He hasn’t been in Jack Tanner "Titan" Hall since he lost his last fight and nearly quit boxing. He says nearly because it turns out there’s still some spark and fire left in him for the sport. Specifically, for the sport.

  Rex is already inside, waiting for him in one of the hall’s vestibules turned into a French garden—walled off on all sides but with an open roof and benches where they can enjoy the nice weather.

  Rex is alone, smoking a cigarette, dressed in his best blazer. He’s looking up at the sun, savoring it. No one’s around him.

  "Are we going in?" Eddie asks, expecting Rex to react right away, but he doesn’t.

  Suddenly, Rex slowly turns his head and slides his glasses down his nose:

  "You’ve bulked up." He notes.

  Rex is calm.

  "Want some?" Rex extends a hand, offering Eddie the cigarette. From the smell alone, Eddie can tell:

  "Is that weed, Rex?" He laughs.

  Rex puts a finger to his lips:

  "Quiet. No one’s figured it out. And I don’t plan on them finding out. It’s my tradition."

  "Tradition? So I should chill for tomorrow?" Eddie’s still chuckling.

  "No. Tradition for me. I don’t care if you win."

  Rex takes another drag and crushes the cigarette in the metal bin next to him.

  From the garden in the middle of the building, a corridor led to a split between two halls. One was the massive arena Brantley prided itself on as a town, and the other, smaller one—almost an antechamber to the first—was for press conferences. Now, the long table for interviews is gone, replaced by a huge scale, like the ones vegetable vendors used at markets.

  The guys from the first fight are in the lightweight category. Both are skinny and wiry. One’s familiar to Eddie—his name’s Jake Carter, around forty. When Eddie started boxing, Jake Carter already had a few wins and losses around Brantley and beyond. Eddie hasn’t kept up with him in a while but guesses he’s back for one last fight, like him. He looks good on the scale, almost like Eddie’s watching himself from the sidelines. Jake’s opponent is a kid who seems really young. If Eddie remembers right, his name’s Tommy Reed. They introduced Tommy as a guy from the eastern part of the country who loves boxing but started with two losses and is finding himself. What better way than to take down veteran Jake Carter? Eddie stands above the crowd, hoping Jake spots him so he can wave, but he knows Jake’s got bigger things on his mind right now.

  He doesn’t know anyone from the next three fights. Mason Shaw’s up against an Italian in the same category. Curious what an Italian’s doing here. His name’s Luca Conti, and Eddie wants to know his stats, but no one mentions them. As well-organized as Brantley’s gala is, not everything’s top-tier.

  Two fights in the seventy-kilo range come up third and fourth. As nervous as Eddie is about his own match, he’s just as curious about the undercard. So he watches, even though Rex has already nudged him once to start undressing. Eddie knows both Harry Foster and Oli Bruce. The funny thing is, he’s beaten both in sparring, but they’ve got more pro wins than him. That might be the only thing that bugs him about his whole career—that he never improved his record, and now it’s almost impossible.

  He’s only faced Ethan Hayes once in training and could swear he’s the fastest guy he knows in boxing. For one reason or another, he couldn’t build a solid career either, and this is probably his fourth or fifth fight. And he’s about Eddie’s age. Ethan’s opponent is Callum Ward, someone Eddie hasn’t heard of. But he caught his nickname—The Bull. Weird to have such nicknames in the lighter categories. They don’t fit.

  "Get ready, Eddie. They’re weighing the undercard, then it’s us."

  "Us? This early? I thought there’d be at least eight fights."

  "I was even expecting twelve, but it’s just not the season for fights. That’s what they told me. A lot of boxers backed out."

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

  Eddie and Rex have tucked themselves into a corner of the empty chairs, behind everyone’s backs. Eddie slowly strips down. Even if he doesn’t win tomorrow, the training’s been worth it. He’s stretched every button on his shirt, and without the fat piled on from his cook job. Even his abs are starting to show, but at his age, his metabolism’s slower, and he doesn’t think he’ll keep them long.

  "Drank any water?" Rex waits off to the side, picking up his clothes like a dad. Though the gala’s licensed for pro fights, the level’s still low, and not everyone gets a locker room. Eddie can’t complain about it, but they still prefer him changing in the same room as the scale. They’re not the only ones.

