Zane would pull a stunt like this; hell, Peter would, too. It's reckless, which means that it's also dangerous—and Hayden's long past that stage of life where it's acceptable for him to get away with stupid behavior. Thing is, he's also past the stage of really caring.
There have been four bouts already: two bantamweight fights, one lightweight fight, and a welterweight fight, and Hayden has to sit through a couple more bouts before it's his turn. Until then, he's got to deal with the sudden pre-fight jitters he's never had to wrangle with before. He also has to not get caught looking at the girl.
The girl—Seph, that's her name. He doesn't want her to catch him. He's not just watching her, of course; he's watching the fights too, watching the crowd around him, watching the punk kid who challenged him to this bullshit exhibition fight in the first place. None of that matters, though, because his gaze always returns to Seph. She's sitting in the front row of seats with her friend, laughing and cheering and—Wow, she's really beautiful.
"…Hey, are you listening to me?"
Hayden blinks. Not a single word of what Mike said in the past five minutes made into his head. "What were you saying?"
"Oh, just that wrapping your hands has made my arthritis flare up—no! You big doof, what in the world do you think I've been talking about for the past few minutes, huh? Strategy, Hayden! Your strategy for this fight. Dios mío, what is with you, son? I've never seen you this distracted. "
Hayden flexes his fist. "What's there to strategize about? The kid has seven fights under his belt, two of which are exhibition bouts. I have significantly more experience; I'm going to outbox him."
"Yeah, you have him on experience—other hand—but he's got you on reach and age."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
Mike sighs, places the gauze pad on Hayden's knuckles.
"It means he's a kid in college who's been training for this fight and you are neither one of those things. You have to be smart about this."
Hayden snorts. "Christ. I'm not as old as you Mike, relax."
"Here's the deal, you're a great boxer, always have been. You, your brothers, and, you know who…s-s-sorry about that. Right, won't bring him up again… Anyway, I don't need you goin' in there and brutalizing this kid, all right? He's a jackass, but he's something special, too, and he doesn't need to get hurt before his next big bout. And…this should go without saying, but you need to protect yourself in there. I know you like to do that fancy footwork, bobbing and weaving and shit like that, but this kid will clock you if you get too cocky. I don't want none of that leaving-your- head-exposed shit you do to piss people off. I'm not putting you in there with a punk, Hayden. Well, he is a punk. He's a little jackass, like I said. But the kid's a slugger, and he can fight. I need you to go in there, control the ring at all times, and show him what it's like to tangle with a skilled southpaw."
"Anything else, Colonel Cabrera?"
"Very funny, but since you asked, I… do have one more thing."
Seph and her friend have spotted him. They wave enthusiastically. They're having fun, and the strange thing is, he is too. Even surrounded by all this noise and all these people, he's managing to mildly enjoy himself. Maybe the meds are finally working…
"Go ahead and ask me, Mike." He should've never said that.
"The knuckles on your left hand are bruised."
"They are indeed, yes."
"…By your tone, I'm going to assume that you're not going to tell me how you bruised them, are you?"
The drums are starting to beat again, threatening to crack whatever illusion of enjoyment he's been experiencing for the past few hours. If he's not careful, he'll fall down the chasm in front of all these people—in front of Seph. He can't allow that.
"You would be correct in that assumption."
"Son," Mike's fingers grab onto his forearm, form a tangible anchor that keeps him from drifting.
"Let go of me, Mike."
"If something's going on with you, I need to know about it. Look, I didn't want to say anything, but I saw you on the news last night…"
Exhale, and the smell of roses disappears. He should tell Mike; he should be honest with him. It would be irresponsible not to, almost self-destructive.
He's not going to tell him.
"This is glorified sparring practice, Mike. It'll be fine. I'll be fine. Now, would you let me go?"
The anchor releases him and he's free to drift once more. His eyes wander back to Seph and her friend. Inside, his feelings storm and revolt against each other: he wants to fight, he wants to talk to her, he wants beat his father in the ring, he wants to know what her full lips taste like, he wants to sleep, he wants to find an escape from loneliness. Each desire fights for dominance, pulls him in a different direction.
