Ripp turned to face the champ and put his hands on his hips. “Askin’ you what? Quit beatin’ around the fuckin’ bush. You’re all stammerin’ around and talkin’ in fuckin’ circles. Let’s hear it.”
Based on the way Ripp talked to him, it was pretty obvious they really were friends.
Dekk locked eyes with me. “Were you fighting amateur when you were in Omaha? Officially?”
I nodded. “Yes, Sir. I was boxing in USA Boxing.”
It was a governed amateur boxing association that Freddy insisted I fight under so I could one day go to the Olympics.
“How many fights did you fight before you were seventeen?” the champ asked.
“I quit when I was sixteen. I don’t know, I can’t really remember. The younger years of my life are all foggy.”
“Did you remain under USA Boxing’s governing body for the entire time?”
I nodded. “Yes, Sir. I can remember that. Freddy, he was my trainer. He insisted that we fight AIBA so I could go to the Olympics. That was his dream.”
“You’re required to fight eighteen fights a year. Do you think you fought that many?”
“If it was a requirement, I’m sure I did. Freddy would have made sure of it.”
“Do you have any idea how many fights you won?”
I grinned. It was an easy answer. “All of them, Sir.”
His eyes shot wide and he coughed. He looked at Ripp. Ripp grinned. The champ looked back at me and smiled. “All of them?”
“Yes, Sir. Never lost one. That’s why Freddy was so sure I could make it to the Olympics.”
He stared back at me in apparent disbelief. “You’re undefeated?”
I hadn’t really thought about it, but technically I guessed I was. As far as I was concerned, my fights when I was younger didn’t count, though. I shrugged. “I mean, I guess so. Do those old fights count?”
“They sure do,” the champ said.
“I’ll go to the AIBA and have your records pulled. They’ll have them on file,” he said.
“Okay,” I said. My eyes darted back and forth between Ripp and the champ. “What does all this mean?”
“I’ll tell you what it fuckin’ means,” Ripp said. “It means Ol’ Dekk here can go to promoters and tell ‘em that we’ve got a fighter here at Kidd’s gym that’s won a hundred fuckin’ fights, and lost none. And, we can say she’s knockin’ bitches out left and fuckin’ right, and she wants a shot at someone worth fightin’. Right, Dekk?”
The champ nodded. “That’s right.”
I smiled at the thought of it all. “Oh.”
“Oh?” Ripp said sarcastically. “Hear that, Dekk? Sound like someone you know? Bunch of humble fuckers in here today, huh?”
“Humility will keep her grounded,” he said.
Freddy used to tell me the same thing.
I studied Dekk. He didn’t look like a champion, that was for sure. Dressed in shitty blue jeans and wearing a pair of biker boots and a hoodie, he looked like one of Austin’s many homeless residents. Realizing he was actually the Heavyweight Champion of the World let me know that he was a very humble man.
I liked that about him.
“Yes, Sir. It sure will,” I said. “Freddy told me that. He said I should always be humble outside the ring.”
“He sounds like he was a great trainer. I tell you what, I’ll have Joe get your records pulled. Once we get our hands on them, I’ll let you know what we find out. But Ripp’s right. If we can prove your record, we can make one hell of a claim to get you accepted into the pro circuit.”
“And then what?”
“Your first few pro fights should get you noticed, especially if you can keep up that knock out record.”
He stood up.
Ripp had been standing the entire time.
I stood and wiped my hands on the front of my shorts.
“Just out of curiosity,” he said. “How many of your wins were knockouts?”
I shook my head. “Hard to say. From what I can remember, probably quite a few. It’s just. I don’t know. I just don’t really remember the fights. I mean, I remember Freddy, and I remember fighting, but I don’t really remember it. It’s hard to explain.”
“I understand,” he said. “Believe me.”
He clenched his hand into a fist and extended his arm.
I grinned and did the same.
And he pounded his fist against mine.
TWENTY-SEVEN
Jaz
Day seventy-one.
Ripp and I stood at the edge of the ring and waited for Ethan. The scheduled fight was with an undefeated fighter who was even more well-known than the last fighter Ethan fought. According to Ripp, if Ethan could beat the guy, his other than satisfactory record really wouldn’t matter very much.
Defeating the two most recent fighters would outweigh all of his losses, and he’d gain respect in the amateur boxing circuit for being a noteworthy opponent.
I couldn’t tell Ripp, but Ethan had once again told me he was going to win the fight. His prediction? Another first round knockout. For Ethan’s sake, I hoped he was right.
“Can’t wait to see what happens,” I said.
“Shit, I can’t wait to see what Dekk finds out about your record. I’m anxious about this fucker, too.”
“I’m anxious about my record. I can’t wait to see what he finds out. It’s exciting to think about.”
Several minutes passed without him speaking. It wasn’t like Ripp. I studied him for a moment. He stood with his hands in the pockets of his shorts and his eyes fixed on the floor, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet.
“What are you thinking about?” I asked.
“Huh?”
I chuckled. “You look like you’re either thinking or nervous.”
“Me? No, I ain’t nervous.”
