Page 21 of Knox

“I need you to get a message up to the guy in the middle there,” I say to him. He looks around and sees who I mean and frowns.

“Who is he?”

“Some guy I knew before.” I know he’ll understand what I mean, but when his frown deepens to Grand Canyon scale grooves, I add some more context. “From before, y’know before. I was in foster care with him.”

“Maddox, I don’t think it’s a good idea. You don’t know what his life has been like. He could know your past enemies.”

I shake my head. “No, he got lucky and got a good place to live. The huge blond guy? He’s the tattooist that did my last one and his brother.”

“I don’t like this, but if he was important to you in a good way, I’ll do it. Be prepared for him to say no and mean it. He may have turned his back on everything to do with his childhood.”

I nod. “I’m going to get showered and changed. Can you ask him to wait?”

I usually take my time in the shower after a fight. It’s a good way for me to swap from one role to another. To being me again, the me that now finds time to read, to know how to turn everything off and relax. It took a lot a therapy and meditation, but I’m happy with who I am now. It’s been over ten years, after all. This time I rush through it, in a hurry to get out to the hall again.

It’s empty. He didn’t wait.

The moment he steps into the ring, I know it’s him. I can’t even put my finger on how I know. He’s certainly very different from the kid I used to know. He doesn’t even look the same. But it’s him.

“Is it him?” Saint asks. I can only nod and grip Roman’s hand a bit tighter. “Fuck, this is so screwed up.”

That doesn’t even begin to cover it. He’s the same but different: his nose has been broken, but that’s to be expected in this profession. Maybe it’s just him as an adult, but something has changed—I just can’t put my finger on. He’s fit, and there’s no denying that his muscles ripple under the bright lights. He’s fucking good-looking, even with the stern face. Then he looks around the stands, and his eyes lock on us. First, it looks like he’s recognised Saint and Noah, then it’s my turn. His jaw clenches, and he knows it’s me.

There’s no time for him to react because he’s called away. It’s time for him to fight.

Any thought I may have had about trying this again has gone. There’s no way I have time to work out to reach this level of fitness. Plus, I’ve got too much going on. I’ve just taken on a new couple to teach how to give each other what they need. My main priority is the gym Dad handed to me; he’s entrusted me with his life’s work, and there’s no way I’ll let him down.

The first five minutes pass with Diego dancing around and throwing punches that hold no power. He’s just testing Maddox, goading him into throwing a punch. The bell rings, and they bounce back to their corner.

I don’t know what to think. It’s not like I want anything from him; I don’t even want to know why or what happened to cause him to be so-called dead. Or am I lying to myself? He’s not an ex; we were too young to have a relationship. Hell, I was only fourteen when I found myself in a police interrogation room, and Pops rescued me. I lift my head up from where I’ve been staring at the floor. I don’t want to look at him, but he’s staring at me. Is he going through as many mixed, confusing thoughts as I am? At least I don’t have to beat the shit out of someone when my head is all over the place.

“Are you okay?” Roman asks when I flinch at Maddox’s stare.

“Yeah, but I want out of here as soon as we can.”

“Of course, anything you want.”

I press a chaste kiss on his lips, then the bell for the second round rings.

The match is over just over a minute later. Maddox knocks Diego out with a brutal kick to his head. The cheers and hollers fill the hall as the referee holds up Maddox’s arm. It doesn’t take long for the fans to empty out of their seats, the floor littered with plastic pint cups and food wrappers. We wait until there’s enough room for the eight of us to leave together. When we get out of the stands and down onto the floor, a man approaches me. The coach.

“Maddox would like you to stay. He wants to talk to you.”

I’m shaking my head before the man finishes speaking. “Sorry, I have to go. Please tell him well done and that it was a great fight.”

He looks disappointed but nods. “Thanks, I’ll pass on your message.”

“Don’t you want to know what happened?” Drake asks. I know he always wants the answers. This is probably annoying the hell out of him.

“Why, it’s not like we’re friends, that we know each other anymore.” I look at my brothers; they’re all looking at me like I’m crazy. “Hey, I don’t need this from you. Yes, I believe that’s my childhood friend, but it’s been too many years to have any connection.”

“Not even for closure?” Royal asks, his arm wrapped possessively around Memphis to keep him from being jostled too much.

“I got closure the day he died. The young, scared teenage kid I knew was not the one that chose gangs, drugs, and money, rather than the one I wanted to come back with me to Pops and Dad. He could’ve been one of our brothers. He turned me down.”

“I wanted to say sorry. For what I said to you the last time we spoke. I didn’t mean it,” came a voice behind me.

Slowly turning around, I come face to face with the man who, as a kid, protected me from the evil, sick men that knew I was easy prey. He’s not the same person. Change is inevitable for everyone, but there are subtle differences: his chin is different, more sculpted, and his eyes are brown; they were hazel. It makes it easier to reply. “Okay, thanks. Apology accepted.”