Page 76 of After Indigo Irish Nights
Paul leaned in at the end. “Jimmy still getting to you?” he said with a laugh. “You fought like shite the last time you faced him. Must be hard to be reminded of it.”
Declan stalked back to his corner and took his seat. He knew what Paul was doing, but even so, it shook him. His mind kept summoning the image of Jimmy standing over him in victory. He shook himself. He was losing his focus before they’d even begun. He bit his lip, willing the pain to bring back his concentration, then shoved his mouth guard in and gripped his knees.
When the bell rang, he sprang up and took his stance, his right foot slightly behind the other, gloves up. He and Paul prowled around each other before Paul shot forward and took a swing with his right. Declan ducked it, but his adversary’s left fist pummeled him in the gut. The blow reverberated through him. Paul always could hit hard with a sweep. Jesus. He took a few steps back, but Paul had him off his timing already. He got in another punch at Declan’s waist before Declan drove a right hook into his jaw. Paul dropped back and then circled him a few times before landing a few more punches.
The bell rang. Declan detoured to his corner.
Donal gave him some water while saying, “He knows your timing is off. Don’t let him take the offensive. Go at him. Make him move.”
The bell rang. Declan moved with purpose and landed a blow on Paul’s jaw before the man hit him dead center in the stomach, stealing his breath. His pause gave Paul an opening, and he landed four more blows on his abs before the bell rang.
His body was throbbing, and he was having trouble breathing as he sat down. Donal helped him to water, which he didn’t want but drank anyway. “He knows you’re frustrated and he’s using it. This time, let him come to you. Makehimfrustrated.”
When the bell rang, he nodded. Facing Paul, he stayed out of reach this time. They circled each other, Paul darting forward, testing Declan’s retreats until Declan held his ground and landed a hard blow to the man’s jaw. Paul’s head shot back, and Declan stepped in, landing more blows on his stomach and kidneys until the bell rang.
Back in the corner, the water was a cold rain down his throat. Donal mopped his face with a towel. “Good. Keep making him come to you. Widen your stance a little. Lift your gloves when he approaches. He won’t have the opening he wants. Block him with your gloves and elbows and then give him a left hook.”
The bell sounded, signaling the end of the break. He kept back, making Paul pursue him. But when Paul finally drew close, he managed to grab Declan by the head and smash him with his right fist.
Declan staggered back. Hit the ropes. Paul landed more blows on his body. He tried to block them, but his gloves glanced off. He was pinned against the ropes. More blows. He fought to stay up.
When the bell rang, he had to focus on heading to the chair. Everything seemed to tilt. Donal didn’t give him water first. He mopped his face. The towel was bloody when he set it aside. When Declan looked across the ring, he was pleased to see Paul’s mouth was cut.
“You’re hanging in there. By God, you are. He’s a canny bastard, he is. You go at him, and you hit him. No more evading. You land your blows, Declan McGrath.”
When the bell rang, he moved swiftly. He hit Paul in the face with a right. Then a left. Then another right. The man staggered back—Declan closed in. Landed another right to his kidneys. Then Paul latched around him, holding him so he couldn’t punch. Declan pushed him away, but Paul’s right came up and hit him under the jaw. His head snapped back and he fell.
His head pounded.
Sweat stung his eyes.
He heard the count of the referee.One. Two. Three…
The crowd was shouting, the screams and calls reverberating in his ears.
Get up.
Kathleen’s voice.
He pulled himself up slowly. The referee fell back. Paul advanced. He got in a few more body shots before the bell rang.
Declan shuffled to his seat. His mouth hurt as he drank. Donal was saying something, but it took him a moment to process it. “Get in there. Close in on him. Don’t let him set the tone.”
His head bobbed. “Got it,” he managed.
The bell rang too soon. Paul seemed to be waiting for him. He couldn’t block the right hook. The blow slammed into his jaw, followed by a solid hook to the body. Jesus, his ribs. He stepped back. Paul followed, raining more body blows. They were toe-to-toe now.
Declan got in a few jabs. Paul kept coming, holding him in place and moving him around, punching him. Declan wobbled back, his feet dancing on the wood like it was fresh poured concrete. Paul landed another right hook in his jaw, followed by a body shot that took him down.
Declan couldn’t get up. The floor was cool.
One. Two. Three. Four…
He squeezed his eyes shut to staunch the burn. He was not beaten. He planted his hands on the ground and pulled himself up again.
Paul was waiting, his eyes intent—the eyes of someone about to go in for the kill. Declan bent at the waist, breathing hard. Paul started playing with him, holding his glove out, nudging him. He knew he had the upper hand.
Declan got in a few more blows, but his hits had no power. He was tiring and they both knew it.