“So what are you thinking about?”
“I don’t know. I guess I been wonderin’,” he said.
“About what?”
“You can’t remember anything about when you were a kid?”
It wasn’t an easy thing to explain. I could remember some things, and not others. There was a long period of time from when I was about two until I was a sophomore in high school where I really couldn’t remember anything specific about my life, only the bruises and how bad they hurt when I touched them. Then, after Freddy died, for whatever reason, I could remember almost everything.
“It’s weird. I can remember it, but I can’t remember specific things that happened. My counselor in high school told me it was pretty common for kids like me to repress memories, but he said it was odd that mine was the way it was. I’m really pretty happy with it the way it is, honestly. If I remembered everything, I’m sure I’d just be mad.”
He pursed his lips and inhaled a deep breath through his nose. “I hate thinkin’ about your pop knockin’ you around when you was a kid. You think you’ll ever try and reconcile things with him?”
It was a question I had never been asked, but was one that I was more than prepared to answer. I’d thought about it several times from when I was in high school to rather recently, and each time I came up with the same answer.
“No, I won’t,” I turned to face him. “If it would have happened once or twice in a drunken fit of rage, I could probably get over it. You know, forgive him. But it didn’t. It happened over and over. So, what excuse can someone like him give for beating on a little girl with his fists? What could he say to make me forgive him?”
His jaw muscles tightened and his eyes fell to the floor. “Don’t know.”
“Yeah,” I said. “Me neither.”
“If you can’t remember your childhood, how do you remember that, though?”
The answer was what I hated about it all. “Because that’s really the only thing I can remember.”
He looked up and nodded at the exact moment Ethan came from the locker room with his trainer.
Ethan looked ready for anyone or anything. He st
ared straight ahead and pounded his gloves together as he walked, his biceps flaring with each movement of his upper arms. There was no denying he was focused, and I was proud that he agreed to fight the man he was going to fight.
Dressed in his blue and white shorts and an old raggedy gray sweatshirt with the sleeves cut off, he looked like what I had always imagined the old school boxers from the gyms in Philadelphia looked like back in the day.
“Kick his ass, Babe,” I said as they walked past.
Ethan’s trainer glanced toward us, and Ripp glared back at him.
“What’s the deal between you two?”
“Just don’t like him,” Ripp said.
It’s apparent.
Ethan nodded, but didn’t speak. His focus was clear.
“I’d like to see Brockman try and fight this guy. He’d probably get his ass kicked,” Ripp said.
Ethan’s trainer was almost as big as Ripp, but seemed to lack Ripp’s intensity. “Why do you say that?” I asked.
“I think he’s a fuckin’ pussy.”
“Was he any good as a fighter?”
“Nobody knows. Ought to have Dekk try and find his records,” he said with a laugh. “Probably come up empty-handed.”
The referee gave his instructions and then directed the men to their corners. On his way to the corner, Ethan met my gaze, raised his right hand, and grinned.
I clenched my fist, raised my right hand, and smiled in return.
Ding!
Ripp rubbed his palms together. “Here we go.”
Ethan rushed to the center of the ring, greeting his rather large opponent with a few quick jabs. The other fighter countered with a few jabs of his own, and threw a powerful uppercut.
Ethan dodged the punch.
“God damn,” Ripp howled. “If that fucker would have connected…”
With each punch that was thrown in his direction, Ethan bobbed his head back and forth, almost taunting his opponent. In response, he grew angry, swinging more frequently and rather wildly.
“Shit, Ethan’s gonna lure this fucktard into wearin’ himself out in the first round. Look at his dumb ass throwin’ all he’s got.”
“I hope so,” I responded.
Come on, Babe. Wear him down, and then give it to him.
I pointed at Ethan’s opponent. “As soon as his gloves come down, Ethan going to give it to him.”
“Kid’s got a damned good sense of awareness. And nice defensive posture,” Ripp said.
“Which one?”
“Ethan,” he said.
“Make him come to you,” I shouted.
“Good advice,” Ripp said over his shoulder.
Ethan stepped back and raised his gloves. His opponent quickly shuffled forward, already clearly frustrated. With his right glove held lower than his chin, he seemed to be either out of shape, or preparing to throw a hard right hand.
As soon as he was within reach, he threw an uppercut. Ethan leaned back, and the punch flew past him. He countered with a straight right, which was exactly what he should have done. The punch connected well, and stopped his opponent from advancing further.
And then, Ethan threw an uppercut.
The uppercut.
The punch started with his glove at his thigh, and swung straight up into the chin of his opponent. A punch no man could recover from if it connected well, and it connected in a picture perfect manner.
There was no need for the referee to call the fight.
An official declaration wasn’t necessary.
The fight was over, and the only one who didn’t realize it was the man flat on his back at Ethan’s feet.
“Fuck yes!” Ripp howled. “That’s what the fuck I’m talkin’ ‘bout.”
Ethan stepped to his corner. The referee called for a paramedic. After an extremely tense ten minutes, the man finally sat up and looked around.
We cheered as he stood up, grateful that he wasn’t hurt much worse.