Two more welterweight fights go by, unskilled and nigh unwatchable, and now it's finally his turn. Headgear on, mouth guard in, and he's ready.
Seph watches the two men as they step into the ring, noticing that Underwood goes to each side and bows to the judges, and that Frankie follows suit.
"Who are you rooting for?" Jess asks. She knows the answer, but Seph is willing to play along. Hayden "The Unseen" Underwood takes the red corner and Frankie "War Boy" Mars takes the blue. The bell rings, and the fight begins.
"I'm neutral."
Mars steps out from his corner with his chin immediately tucked into his shoulder. So he wants to fight from the shell and counterpunch? Fine.
The adrenaline is pumping and the drums have slowed. Hayden circles and throws a jab that his opponent intercepts with a jab of his own. There's pressure on his leading foot; Mars has stepped on him, caught him, and throws a cross and a hook, both of which Hayden just barely manages to block. The blows are heavy and remind him of when he used to spar Zane and Peter. Kid knows what he's doing…
Two quick jabs to the face surprise the kid and Hayden frees himself to move again, no worse for wear. He steps in with another set of double jabs, rolls underneath a left cross, and hits the kid's chin with a solid uppercut that sends him reeling. The ref pauses the fight, gives his opponent a standing eight count.
"Your rando is…good."
"Yeah," Seph agrees. "He really is." Frankie manages to get out of his daze and the fight continues. He tucks his chin again, cautiously matching Underwood's movements around the ring. Suddenly, Frankie steps in with a quick jab, followed by an overhand hook that grazes Underwood's head. Frankie is fast—a lot faster than Seph thought he would be—but Underwood is faster. His movements are precise but fluid, and when he slips and rolls, he teleports. At first, Seph thought that his nickname was a little lame, but the guy really is "unseen."
Her phone vibrates just as Underwood comes back from the roll and the two men clinch. It's a text from Mamma.
Mamma (8:00pm)
bby girl, where r u? thought you were coming home early 2day.
"Shit," Seph says.
"What?"
"Nothing, I just got a text from my mom, hang on."
The crowd is getting so loud that Seph can't hear herself think. She's texting her mom and missing the fight. What the hell is going on?
"Holy crap, Seph, you need to see this! Seriously!"
"Hang on, Jess, I need to text my mom—"
"Seph you need to look now!"
"What?!" Text sent, Seph looks up, and finally gets to see what all the commotion is about. The ref is standing between the two fighters, and both corners are rushing to pull the men apart from each other.
"The hell just happened?"
"Girl, I don't know. It looked like Frankie said something when they were doing that hugging-move, I don't know what it's called… and you know how he is…and your rando just…lost it. Freaking lost it. Like, he pushed Frankie to the ground and was about to start wailing on him before the ref got there. It was…scary."
Frankie's already seated in his corner with a shit-eating grin on his face; meanwhile, three guys from the other corner have to force Underwood to calm down and sit.
"I wonder what Frankie said to him…"
"Seph, you didn't see it, but I don't think any trash talk could justify that…"
Seph nods. Jess is probably right. Still, something scratches her mind; something scratches at the part where she holds her cynicism, and Frankie's shit-eating grin hasn't left yet. Seph crosses her arms. What did you say to Underwood?
It's happening again. Black smoke fills the room, and Hayden can smell the rotting eggs of sulfur. His opponent sits across from him on a throne made of human bones; glowing red with strength and pride, armored in a bronze muscled breastplate and brandishing two bronze war hammers, one in each fist. It's not real, Hayden tells himself. It's not real, it's not real, it's not real…
"Not real? You stand in my Hall of War. Of course it's real."
Don't talk to your delusion. It's not real.
"You need to wake up," War says. Hayden knows that's his name, or at least one of his names. "My drums beat, do you not hear them? Glorious battles lie in wait, just as we all do."
"Lie in wait for what?" Asking that question sends a panic rushing through Hayden's body. Has he finally lost his last grip on reality? Did he ever have one to begin with?
