Page 3 of Ruin

“You’ve got this, Zeus.” My trainer, Mike, is in front of me, his hands on my shoulders, his face in mine. “You can nail this motherfucker. He’s good. But you’re better. Three rounds, tops, and he’s yours.”

“Two,” I rumble out before my shield is put in my mouth.

I’m up on my feet. I go to the center of the ring. My team follows.

The referee stands between Scott and me.

I focus on Scott. From hours spent watching tapes of his previous fights, my eyes are on the weaknesses I already know he has.

A fractured cheekbone from a year ago. Cuts easy above his right eye. Nose broken four times.

The referee starts talking, “We went over the rules in the dressing rooms. I want you to keep it clean at all times. Protect yourselves at all times. And what I say, you must obey. Good luck to both of you. Touch gloves. Back to your corners.”

We bang gloves. I turn and walk back to my corner.

Mike is in my ear with last-minute directions. “Don’t go in fast. Make him come to you. Step back when he swings. Frustrate him. It’s his Achilles heel. Scott has no patience.”

The bell rings, and I go in, fists up.

We fight. Longer than I expected. He’s a tough motherfucker.

We’re nine rounds in, I’m pretty sure my nose is broken, and Scott’s not giving in. I already put him down twice, but the stubborn bastard got back up each time.

I’m not worried. Just ready to be done now.

Round ten.

I take him to the ropes. Punch after punch after punch. The referee separates us. Bell goes. Scott is in his corner, glugging water. It’s a sign he’s tired. He’s bleeding from the eye.

Round eleven.

I’ve got him. He’s mine now. I go in there, blazing. The Vaseline coating his cut isn’t stopping the blood. It’s in his eye. I see him lose focus, and that’s when I strike. I hit him, uppercut. He goes down. And I know it’s all over.

The referee is there, bending over him. Scott tries to get up. He can’t.

The referee waves his hand, calling time on the fight.

And I’ve won.

My team floods the ring. Mike is hugging me. Then, Ares, Lo, and Missy are here, hugging me and telling me how proud they are of me.

But one voice is missing.

There’s always one voice missing.

Hers.

My eyes do what they always do after every fight. They look for her. Like some part of my brain, even now, thinks she’s going to be here.

Why would she be here?

You left her. She’s not here because of you.

Then, the cameras are in front of me. Post-fight interview. Of course, Marcel is here for this. Always here for the cameras.

I thank my family. Thank Scott for the fight.

Marcel takes over, talking about himself—his favorite subject.