Page 112 of Forbidden Romeo

My balance fails, and I realize I’m going to fucking fall again.

Ding, ding, ding!

At the last second, I stumble forward and catch myself. Jesus Christ.

I try to shake it off on my way back to the corner, but Coach’s face is spinning in front of me.

“Hey, hey!” he snaps, chucking water in my face. “Look at me.”

I obey; however, I’m not sure which coach I’m meant to be looking at.

“Fuck.” Both coaches say in sync.

The effort of keeping them both in my line of sight is suddenly exhausting.

“Jack Duffy, keep your goddamn eyes open; you hear me?” Coach roars, and I jerk awake with a start. Only to be greeted with another faceful of water.

Thankfully, it clears my head a little, and the two coaches combine into one.

“Keep low, don’t let him hit your face again,” he hisses as he throws a towel at me. “And remember your–”

“Left foot,” I finish. My voice is weaker than I’d like it to be, but Coach nods in approval.

I towel off quickly before the ref calls me back in for round 3.

Ding, ding, ding.

There’s less tension in Quinn’s shoulders this round. I must look like shit, because he clearly thinks he’ll be able to finish me off.

When he skirts toward me, I match his step. It’s awkward, and the retreat stings my pride, but I successfully avoid another blow to the head.

For the first time, I see a flash of annoyance in Quinn’s eyes.

There you are.

He strikes again, this time faster. I’m not quick enough to avoid a blow to my shoulder, but I can take it. I don’t even flinch when I block a third hit with my forearm.

Quinn retreats, reevaluating his approach.

Just as I see an opening.

I lurch forward on my left foot, and Quinn automatically blocks my right, thinking I’m feigning.

Only I follow through on my left.

The hit to the chin catches him entirely by surprise. He staggers, arms flailing.

This could be my only opportunity. So I hit him again and again. Each time my fist makes contact, it feels like my brain rattles in my head. The pain is almost unbearable, but I keep going, ignoring the blood dribbling down my chin.

The crowd is alive and electric as Quinn is backed into a corner, only able to crouch and cover his head under the barrage of hits.

As my final hit reverberates through my body, a jolt of pain pierces my head, and I almost black out.

Quinn takes the opportunity to peek around his cover. I watch in slow motion as my fist automatically fires out and smacks him square in the face.

There’s a beat. Then another.

Quinn hits the floor first.

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