Page 61 of The Loves We Lost
“I’m on my way.” And I am. The nervous energy that’s been crawling through me all day finally has an outlet that sticks with me through my second fight, where I take out Halo in four rounds.
Two hours later and with a skinful of beer sloshing in my system, I look at my opponent.
Niro.
He took out Spark, which surprised all of us. Because Spark is a machine in these things.
“You wanted to fight me, huh?” I ask.
“It’s my love language,” he argues with a grin.
I remember he told me how he and Catalina sometimes deliberately physically fight before sex. “As long as you don’t put any moves on me when I knock you down.”
“Ready?” Vex asks.
We both nod.
“One round. Let’s go,” Vex says, stepping out of the way.
“Oof,” I say as Niro’s fist makes contact with my ribs before I’ve even considered lifting my guard.
There’s a grin on his face. “You want a real fight, I’m here to give you one.”
We dance for a second, and then I take my chance. A jab, an uppercut. Niro ducks and bobs left and right. It’s an equal and fair fight. We spar together as cardio. I know he leans to the right when he’s trying to find his feet. He knows my weakness is the left side of my torso.
When he lands a solid burst of punches on my ribs, pain flashes through me. I worry about the structural intensity of my bones. To distract Niro and give myself time to recover, I drop low and slam the back of his knees with my leg, toppling him over.
He hits the concrete with a slam.
I hear my brothers chanting a mix of our two names.
No one really cares who wins.
It’s unifying. It’s team building. It’s carefree at a time when the battle against the Righteous Brotherhood is turning into something possibly based on family.
Niro kicks out and I fall backwards. He’s on his feet fast and sits over my chest, putting an elbow to my windpipe.
“You want to ... make out ... with me, you’ll ... have to try ... harder,” I say. Instead of fighting, I grip Niro’s hips, digging my fingers in.
“You fucker,” Niro says, trying to wriggle out of my grip, but he can’t move.
He’s ticklish.
So, I tickle him even harder as he squirms.
“Fucking let go, you asshole,” he curses.
I manage to build on the momentum of his movement and roll us so I’m on top. “Yield?”
Niro can barely speak through the laughter. “Fine, yes. Low fucking blow though.”
I fall onto the concrete next to him and start to laugh. I thought I needed to fight. Maybe I did. But I needed this more.
Many hours later, Niro has forgiven me as he hands me another beer. “I’m gonna be sore tomorrow,” Niro says.
“Hmm. Yeah. But it’s a good ache.” I lean back in my chair and look up at the sky. It’s the darkest inky blue, and the stars are out in full force. Makes me think about the weekend I took Vi outside in the meadow surrounding my uncle’s cottage. Sherode on top of me, all that long hair draped in front of her. Pretty sundress up high over her hips. Her panties in the back pocket of my jeans.
“You ever feel like you need to tell her ... about me ... about my shit, you can,” Niro says.
