Page 75 of After Indigo Irish Nights
Eoghan grabbed Declan’s face and looked him in the eye. “She’s being looked after.”
“Declan, I’m going to find my seat now and watch your girl,” his father said, hugging him briefly. “Have a good fight, son.”
He was glad to see his father go. Knowing everyone was taking care of her helped. He just hated that he couldn’t be the one to do it.
“Now listen,” Eoghan continued, his tone as tough as ever. “You aren’t to look at them when you go out there. Hear me? You look at Paul. He’s the only one you need to be concerned with tonight.”
Since he understood, he nodded. He would have to wait until after the fight to stare down Jimmy. And Owen.
Still, he would have liked to look for Kathleen in the crowd. Indeed, he’d hoped to find her before the fight and let her love fill him again.
His stomach went topside. He was sure he was going to puke, but the sensation passed when he breathed shallowly. Had he been this nervous before past fights? He didn’t remember. He jogged in place and shadowboxed the air, focusing on the splintery crack in the concrete in the corner. Focus. He needed it.
When the door opened again, Donal was standing in the frame. “It’s time.”
The man gripped his shoulder as he left the locker room, Eoghan in tow. They’d agreed Donal would join him in the ring with Eoghan popping up if needed between rounds. Donal’s hands were the steadiest to seal cuts from the fight and staunch the blood.
The murmur of the crowd was like a hive of bees in his ears as he stepped out into the main hall. Every chair was filled, and people clung to outer walls like ivy. Cormac and his trainers had outdone themselves by building up the event so they could work the crowd for the arts center. Tonight wasn’t just about winning the bout and the purse—the stakes were higher. His stomach flipped again.
More cameras lifted as local reporters caught sight of him. He ignored them, striding toward the ring. When he reached it, Eoghan stopped him with a hand. In plain view of the crowd, he lifted a large gray stone out of his pocket. The smile that flashed across his weathered face was filled with mischief as he tucked it into the right pocket of Declan’s green robe, to a chorus of laughs from the crowds. A right showman, Eoghan.
“Remember your training,” was all he said to him.
He could feel the weight of that rock as he stepped into the ring and found his chair. While Donal massaged his shoulders, Declan looked across the ring to the man sitting across from him, knocking his gloves together. The muscles of Paul’s face seemed pulled over the bones. Their eyes locked, that timeless look fighters exchanged before they started bashing each other.
Declan tapped his feet on the wood of the ring. He knew every inch of it. He had home advantage. He’d best use it.
“Get away from here,” Eoghan called out, his tone no-nonsense.
Declan turned his head. Jimmy stood holding the ropes, his mouth pitched into a smile filled with malice—the same kind of look he’d had when he’d told Declan he’d slept with Morag. His heart rapped hard against his ribs.
“Be quiet, old man,” Jimmy spat. “I’m only wishing my old friend here some good luck. It’s his first fight in years. Makes a man’s belly turn in fear, that.”
He forced himself to smile over the rock-hard tension in his gut. “Not all men. Good to see you, Jimmy. I’m looking forward to our fight. Be ready for me.” He lifted the stone Eoghan had given him and extended it. “Here. You might need this.”
Jimmy’s eyes flashed, but he didn’t take the stone. “Tricks don’t win fights.”
“No?” Declan shot back. “I thought you were the king of tricks.”
“Enough of this!” Donal stepped in front of him and leaned over the ropes. “Find your seat, Jimmy. Or I’ll be helping you to it myself.”
“You’re surrounded by old men, Declan,” Jimmy shot back. “Easier to win that way in sparring, I expect. Good luck.”
Eoghan uttered a Gaelic curse word Declan hadn’t heard since he was a boy.
Declan watched as Jimmy took a chair next to Owen. The younger man was laughing. Laughing! After what he’d done to Kathleen. Declan wanted to tear him apart.
He searched for her in the crowd. He had to despite Eoghan’s advice. She was sitting in the center front row, wearing her Patriots sweatshirt. Their eyes met, but she didn’t smile. She was worried. He knew it.
“Give me the stone, Declan.”
After he did, Donal lowered to his haunches in front of him and waved it under his nose. “You remember how tough you are tonight. Forget Jimmy. He’s not the one you’re fighting tonight.”
He turned back to Paul. The other fighter had been watching every moment. He’d fought Jimmy as well. He knew their history, of a sort, and he’d use it against him if Declan allowed it.
He cracked his neck and tried to focus. Donal was right—this match was against Paul, and he’d do best to remember it.
The referee began announcing the fight. He rose when his name was called and joined Paul in the center. They tapped gloves as was customary as the man gave them instructions. Three judges were weighing the fight. They would go ten rounds with a minute rest in between bouts, rules Declan had known for years, but he nodded all the same.