“That kid’s got some fuckin’ power,” Ripp said. “You know what I think?”
I shook my head. “No, what?”
“I think Ethan needs a real trainer.”
“You?” I asked excitedly.
He nodded. “Yep.”
Oh my God.
It would make Ethan so proud to think that Ripp was willing to train him. Hell, it made me proud to hear him say it. I knew his time was extremely valuable, and other than me, he only had one other fighter he was working with. To have him work with Ethan would be a huge boost to his ego.
“Really?”
“I’m tellin’ ya, all he needs is someone who believes in him and is able to give him proper direction. Brockman don’t fuckin’ know which fuckin’ way’s up. So. Yeah. I wanna get him under my wing and turn him into a champ.”
“That’d be awesome,” I said.
“Don’t say anything to him,” Ripp said. “I want to ask him.”
“I won’t say a word.”
I felt better than I could ever remember feeling. Ever. Ethan had won again by knockout, and was going to be trained by Ripp, who he admired deeply. I couldn’t have been more proud of him, and feeling that level of pride toward another person was something new to me.
Something new and very different than what I was used to.
It was all the proof required to convince me that I cared about Ethan deeply. What I had feared admitting no longer needed to be confessed. My level of pride proved to me how I felt about Ethan.
And it was time I let him know.
TWENTY-EIGHT
Jaz
Day seventy-nine.
Speaking to Ethan about my feelings was easy. I suspected it was because I felt that he wasn’t going to reject me, laugh, or run away. “So, I’ve been thinking,” I said.
He reached into the skillet with the spatula. “About?”
I watched him flip over the eggs. “Us.”
“What about us?”
“I like this,” I said.
He lifted the eggs from the skillet one by one and placed them on the plates. “Having me make breakfast?”
“No, dork. Well, I mean, yeah. But that’s not what I’m talking about.”
“What, then?”
When he slept over, I loved how it felt so perfect having him there with me. In the past, I’d always felt like there was a time when I wanted whoever I was with to eventually leave and give me my space back. With Ethan, I didn’t want my space. I wanted all the space that existed to be ours.
“Everything,” I said. “I like everything.”
“Me too.” He handed me one of the plates and turned off the stove. “Life is good.”
Men could be so aggravating. Trying to understand them was impossible sometimes. Succeeding at explain feelings to them was even worse. “Life is good. But I’m talking about the space between us.”
“What space?”
“I want it to be ours.”
He sat down and took a bite of his eggs. “You want what to be ours?”
“The space.”
“What space?”
“The space between us.”
He swallowed his food and took a drink of coffee. “I’m lost.”
No shit.
I rested my elbows on the table, pressed my palms together, and sighed. “I don’t want my space back.”
He sighed. “What space are you talking about?”
I slid my plate to the side and cleared my throat. “When you’re gone, there’s space between us. And. I. Don’t. Like It.”
He picked up his toast and took a bite from the corner. “Me neither.”
Thank God.
I reached for my plate and grinned. “Okay. Good.”
He took another bite of toast. “What are we going to do to fix it?”
“Not have the space.”
He looked past me and narrowed his eyes while he nibbled on his toast. After finishing the entire piece, he took another drink of coffee and sighed. “As far as I’m concerned, there
’s never space between us.”
“How can you say that?”
He pounded his fist against his chest. “Because you’re always right here.”
It was cheesy, but I loved it nonetheless. I puckered my lips and leaned toward him. He met me halfway and kissed me, leaving toast matter on my lips. I brushed it off and grinned, still feeling like I needed more.
“When you’re gone? Like at work, or whatever? I think that’s stupid.”
In the middle of using his second piece of toast to clean the egg yolks, he looked up. His eyes were filled with confusion. “You think it’s stupid that I work?”
“No,” I said. “I think it’s stupid that you’re gone. When you come back it’s okay. It’s just dumb when you’re gone.”
He nodded like he understood, but I had my doubts. He poked the toast in his mouth, chewed it, and swallowed. After a drink of coffee, he leaned back in his chair.
“You’re confusing me. Seems like you always do this when there’s something important that you want to tell me. When you’re not trying to tell me something I get much better information.” He chuckled. “When you’re on a mission, it’s really tough to figure out what you’re thinking. Can we start over?”
I fucking swear, men are so stupid sometimes.
“I don’t ever want to be without you.”
He took another sip of coffee and gazed in my direction. His eyes – and the look on his face – confirmed he felt the same way. “I don’t ever want to be without you, either,” he said.
Good. We were on the same page. I took a deep breath. “I think I might be falling in love with you.”
He started coughing, and it lasted until he stood up.
My heart sank.
Looming over me and attempting to catch his breath, he looked down at me and shook his head.
“Shit,” he said. “I fell in love with you a long fucking time ago. Where have you been?”
You did?
My eyes widened. “Really?”
He coughed a few more times, grinned, then nodded. “Really.”
I felt warm. The all over kind of warm. I swallowed hard and stood up. “I might have done the same.”
He spread his arms wide. “Let’s make an agreement.”