Page 44 of Repairing the Wreckage

Whoosh—over my head. The missed punch gives me an opening to close in and hammer his sides. I put everything into each blow.

His fist slams into my temple and I stagger back.

Stayed inside too long. Should’ve moved away faster.

Damn. I shake off the sting. His fists have more bite than I expected.

“Ninety seconds!” Underhill shouts.

Naptime throws a punch that sails by my ear. I pop him on the chin.

“Don’t over-extend!” his coach shouts.

Naptime’s going all out in this first round. I tuck my chin and lift my fists, slowly circling him, searching for an opening.

“Time!” the ref calls, sending us back to our corners.

I back away and drop onto the stool. Underhill gets in my face, checking my cheek and chin. He applies an icy eye-iron to my cheekbone where I caught one of Naptime’s fists. “He’s coming at you full power. Missing most of his shots,” Underhill says in a low voice. “Let him tire himself out. Keep your guard up. Turn your shoulder and extend those punches.”

I nod through the tips, not sure how much of it is sinking into my racing brain.

“You look good. He’s already out of breath,” Venom says. “Keep picking him apart with those strikes.”

I tip my head back so I can see him better and nod.

The ref calls us to the center again. I launch myself off the stool and get back to work.

Round two is a grind. For every two hits I land, I take one. My left side stings. I struggle not to favor it in any way that will give Naptime incentive to keep hitting me there.

“Shoulder!” Underhill keeps shouting.

No shit. I’m tryin’.

The ref calls time and I limp my way to my corner.

“You all right?” Underhill crouches in front of me and dabs at my eyebrow.

I must look as bad as I feel. “Ribs,” I mutter.

He of course probes me there.

I suck in sharp, painful breath and glare at him.

A frown creases his forehead. “Can you continue?”

“I’m fine.”

I hiss as he rubs the cold eye-iron to my face again. Another guy joins us and presses something into my eyebrow. A sharp sting pinches the spot he’s fussing with. He pulls away a small white stick covered in red.

“Just a small cut,” he assures me.

“I like to draw first blood,” I joke.

“You did.” Underhill grins. “Got him right under his eye.”

“Take him down,” Venom says. “You can easily dominate him, tire him out, and score more points.”

I turn to look at him. “Nah, I thought we’d try breakdancing next.”

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