Page 77 of After Indigo Irish Nights
The bell rang.
The short distance to his chair was like walking through the sea at high tide.
“God, man!” Donal mopped his face gently and helped him to water.
He coughed, tasting blood. “I won’t go down.”
“I know that.” Donal gripped his shoulder as he dabbed Declan’s eye. “You keep getting up. Only hit him when you have an opening. Save your strength for a solid punch. He thinks he has you. That will make him cocky. Find your mark.”
He couldn’t nod. The bell rang.
His legs felt like rubber. He took his stance.
Paul landed another right hook. Declan’s head whipped back. A second punch shook his kidneys. He hit the ground. Pressed his hands into the floor and pushed himself up.
The referee kept Paul from hitting him as he rose. Respect was evident on the man’s face. Seven rounds.
He could make it to ten. He had to make it.
Paul rained more body blows when he came at him. Declan gripped him with his body and landed a few hard blows to his kidneys.
Still, Paul pushed back and circled him. His ears buzzed from the crowd. The bell rang.
Water. Donal was saying something. Then he was back up, gloves up, staring at Paul. Eyes blurring.Everythingburning.
Paul put his glove out, taunting him. Declan shifted to the left and then lunged. He caught Paul’s jaw with a left and landed a body blow with his right.
Paul’s fist snapped his head back.
He was falling backwards into the ropes. They bit into his back. Paul was on him, raining body blows. He held on, pushing against the ropes to move the man back. Had to move him back.
He leveraged him right. Paul wobbled. Declan hit him in the side and followed up with another to the face. He went down but rose quickly. His eyes flattened. He was pissed. Good. Declan smiled and tasted blood.
The bell rang. The distance to his chair didn’t seem as far.
“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” Donal said, tending to him. “You keep at him.”
“His right arm is dropping,” Eoghan said, sticking his head in. “Look for it, my boy.”
He washed his mouth out with water, but the metallic taste stayed after he spat. The bell sounded tired to his ears. Like him. He rose again. This time Paul didn’t charge out of his chair. Declan smiled again. He wasn’t the only one who was tired.
They circled and landed a few hits—Paul a jab to his belly, Declan another shot to the face. He didn’t feel the blows anymore. He angled back and looked for the drop in Paul’s right.
There it was.
He waited until Paul moved toward him and harnessed his strength into a hard blow to his side. Moving in, he rained down more body blows, but Paul gripped his neck and pushed him back. Punched him hard in the face.
He fell. Everything throbbed. He wanted to lie there. He clenched his eyes shut and pressed his gloves into the wood. His body straightened slowly. Paul started for him. The bell rang.
“Last round,” Donal said when he sat down. “Take it to him. He’s tired. His punches don’t have the power they did. You stay up until the final bell, Declan McGrath.”
When he rose this time, he pushed his feet into the floor. Called up the last of his strength. Paul shuffled forward, his arms hanging lower, and they circled each other.
Declan looked for an opening. Paul’s right dipped. He flew at him, his punch hitting him square in the middle. Seconds later, Paul knocked his head back with an undercut.
He staggered. Hit the ropes. Paul was on him. Punches rained down on him. Declan tried to grab his arms.Stop him.
Paul kept coming.
