Page 111 of Surrender
It had only taken six months of intense physical therapy for Rafe to get back to the same level of fitness he’d been before taking a bullet through his shoulder and almost drowning.
He’d been lucky.
We both had.
My chest tightened as Rafe slipped past Tank’s right jab with some very sharp, very light footwork that I would happily take a little credit for, given Rafe had been taking some ballet classes with me to get his strength, movement, and conditioning back.
I was sure he’d become even quicker than he was beforethe incident—the name we called it now.
Even then, though, I was sure he was going to have to push this fight back again, to spend that little bit longer preparing himself to get back in the ring after almost dying. But no. He refused. Because Rafe had the kind of determination and stubbornness in him that I’d only ever seen in one other person—the guy who trained him.
Nate’s voice cut through the roar of the crowd from the other side of the ring, yelling short, sharp orders at Rafe to keep him focused as he ducked each wild punch swung at him, searching for that perfect moment to make his move. The kid was a fighter in every sense of the word. And the truth was, I was almost positive I wouldn’t be standing here today if it weren’t for him.
“We gotta go,” Rafe said urgently, struggling with the door. When it didn’t move, he lifted his foot and kicked,booting the life out of it until it finally gave way, screeching loudly and flying open. “Darcy!”
I shook my head, fighting the memories that flashed in now and then, instantly making me sweat.
Another roar from the crowd pulled me back in just as Tank stumbled back, his eyes wide like he’d been stunned. That guy was huge, heavier than Rafe by at least forty pounds. I could only imagine how easy he thought this would be.
But he underestimated something about Rafe.
That kid had fought for far more.
He’d fought for his life and come out the other side.
He’d faced off against death and won.
“Keep moving, Rafe,” Nate barked from the side, pounding his palm on the ring floor.
Needing to be closer, I shuffled through the crowd, fighting my own match with the people packed tight into Brawlers, looking for their fix of violence.
Whip ended up spotting my struggling and began to push from the other direction. “Yo! Move! Get out of the way,” he yelled, shoving through until he could reach me and drag me the rest of the way.
I stumbled out by the opposite wall, grinning back at Whip. “Thanks.”
He winked, chuckling to himself.
Friday Fight Nightat Brawler’s had become one of my favorite nights of the week. Not because of the fighting itself, but because it made me real damn proud to see what Nate had created. The club trusted him to run things here, and he did just that, like a fine-tuned engine.
He created a home for teens to find a little help.
He built a community of boxers who looked to him for advice and guidance.
And he did it all, despite the father who constantly beat him down and made him feel like he’d never be anything. It made my heart happy, because not long ago, I wasn’t even sure I would ever get to see him again.
“You’re worried,” Nate said quietly, his arm brushing mine as he stepped in beside me without taking his eyes off the fight.
“I’m not,” I protested, my entire body flinching when Rafe took a punch to the ribs.
Nate chuckled, stepping away again.
He needed to be close by, and we were in the last round.
Both guys were still on their feet.
Rafe looked tired, but Tank even more so. He wasn’t moving as quick and his punches were becoming sluggish, which was why when he came at Rafe with what should have been a monster of a blow, the kid managed to dodge it and take his own swing in response—an uppercut that rocked the entire building, sending the bigger man flying into the ropes behind him. His eyes rolled back into his head before he hit the floor with a hard thud.
The referee dove down beside him, yelling in his ear, but Tank was out.
