Page 25

RYAN

Liam feints left, skips right, and lands a jab on my headgear I should’ve seen coming. He waggles his eyebrows at me over his gloves.

I reset. Roll my shoulders. Find him again.

This is meant to be technical sparring. Light contact, high focus. Davie stands at the edge of the cage with his arms folded, studying every decision I make, while Niamh watches us from the bench by the fence.

On a normal day, this is my kind of session. Today my head won’t shut up.

Ryan, it’s your maw.

I try to drag my focus back to the cage, but Liam slips in, touches my ribs, and is gone before I can do anything about it.

“Focus, Ryan,” Davie says from the fence.

I push forward, taking the space away from Liam a foot at a time. He’s fast, but fast needs room. I get him near the fence, feint low, and close for the clinch. He spins out under my arm, laughing as he bounces back into open space.

“Getting slow, old man.” His gumshield shows when he grins.

Usually, Liam’s wind-ups bounce off me. Today, with Maw’s voice still in my head, they’re getting under my skin.

He comes in again, hands low, chin stuck out, daring me to hit him.

I change levels, lock my hands behind Liam’s knees, and drive through him. Full force, no brakes. He hits the mat hard. Too hard, some distant part of me notes. That’s not what this round is. But he scrambles and I stay on him, taking his back. My arm goes under his chin.

I squeeze.

I’m different now. I am. I’m clean.

Why can’t she just leave me alone? She gets what she needs through the solicitor. She doesn’t get to come back into my life.

Somewhere a long way off, a hand is slapping my forearm, but it barely registers. My mother’s voice drowns out everything in the cage.

“Ryan!” Davie’s shout cuts through it. “He’s tapped! Let him go!”

I let go.

Liam rolls away, coughing. He gets onto one knee, a hand at his throat. I sit back on my heels, breathing hard, and the gym comes back a piece at a time.

Davie hauls the cage door open. “Ryan. Here.”

I get to my feet.

“Dickhead,” Liam mutters as I pass him.

I don’t say anything back. It’s fair.

Outside the cage, Davie draws me aside, a short way from Niamh’s bench. “What’s got into you today?” he says.

“Nothing. I just…mistimed it.”

“Don’t give me that. I’ve watched you spar for fourteen years, son. You’ve been a half-beat off all session, chasing him instead of cutting him off. Then he taps and you keep squeezing. That’s no about timing. So I’ll ask you again. What’s got into you?”

I look down at the rubber matting. “My maw phoned,” I say.

Davie waits for the rest of it.

“She says she’s clean.” I reach for my water bottle, mostly for something to do with my hands. “If you can believe that.”