Chapter 171

The bell rings again suddenly, making me jump, but Luca and the Atalaxian drop their fists mid-fight and turn away from each other, each heading immediately to their respective corners. I know enough about the basics of boxing to know that this is the end of the round, but – well, I don’t know precisely what that means.

“What’s happening?” I murmur, turning my face up towards my brother, my hands tense on the wall of the box.

“Tiny break,” Rafe says with a sigh, looking down at me. He frowns for a second, looking around, and then spots my glass of white wine on the edge of the box. He picks it up and pushes it towards me. “Here, Ariel – have some of this. You’re freaking out.”

“Of course I’m freaking out,” I growl, ignoring the glass of wine at first. But when he raises his eyebrow at me I scowl and snatch it out of his hand, taking a long swig of it.

“He’s doing good, Ari,” Daphne says, biting her lip and looking down at the ring. “At least…I think he is?”

“No, your instincts are right, Daph,” Jesse says, stepping closer to me. Ben comes close on Rafe’s other side, clearly wanting to hear what Jesse says.

Jesse points down towards the ring at table, where three men and one woman sit, consulting seriously. “Those are the judges,” he murmurs. “They decide who wins each round.”

“So it’s that simple?” Daphne asks, looking between all the boys. “Just…whoever wins the most rounds wins the whole thing?”

“Theoretically, yes,” Ben murmurs with a shrug, peering down at Luca. I follow his gaze, staring down at my mate, a little bolstered to see that Luca looks absolutely fine. He’s sitting on a little stool in his corner, and his uncle is leaning in to whisper in his ear, rubbing his shoulders as he does.

“Well, what about in actuality?” Daphne asks, anxious.

“Knockout,” Rafe says softly in her ear, and I suspect that he’s whispering so I won’t hear it, “trumps all scores.”

“Oh,” Daphne says, giving me an anxious little glance that makes me groan and drain my glass of wine.

“Ooookay,” Jesse says, giving me a hearty pat on the back that makes me stumble forward a few step. “We have about thirty seconds for tequila – let’s do this!”

“What!?” I gasp, spinning and watching him basically sprint from the bar.

“He’s not wrong, Ari,” Rafe says with a sigh. I spin to stare at him, slack-jawed. He just gives me a sad little smile with a shrug. “You need to calm down. We all need to calm down, and get a little looser, and cheer for our friend. Us sitting up here tense and frowning isn’t going to do anything to help him.”

“Yeah, well, neither is us just being bombed,” I murmur as Jesse comes back almost too quickly with a tray of shots, each with a little lime perched on the edge.

“Ohhh, clever boy,” Cora says, budging in between us to take two shots off the edge of the tray. “I knew you were my favorite.” She gives him a little wink and me a sad, anxious smile as she moves back to her place on Ben’s other side, handing her second shot to my mom.

Roger scoffs in protest as mom and Cora clink their glasses together and throw back the tequila. “Darling wife! Where is mine!?”

“Probably back at the bar,” Cora says, flinching at the harsh bite of the liquor and grinning up at him. “Go get it!” Roger moans but does as he’s told, slumping off towards the bar as Jesse hands out the rest of the shots.

Despite myself, I find myself laughing at my family and friends all raise their glasses, toasting to my mate. And as I throw back my own shot, and close my eyes a moment as it slips down my throat, I realize that Jesse and Rafe are right – that I need to relax, for Luca’s sake.

When I turn back to the edge of the box, I’m a little surprised to see Luca’s face turned up towards me, a little question in his eyes. But I just wink, and raise my empty shot glass in his direction, and Luca bursts into a grin.

Because if I were really worried about him, I wouldn’t be partying, would I?

Or, at least, Jesse knew that’s how it would look. Luca nods once to me and sets his shoulders, getting to his feet as the ref walks again to the center of the ring.

