Avenging Angel (Pounding Hearts 5)

Shaking my head, trying to get rid of the haziness that wants to swallow my brain, I give him a thumbs up.

“What the fuck, Emmett? You drugged?” he asks with worry in his eyes.

Jim could lose his job and get in real trouble if he let me fight while he thought I was under the influence.

“No man, sorry. My heads is just… I’m good, I swear,” I say to him, and try to get back into the frame of mind I had before I stepped on the mat.

“If I think I need to, I’ll stop this fight,” he snaps at me before walking over to check on Jamey like none of this just happened.

I need my head in the game, but I can’t seem to focus on anything. Words and scenes flood across my mind. And for the life of me I can’t keep track of what I really am anymore. Am I going to be the man I want to be? Or should I slink back into my self-imposed e

xile?

Going through the motions, I walk to center of the cage and just stand here as Jim gives us a quick rundown of the fight. When he’s done, I move back to my corner. I didn’t even bother raising my gloves to touch with Jamey.

What’s the point? I can’t remember, all I can think about is these last six months.

Standing in the center of the cage, Jim makes a motion, asking me if I’m ready.

Am I?

Nodding my head, I raise my arm only high enough to acknowledge that I’m ready.

Then I hear Jim shout, “Let’s do this. Fight!”

Advancing forward, I raise my hands up in a guard position and try to make myself feel the old routine of fighting.

Routine, fuck, that’s a joke.

There is no routine to a fight. You go in and hope to kill your opponent because he sure as fuck wants to do the same to you. It’s good to have a plan of attack, but the moment the bell rings, shit gets real and you have to make adjustments on the fly.

Fighting is anything but routine.

Jamey gives me my space, slowly circling the ring with me in the middle. He’s hesitant because this isn’t my normal. I used to come out with guns blazing, but I just don’t know what to do right now.

I feel off-kilter, like the fucking mat is swaying beneath my feet.

Jamey darts in and his fists fly quickly at my face, a one-two combo meant to get at least one of the hits to connect. The right misses, but the damn left rocks my head back, and I feel it.

I feel the fucking pain of someone hitting me.

I feel the pain of all the loss I’ve been dealing with.

Darting back and away from him, I give my head a good shake. Slowly the world starts to sharpen with crystal clarity. It’s like the hood has finally been yanked off my head and I can breathe again.

Taking a deep, soul-burning breath, I look at Jamey and grin at him with a smile that fills my whole fucking face.

Starting to close the distance between us, he says loudly over the crowd noise, “What the fuck are you smiling at, pussy?”

Laughing, I motion for his ass to come get some. “Thanks, man. I needed that.”

That stops him for a moment. Stupid fuck has no clue what he woke up inside me.

“Well, you’re about to get a lot more of it,” he says and sprints the remaining distance to me, trying to do a flying knee to my face.

Stepping to the side, I push his body past me and grin. “My turn.”

Squaring up against him, I fake a punch with my left before I snap my right hand at the side of his jaw.