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I look at Ryan. At the swelling and the blood and the welts. Is this really worth all he’s putting himself through?
The cage door shuts behind Davie and Niamh. The referee waves Ryan and Vale forward, and the final round begins.
Vale comes out hard. Ryan meets him and tries to hold his ground, but he’s tired. Even I can see it. His reactions are slower. He’s throwing less. His chest is heaving. And Vale keeps coming and coming, and most of what he throws lands.
And yet, somehow, Ryan’s still standing. Covering up, trying to fend Vale off, throwing back whenever he sees a gap. But for every punch he lands, he takes two more.
I keep watching because I owe Ryan that. Even though I feel like I’m close to breaking.
On and on it goes until the clock ticks into the last minute. Vale throws a kick that buries into Ryan’s stomach, and he folds.
Somebody makes a noise, high and awful, and it takes me a second to realise it was me. The whole floor is on its feet again. So am I.
Vale crashes after Ryan and drives him into the fence. Ryan, hurt and trying to cover up, turns away from the punches. Vale is behind him in a flash, chest pressed to Ryan’s back, pinning him upright, face-first against the fence. Ryan’s cheek is squashed against the mesh.
Vale’s forearm presses against Ryan’s chin, trying to force its way underneath and across his throat. Ryan tucks his chin and grabs Vale’s wrist with both hands, pulling hard, but it won’t budge. His face is turning red with the strain.
And Vale’s mouth is at his ear. Saying something nasty, no doubt.
“Fucker,” I say.
Then Vale’s arm slides in a little further, and Ryan’s hands start to slip. His face goes darker.
If Vale gets that choke locked in properly, Ryan will have seconds to tap before he passes out. And whether he taps or passes out, the result is the same: Vale gets to keep the belt Ryan has been chasing since he was fourteen.
Part of me wants him to just tap now. At least then it will be over. At least then he’ll be able to breathe.
Ryan is trapped against the cage. And somehow, through the lights and the bodies and fifteen thousand screaming people, his eyes find mine.
Tears slip down my cheeks. I love you, I mouth.
Ryan’s eyes hold mine for a heartbeat longer. Then he drags the arm down off his throat with everything he’s got. Gets his chin free. Drops his weight. Then, instead of trying to peel away, he turns into Vale.
Vale tries to adjust, but for half a second his grip slips, and Ryan explodes out of it. Vale comes after him. And Ryan meets him with an absolutely savage left hook.
Vale drops.
For a moment, I can’t quite make sense of what I’m seeing.
Vale on the canvas, not moving.
Ryan above him.
The referee wrapping both arms round Ryan’s waist and hauling him backwards.
That means—
Oh my God. He’s done it. He’s knocked Vale out, with twenty seconds left.
I scream. Liam grabs me. Imran grabs both of us. The noise in the arena is unbelievable.
A minute ago, I’d have given anything for Ryan to be out of that cage. Now he’s won. He’s actually won.
Davie and Niamh are through the cage door, and they throw their arms round him. Ryan hugs them back, but over Davie’s shoulder, he’s already looking for me.
When they let go, he holds my gaze and presses a gloved hand to his chest, grinning broadly. Then he climbs the fence and straddles the top of it. He roars at fifteen thousand people. He’s earned that.
Down on the canvas, Vale has a couple of medics attending to him. They help him sit up, and he looks around the cage as if he’s trying to work out how he got here. I discover I have remarkably little sympathy for him.