“Thank you,” I murmur to Jesse as he comes back to my side, and I lean my body weight against him. “You’re clever and you’re thoughtful, and I see that, even if you try to hide it.”

“Just don’t blow my cover,” he murmurs, rubbing my back for a moment as the bell sounds again and the fight starts anew.

I watch carefully as Luca and the Atalaxian champion come together again and again, sometimes trading blows, sometimes moving in fast just to dodge away again. Luca, I notice, gets in quite a few combinations that look very impressive and which always make the crowds cheer. But Rafe, still standing close at my side, doesn’t cheer along.

I can’t help glancing up at him, wondering what he’s seeing that others aren’t. Because to all means, it looks like Luca is doing much better than our enemy.

“Tell me,” I urge, somewhere in the third round.

Rafe glances down at me for a second, I think deciding whether or not I actually want to hear it, but when I look up at him with pleading eyes he leans closer to me. “Luca’s doing great,” he says, and I nod, recognizing that. “But, tell me what you’re seeing with the Atalaxian.”

I turn my eyes back to the ring, studying him. “He’s advancing a lot,” I say, narrating what I see happening in front of us, and slightly below. The ring – it’s really not very far at all – close enough for me to see Luca’s muscles shake whenever he delivers one of his shattering blows. “But not…not punching very much?”

“Look harder,” Rafe murmurs, instructing me and sounding a lot like dad.

I frown a little, trying to figure it out. And then, as I watch more closely, I realize that the Atalaxian is landing a lot of blows, just not to Luca’s face.

“He’s hitting Luca a lot in the sides,” I say quietly, as if it’s a secret between us. “Whereas Luca’s hitting the Atalaxian a lot in the head.”

“Good,” Rafe murmurs, and Daphne glances up at us, likewise listening and wanting to learn more. “I think that’s both of their strategy laid out.”

“Okay,” I huff, rolling my eyes a little, “and in terms I can understand, now?”

Rafe smirks a little. “Luca’s strategy is to beat the shit out of him, to hurt him as much as he can as early as he can, to get as many points from the judges as possible.”

“Sensible,” Daphne murmurs, her eyebrows going up.

“Indeed,” Rafe says, glancing down at her, pleased, before he continues. “But the Atalaxian – he’s playing the long game here. See how he’s making Luca dance, always pressing him?”

I watch carefully, and see that Luca is indeed moving his feet probably twice as much as the Atalaxian, always dodging backwards, always getting out of the way as the Atalaxian moves steadily forward.

“What’s that mean?” I whisper.

“It means that he’s wearing Luca down,” Rafe says, his voice a little grave. “And see all those body blows?” Rafe raises his chin now to where the Atalaxian hits Luca again and again in the sides and the ribs.

“Yes?” Daphne says, her voice distracted as she keeps her eyes trained on Luca.

“Those are agonizing,” Rafe says, probably from experience. “Especially that often, again and again? They’re exhausting, and they make you want – more than anything – to drop your hands and block the blows.”

“Which leaves your head open…” I murmur, my eyes going wide as I put it all together.

“For the knock-out blow,” Rafe finishes, nodding, worry all over his expression.

“Shit,” Daphne says as she figures it out alongside me.

“He’s wearing Luca down,” I whisper, suddenly horribly anxious again. “So that he can finally make that big swing that will take Luca out. What’s Luca’s recourse here?”

“To not get tired,” Rafe says, his voice a little sarcastic, because that’s basically impossible. “Or to go on major offensives, which he’s trying to do – to get this asshole against the ropes and just wail on him. But the Atalaxian – he’s not weak enough for that yet.”

“Shit,” I sigh, folding my arms over each other. “So now it’s just a waiting game? To see who runs out of steam first?”

“Yup,” Rafe says.

“Tequila?” Jesse offers, holding out another shot to me. I sigh, but – feeling the anxiety raising in my best at this new perspective on the fight – I accept it from his hand. The shots go around again, and we all drink, and train our anxious eyes back on the fight.