  "You pick now to ask me? Relax." Eddie knows why Rex is asking. "I’ve never gone over my category. I’ll nail it at eighty-nine point seven."

  "Wanna bet?" Rex eyes him. He’s got those black glasses again to hide the earlier weed’s effect. "I say you’re on the edge. Ninety kilos. At least!"

  Rex slips on the boxing shorts he’s worn before, as Rex pulls him along.

  "Who’s our undercard?" Eddie asks Rex.

  Rex signals him to stay put. Eddie doesn’t feel awkward. He’s been here before. He knows he’ll be the star tonight, but most people here don’t realize it. It’s Brantley, after all—the crowd at these events is mostly parents and relatives. None of them care about anyone but their own.

  Eddie spots Rex in the distance. He’s by the scale, talking to a guy dressed like a ref, wearing gloves, standing on the scale.

  He doesn’t recognize one of the undercard fighters. They introduce him as Andrei Popescu from Romania. Eddie thinks there are far better options for an undercard fight. From a distance, it looks like the Romanian’s in Eddie’s weight class. He’s never heard of him. Eddie doesn’t get how it adds up. The purses aren’t big—traveling here would barely cover food and transport. They’d go home with nothing.

  "Stanley Moore…" The announcer says the second name.

  Eddie smiles, caught off guard. Stanley? He stands and watches his friend and supposed sparring partner walk to the scale, stand on it, and pose like everyone else. Rex is on his side.

  "Stanley?" Eddie asks Rex from afar, seeing him approach. "Why didn’t you tell me?"

  "I told you a bunch of guys dropped out, and I had to do something."

  "Stanley’s fighting?" Eddie finds it more funny than anything.

  "Ask me one more time, and it’ll get annoying, just so you know."

  "When did you decide this?"

  "Yesterday."

  "And Stanley agreed?"

  "What’s the big deal? He doesn’t have a wife holding him back. You’d have said yes the first time too."

  Rex always knows how to hit him where it counts. And yeah, he’s right. If it weren’t for Maisie, there’d be no begging on his part.

  He misses Maisie now. Misses talking to her. But Rex snaps him out of it fast.

  "Your guy’s here."

  Eddie looks up and sees him. Rory Flint is as tall as him, with short hair he probably cut himself, a light mustache, and a clean face. His eyes are dark, his body chiseled to the last detail. Right next to him is his dad, Sonny, in a blazer and glasses—just like Eddie remembers him from the kitchen. Sonny’s scanning the room. He might be looking for Eddie.

  The two walk into the hall with their heads held high. A couple of kids clearly know Rory and approach him.

  "Not now, boys." Sonny pushes them aside. "Rory’s got business. Come back later or after the fight."

  "You’re up, Eddie." Rex pats him on the shoulder.

  Eddie weaves through the crowd. The scale’s empty, just the guy weighing them there. He offers a hand, and Eddie shakes it. He steps on the scale, which reads exactly ninety kilos. Eddie points at it, searching for Rex with his eyes. He’s not sure if Rex can see through those glasses, but he was closer with his guess.

  "You’re set, kid."

  Eddie steps off and poses for the lone photographer, keeping it simple. He raises both hands in a guard stance and drops them when he sees the flash.

  Eddie steps aside. Rory moves toward the scale without looking at him, steps up, and raises his arms triumphantly.

  "Ninety kilos and two hundred grams. We’ve got a fight."

  Applause follows from the crowd.

  "Please, face each other."

  Eddie doesn’t catch who said it but takes his spot. Rory raises both hands, letting his right drift forward, stopping a centimeter from Eddie’s face. Eddie’s ready for anything. He might not be as strong as the kid, but he’s been through these games before. And honestly, he doesn’t see confidence in Rory’s eyes. Quite the opposite. The kid’s a little nervous, his gaze darting uncertainly a few times. Eddie’s slightly disappointed. He expected more from Rory Flint. Secretly, he hopes the kid shoves him or says something, but Rory’s frozen in place, his eyes showing he can’t wait to be separated.

  Rex handles that.

  "That’s enough, boys. The rest tomorrow."