Tap Out (28 page)

He nods, but the fire isn't there. This won't be anything like rolling with Rob.

“All right, boys, let's get to it.” Coach claps and around the room jabs start snapping. I work an angle and throw some of my own.

There's so much padding with the gloves and the gear that it doesn't feel the same, like my hands are numb. I throw harder, a hook, because Mike's letting his left bob below his chin. It catches him in the temple and he staggers. The fuck? With all this shit and he's staggering?

I give him a second to regain himself and see Coach Dan watching me. He looks away, though, and Mike says, “Whoa, that's a hell of a hook, Tone.”

I don't answer. I threw harder, yeah, but he hasn't felt how much force I've got.

We square up and Coach yells about moving the feet and driving through the hips. I pick up the tempo. Mike comes alive and snaps a few jabs to my cheek and forehead, but they don't feel like anything. I toy with him, purposely drop my hands, and let him go for broke. He does and I step back to brace for the fall, but it never comes. Mike hits me, but then backs off. He doesn't finish the job, doesn't follow through with the elbows and dominate. Fuck, he's a bitch.

I step up and get back into position.

Mike watches me and his eyes dart all over the fucking place. I'm moving now, bobbing low and throwing quick jabs
with both hands to keep him guessing. This is easy, just like going toe-to-toe with some punk at school back in the day. Some kid who thought just because he was bigger that meant anything in a fight. I catch Coach Dan out of the corner of my eye, arms folded, cupping his chin, watching me.

The jab lands square in Mike's nose. The cross catches him on one cheek, and my hook the other. He's staggering, about to fall, trying to get his bearings, but I advance, throw an uppercut, and then rip through with the elbow, hit him with it in the back of the head as he's going down. I throw two more into his dome and that's it, he's sprawled on the mat, a sweaty rasping heap.

Coach Dan walks over. “Amir, get over here. Tony needs a challenge.”

I'm scared for a second, but settle. There's no time for fear. I make eye contact with Coach so that he understands. He stares at me the entire time. “Ring his bell, Amir.”

“Yes, sir.”

I smile and both Coach and Amir tilt their heads.

Someone picks up Mike, and Amir and I square to each other. He throws the first punch. It's lightning fast, but has no effect. I counter and connect and we each throw a few more, feeling each other out. He's got four inches on my reach, so I know I'm in danger, but if I just keep my hands up I should be fine.

I fake a right and then nail him with a left, but he's unfazed and comes over the top and drills me in the side of the head. My vision wobbles, but only for a second. I push off him and get out of his reach and look for a target. Amir's great at everything, is probably the most athletic guy in here, so his position is perfect. He's tight, on the balls of his feet, and is rolling those hips like they're unhinged. But his
wingspan is so wide that when he protects his face, there's a clear path to his chin. If only I can reach it.

I move in and back off, throw a few wild haymakers, and watch that one window. Fuck, I'm going to take a beating to get it. But like Coach said, this is where I'll prove myself.

I get low, fix my hands up around my forehead. Thankfully we aren't striking the body or this would never work. Amir cracks my ears as I advance, and while he's swinging I unleash on his chin. He covers after one hit, but can't resist reaching over top and getting my head.

The pounding echoes in my ears. It's a constant thudding that jars my vision and rattles my mouth, but it doesn't hurt. Without the gear, I'd be out cold, no doubt. Amir knows the sweet spot just behind the ear, and hits it nonstop. And I let him, and cover the top of my head. I can hear Coach screaming something, but have no clue what he's saying. It doesn't matter, though, because this feels good. Amir could drop bombs on me all night and I'd be fine. My head's been through the ringer so many times, this is nothing. But I'm not here to only take it.

I drop my hips another inch, wait for Amir's flurry and then strike. I catch him with a fierce uppercut to his unprotected chin. My hips are extended, and I've stood him up. He quickly covers, but the damage is done. I rock him back and forth with jabs and hooks and whatever the fuck else I can manage. It's just a wash of movement and then before me, nothing. Amir is on the mat.

I stop and the room comes back to me, all the noise, the yelling, the cheering, and my own heart pounding in my ears.

“Holy fucking shit!”

“Did you see that?”

“Tony dropped his ass, just laid Amir the fuck out.”

I look down and immediately help Amir up. He's eyes are bugged and he's hurt, but he claps my back. “Nice work, Tone. Real nice.”

Coach Dan is at my side. “Jesus, Tony. You all right? That was one pounding you gave him, but your head, aren't you scrambled?”

I pop out my mouth guard, unstrap the head gear, and hand it to Coach. “I've never had the luxury of one of these.”

He looks at me and his face clouds. I know he knows about me. Sure he's talked to Big O and probably Rob, but I think this is the first time he gets it. He looks away and then back, and his words are tight. “Well, I'm glad I could give it to you. You deserve it.”

I close my eyes and just let the feeling run its course. I know exactly what he means, and I know that this place has just taken on a whole new level for me. I've got to get Rob back here, because if I can feel this good in spite of all my shit, then he needs to be here with me. Like always.