"We wait," War answers, leaning forward on his throne of human bones, "to be set free."
"Hayden! HAYDEN!" Fingers snap in front of his eyes and the smoke clears. Warm liquid drips from his nose. That's funny; Hayden doesn't recall getting hit.
"Coach?"
"Just what the fuck has gotten into you, son?"
"…I….I don't—"
"Listen, I don't know what Frankie said to you—and quite frankly, I don't give a damn…"
Said? What did he say? Hayden tries to remember, reaches for the memory of the thing that just happened and—
It's caught.
They were in the clinch, and the kid had managed to get a good grip on him.
"I saw you eying my girl," he said, his words coming out clear as day despite his mouth guard. "Don't think I didn't catch that. You can't fuckin' have her, old man. Tonight I'm gonna fuck her—me. I'm gonna fuck her, whether she wants me to or not. Just think: after this fight, grandpa, you're gonna have a loss on your perfect record, and she's gonna be chokin' on my dick, not yours."
After that it was a blur, but the recollection of the kid's disgusting words serve to make Hayden's blood boil once more.
"HAYDEN!"
"I'm good to fight, Coach."
"I know that you're good to fight. What I don't want is you going in there and trying to kill the kid. You cooled off now?"
Hayden nods just to get Mike off his case, because he's finished with playing around; he aims to teach Mike's protégé a lesson.
"I'm good to fight," Hayden repeats. "I'm cooled off now, I swear." Nothing could be further from the truth.
The bell rings and a new round starts. Seph can feel the change in the air: Underwood has picked up his pace, and she can tell that he's out for blood. He comes in with a flurry of straight punches and pivots out, leaving Frankie still throwing wild shots into the air. Seph gasps. Underwood's been toying with Frankie the whole time!
Frankie tries to come in again with a right overhand hook and a hook to the body, but Underwood's gone light-years away before either strike even threatens to reach him.
As soon as Seph starts to think—worry, even—that the rest of the fight is just going to be Underwood making a fool of Frankie, it ends.
Frankie throws out a straight right hand, which Underwood easily slips. With his feet planted and an explosive push from his legs, Underwood drives a defensive uppercut straight into Frankie's exposed torso, in the exact spot where his liver should be. The punch is fast and powerful, and Frankie immediately falls down onto his knees, face plants into the mat, and curls into the fetal position. For a moment, the crowd stays silent, until—
"Frankie!" Jess shouts, and the crowd erupts with cheers. Frankie's corner, along with the ringside doctor, manage to get to get him up on his feet again, but Seph can tell that he's standing on wobbly legs.
"And the winner, by technical knockout, and still the undefeated middleweight champion… Hayden "The Unseen" Underwood!" The ref pulls Underwood's hand into air, and the crowd goes nuts. Somehow, even in all the chaos, he locks eyes with her, his thick hair a tangled mess of sweat, and he winks—all of which makes her skin burn in an embarrassing blush for the third time in one day. The nerve of that man!
The smell of sulfur returns, and War stands in place of Frankie. Hayden can't see Seph anymore, and an angry, cold fear has replaced the warmth he felt in his chest when he saw her beaming at him. Why is this happening to me? A large, simmering hole burns in the side of War's breastplate.
"Because you refuse to wake," War answers, collapsing to the ashen earth.
Shouts ring past Hayden's ears and when he blinks, he's suddenly back in the real world, with voices coming from all directions.
"Frankie! Oh my God!"
"Somebody call an ambulance!"
The kid, Frankie, he's on the floor, holding his gut and floundering around like a fish. His face has turned beet-red and he's got his eyes scrunched up.
"I wanna go to the hospital, someone take me to the hospital, it hurts, it hurts, it fucking hurts!" The poor kid is bawling. What have I done?
A strong hand squeezes his shoulder.
"We're going to talk about this later," Mike rasps.
When Hayden tries to look for Seph again in the worried crowd, he can only find her friend…and she stares at him with wide, scared eyes. Turning his head to look back at Frankie as he writhes in pain, Hayden wonders once more, What have I done?