moments in my life that I could remember feeling like I was on the edge of my seat. My world had always been a safe one. I had two religious parents that had stressed the importance of education in our poverty stricken lives; both of them combined resulted in strict parenting that kept me sheltered for most of my upbringing. I had gone about my days according to schedule, and the predictability had dulled my joy in life.
That was until my father’s depression came to light when he took his life away three years ago. He was found hanged in the woods with a suicide note. It had been a shock to Mom and me, and we were suddenly facing the world in dire circumstances. While we’d never been super comfortable money-wise, my father had always made sure we had just enough to make it by. Without him, we were struggling. She lost the plot and took her faith to extremes, and I was virtually on my own in my suffering. It was like stepping out of a cage in the middle of the jungle, alone. Safety was immediately stripped from you, and you had nobody to depend on but yourself. But when Ryker came to pick up the pieces, it took away the pressure in life and I was halfway out of that cage. He’d helped me cope and never left my side, providing me with the kind of trust I had never second guessed.
Until he broke my heart by doing what he did.
It was only until now, standing in this derelict warehouse, that I began to really see and feel things I never did before. Like what would it be like if you gambled the last of your money away on an outcome you couldn’t control? The excitement stemmed from the unpredictability – and not just in the fight, but in everything Hedley had to offer. It was a dark and cold place where people were desperate for money – so desperate, in fact, they resorted to fighting like this.
It was fascinating.
I watched people scream “Lawson” over and over again as he recovered immediately from the punch across the face. He shook his head almost as if to regain clarity and moved away from the large opponent I quickly learned was aptly named Tank.
Without realizing it, I was holding my breath and wincing at every punch thrown from both opponents. Sometimes they hit air, and other times they hit flesh. And the sound of grunts and heavy panting so close to me only added to the reality of the fight. I wasn’t watching some movie, detached but attentive. This was real, and I was more emotionally invested than I thought I could ever be.
Then again, this was Heath, a man who, up until a short while ago, I’d seen almost every day. My eyes were glued to him. I watched the skilful way in which he moved; fluidly, without one misstep as he dodged Tank and found the most inopportune moments to send a punch across the massive man’s face and ribs. These were strong, perfectly aimed hits that you could actually hear amid the screams. Heath had a damn good fist and he was strong as hell. Some things never change.
It wasn’t long before I realized something. Heath was taller, leaner and lighter on his feet. Tank, on the other hand, was all bulk, moving slower than him. Heath might as well have been running laps around the large man. Soon, Tank was out of breath, swinging tiredly at him while turning redder in the face. Steroids may have helped him look like a Gladiator, but it served absolutely no purpose in his cardio longevity. And when Heath stepped in more and more, closing the distance, I was left gobsmacked.
Because he had this.
The win was on him.
The crowd went berserk as they watched him attack Tank. Punch after punch after punch… And then an uppercut that sent the man tumbling back, falling gracelessly. The blood erupted out of Tank’s face long before his back slammed hard on the ground below. Mists of blood and sweat mingled in the air around him.
The room went quiet. For a moment, eyes descended on the unmoving form lying unconsciously at Heath’s feet. And when that moment passed, it was filled with cheers and screams.
And I just stood there. Shocked.
Heath wasn’t smug about his win. I’d seen others flaunting their egos while swearing down at their opponent and yelling, “Who’s the man?” to everyone around them. But instead, Heath just stood there too, wiping the sweat off his face with the back of his hand. His chest rose and fell and rose and fell, until he finally caught his breath. There was a hollow, blank expression planted there on his face, and those eyes seemed distant and cool as they travelled around the room.
When Heath got into his zone, he was scary. I wasn’t even sure he registered what he was looking at. He fought from within and it took him far away from the present.
Everyone surrounded him, shouting their praises, patting him everywhere. I pushed through the dispersing crowd, knowing it was pointless getting his attention now. Invisible as always, I hurried out of there without a problem.
Two
Allie
I was waiting by his truck when the warehouse exploded with bodies flooding out of the doors. Loud chatter and excited hoots filled the air as they went to their cars, or down the sidewalks in groups. I clutched the strap of my backpack filled with my belongings with one hand and faced the truck. I stared at the body, remembering the summer Ryker and Heath had spent getting it to work. It was old, but the body was strong, and according to Heath, “A manual can always be saved.”
I didn’t know anything about cars, but I watched them for hours, sweating up a storm under the scorching sun, swearing and tearing apart bits and pieces. The brothers fought nonstop, especially when Heath – an apprentice mechanic that was very familiar with cars – kept trying to get Ryker to do as he was told. I didn’t want to tell Ryker that his brother realistically knew more than him, so I’d watched the argument unfold acting like a bystander.