I walk into the living room and my mother's staring at the screen like the janitors do with whatever's in front of them. A bowl sits on the arm of the couch, cashed but smoldering. She doesn't notice me, and I scan the room, peeking into her bedroom as well.

“Tony? Why you home so early?”

This is exactly the piece of the puzzle that Big O can't grasp. Survival first and if some of the finer shit falls away, so be it. “It's not that early.”

She shrugs and looks back at the TV. I step in front of it and she shoos me, but I keep my place. “Where'd you get the pot?”

She looks at me as if I'm speaking a foreign language and doesn't answer. I reach over and grab the bowl, hold it in front of her face. “Where did you get this?”

She stares at the small black pipe as if I were showing her nothing more compelling than a button.

“Was Cameron here? Did he hook you up?” It's bad enough that he stole her pain meds and she didn't say shit, but he's replaced them with this.

She shrugs and looks away and that's all the answer I'm going to get, I know it. I set the bowl back. Least it's not meth. Not yet.

I go to the fridge and make a sandwich with the food Cam's bought and every bite is hard to swallow. I head to my room, close my door, and flip my mattress, pulling back the plastic cup around the corner. I feel for the bills. They're still there, so I set the mattress back and sit on it. I see that dorm room again and feel the same flutter when I picked up those forms. But just because I fill out the paperwork doesn't mean I'm in. And regardless, if I do get in, I'll need money. I don't want to deal, but I need to do something.

My room reeks of pot and even though all I want to do is shower and go to bed, I get up. I can't stay here right now. I need to get out. Have to see Rob.

Mom doesn't even flinch when I pass. She's completely zoned out. I shake my head and go out the door.

I never go to Rob's. His place is actually nice, but he doesn't let anyone in. His mom's just too much of a bitch, complaining every minute about shit. It's no wonder that his dad works so much.

I knock on the door and wait. The TV's on, and Rob's mom yells and in a moment the door's open. “Tone? What's wrong?” Rob's wearing pajama pants and a T-shirt.

“Nothing. But come out. We gotta talk.”

Rob hesitates for a second but then reaches in, grabs his coat off the hook by the door and slides his boots on. “Be back in a minute, Ma.” She doesn't answer. He closes the door behind him, and I head down his steps.

“What's up?”

“You need to come back to the gym.”

Rob smiles. “You know I will. Just need some time.”

I pin back my shoulders. “For what? What are you doing instead?”

Rob sets his jaw, I doubt liking my tone of voice. “You know. Handling shit.”

“I'm not saying you aren't, but what good is it doing you? Besides, it's not like the guys and Coach Dan give a fuck about what happened. You think you're the only one there who's been in this spot?”

Rob looks away and works his jaw, the muscle bulging.

“Remember, Coach Dan is trying to hook you up, give you a shot? How's that going?”

Rob tightens even more. His hands are fists.

“But that's right, you're too busy
handling shit
to worry about that. Must be nice to be able to blow off the one thing that matters.”

“The fuck you know about it, Tone? You wouldn't be there if it weren't for me.”

“And Big O.” I'm not going to let him slide, even if he's looking like he's about to take my head off.

He turns. “Exactly! And if I remember, he's got something for you, too, doesn't he?” Rob takes a step toward me. “Well, what the fuck are
you
doing about that? Huh?”

I don't answer.

“Right. Nothing.” He laughs. “So don't come here and
bitch at me. I got shit in my way. This Amy thing has fucked with my head.”

“Boo fucking hoo.” I let the words drag out. Rob takes another step.

“What you say?”

“You fucking heard me. Don't act stupid. Unless it isn't an act, because it seems that's all you're capable of doing.”

Rob is inches from me. “You stepping up, Tone? You ready to throw?”

I am. I'm ready to take on anyone or anything that comes my way, except I know I'd lose. I can't handle all this shit on my own, and I'm not about to fuck up the one relationship I have that actually works.

“No, Rob. Not like this. At the gym? Yeah. I'll fucking drop you. But not here. You get it?”

His eyes crowd and he starts to speak but doesn't. He was ready to throw, ready to hit me and probably knock me out. I don't blame him. But we're on the same fucking page. He just doesn't see it. That's what happens when your shit life gets in the way. That's what happens when you're white-trash-trailer-park-nothing. No one gives a fuck, and usually that includes you.

Rob's shoulders slump and his eyes simmer down. “Fuck.” He lets out a deep sigh and we stand in the cold and I wait for him to come to his senses.

The glow from the TV is the only light and the fight is so loud it absorbs all other sound. I watch the action for a few seconds, a couple of amateur guys rolling—one bleeding from his nose and the other straddling him, throwing light
jabs, just taunting him like a cat with a mouse. I'm sure Cam's loving this.

He turns and sips his beer, watching me like he's been expecting my arrival.

“What do you want, Cam?”

“Well, I already put your mom to bed, so I'm good, but thanks for asking.”

Disgust and anger rise up, and I'd like to either punch him or hurl. Or both. I move to step past him, but he's on his feet and in front of me before I've even noticed he's moved.

“We need to get some shit straight between us.” He reeks of beer and is too close for my comfort.