‘They told me I was lucky,’ he said, ‘that for an older man it would’ve been a career-ender.’ He didn’t feel lucky, or young. He felt ancient, like his body was settling into the years of beatings it had taken.
He sat beside Oliver on the counter, swiping the last mug of tea. ‘I’ve been boxing since I could stand,’ Declan found himself saying. ‘My dad was a boxer, pretty famous in his day. He taught me and my brother everything he knew.’
‘Your brother’s a boxer too?’ Oliver asked.
Declan nodded. He was both surprised and pleased by how little Oliver knew about him and his family. It was the reason, he thought, that Oliver had always treated him like a normal person and not an icon.
‘My brother’s ranked eighth in the UK.’ The ranking had been his before his loss to Alexei. It marked the first time his younger brother had ever outranked him. Declan had never been able to match Aaron’s sheer power, instead winning matches with a combination of strategy and dumb luck. Together, they came close to the formidable boxer their dad had been; as individuals, they both fell just short and were desperately trying to make up the distance.
‘So it’s the family business. Sounds nice,’ Oliver said, grabbing the mug out of Declan’s hands and taking a sip. ‘Do you love it?’
Declan didn’t know how to answer. Fighting was all he knew; everything he’d got in life was brought forth by sheer force of will, early mornings and late nights training with his dad. Everything was to make him proud.
‘It’s been good for me,’ Declan said finally, not sure how else to put it positively. ‘I’m good at it. And I’m lucky. My dad didn’t have it nearly as good.’ Oliver watched him, lips slightly parted, and Declan didn’t think before continuing, ‘Boxing was his way out. He fought like he needed it, like it was the only thing he could do.’
‘What about you?’ Oliver asked. ‘How do you fight?’
‘Like it’s all one big game.’ And it was true; Declan’s life had always felt unreal, like it was happening to someone else – none of it mattering much, and none of it touching him any deeper than the bruises that formed on his skin.
‘What about your mum?’ Oliver asked. ‘What does she think about boxing?’
Declan always dreaded the inevitable question; it was the one answer he’d never mastered. ‘Not sure. I haven’t spoken to her since I was eight.’
‘Oh,’ Oliver said, his eyes suddenly more alert. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘It’s not something I talk about much,’ Declan said, trying to sound casual but not quite managing it.
He’d seen his dad take many beatings, but the day she had left was the only time Declan had seen him truly defeated. As a much weaker man, Declan suspected he’d never recover from that sort of heartbreak.
Oliver seemed at a loss for words. ‘That must have been really hard on you and your family.’
‘Yeah, it was. But he’s fine now.’ He reached over to grab the mug from Oliver, fingers accidentally grazing the back of his hand. ‘What about your family, are they all dancers?’
Oliver didn’t say anything for a moment, uncomfortably examining the contents of the nearly empty mug in Declan’s hands as if it held the answer.
‘No,’ he said hesitantly, ‘I only started dancing because my sisters were taking a class. Mum was pregnant with my brother at the time and there was some complication. She was in hospital a lot and I was stuck watching my sisters dance twice a week. Finally, the instructor took pity on me and asked me to join in.’
‘And you loved it?’
He nodded. ‘For the first time, I knew what I wanted. I went home from that class and planned my whole future out. I don’t think I’ve felt so sure of myself since. No one else around me understood it, but I just knew.’
Noticing the wistful look on Oliver’s face as he talked about dancing, Declan knew he’d never felt that sure of himself. He found himself trapped by Oliver’s gaze, noticing the scatter of freckles on the bridge of his nose, then the blood pounding in his own ears. There was no looking away.
‘Sounds nice,’ Declan said, unable to do anything but echo Oliver’s words.
‘It wasn’t easy,’ Oliver said. ‘My parents didn’t understand why I wanted to stick with it after my sisters quit. They didn’t have the time or money, so I did it all myself. I paid for classes, trained obsessively, got myself to London…’ Oliver’s eyes had gone glassy in the low light of the kitchen.
‘I’m sorry,’ Declan said, ‘that you had to do it alone.’ Oliver ducked his head and Declan’s heart clenched. He wanted to say something to get Oliver to look at him again, but the moment had passed.
Brian’s bored voice sounded over the loudspeaker. ‘All right, Lovers, get some sleep.’
‘Thank God!’ Niall cried, grabbing Stella and running towards the villa. Oliver slipped off the counter, and Declan followed him silently.
As Declan lay down next to Zoë, he noticed a smudge of Day-Glo above her eyebrow. ‘You missed a spot,’ he said softly, rubbing his thumb over the paint.
‘Thanks,’ Zoë said, looking at him expectantly. There was a beat, and then her gaze dropped to his lips and she leaned in.
‘Uh, good night, Zo,’ he said, awkwardly kissing her cheek.
