I wish he could have time… Time to breathe, time to rest, time for himself. Asher gives and gives and gives and he never really takes a moment to do things for himself. It’s so hard to see him run himself into the ground.
It’s like he feels as if he has to keep moving to survive.
Like his life is a fight and if he stops, he’ll get knocked out. And in some aspects, our lives are like that. We have to be on our toes, otherwisetheywin.
Asher stands up and walks over to the fridge, takes out the milk jug and pour us both the smallest cup of whole milk possible, before getting right into it.
“Two-fifty on The Phoenix and that The Grater goes down in two rounds.” I slap the money down on the table so the Ringmaster knows I’m serious. “Phoenix is here and if he wins, he gets a two percent cut of the overall winnings.” My chest pounds with anxiety, but I let none of it show. I can’t.
If Ringmaster agrees, this will be huge for Asher. Two percent of all winnings for that fight…easily a grand. But Ringmaster is finicky, he’s only really willing to barter and bargain if the name is big enough and he knows he’ll make his money back.
He’s in particular form tonight. Shifting his weight repeatedly from side to side and snorting a loogie before staring at me like he’s trying to figure out if I’m hiding something.
I keep a calm, confident look on my face and don’t back down. Asher’s going to win. He deserves this chance.
“Fine. Tonight only, we’ll see how it goes and then discuss other fights,” Ringmaster says, taking the starter cash I threw down.
“Understood,” I say with a sharp nod and turn back to where Asher stands, rolling his shoulders and taping his knuckles. That’s the only kind of protection we get down here. One layer of athletic tape. Everything goes except weapons.
I’m not fucking lying when I tell you it’s dangerous down here.
“He go for it?” Asher asks, never looking away from the guy standing across the way, waiting for our fight to start.
“Tonight only. He said he’d see about the next one.”
“That’s good though. All I have to do is knock this guy out and get the cash. One more name to add to the list.”
“You got this, Asher,” I tell him, trying to hype him up and get him in the right headspace. I don’t like talking before a fight, it breaks my focus, but Asher, he needs reassurance. This kind of life, it’s not what he wants. So I need to remind him that this isn’t forever.
“One more fight, get the money, let’s go home. This is just a means to an end, man.” I remind him, and he nods, setting out his jaw to the side.
“Just a means to an end,” he repeats under his breath.
“Know. React. Believe,” I say the mantra we’ve said to each other before every fight, it’s become somewhat of a good luck charm.
Asher looks at me and nods.
“Know, react, believe,” he repeats and pulls his shirt off, handing it to me. “I got this.”
“Damn fucking right you do.” I smack him on the shoulder and the buzzer goes off, officially starting the fight. It’s not going to be a long one, I can tell that right now.
As much as I don’t like fighting, Asherreallydoesn’t like it. But he’s damn fucking good at it.
The fight lasted exactly two rounds. Asher must have been keeping track while also kicking his opponents ass. I mean, come on. He’d never brag like that, but it’s kind of annoying how powerful he is.
I see Asher knock the guy out–the guy who is no doubt at least seven years older than him–and walk back towards me. He tips his head up and I know it’s time to go get the cash. With the crowds down here, we never know if they’ll change on us, so we get the fuck out fast.
I’ve never had a crowd turn on Asher or myself yet, but I’ve seen it happen.
Ringmaster looks at me approaching with a shocked, but impressed, expression before he purses his lips and crosses his arms.
“His cut, and our winnings,” I snap as I look up into his ‘nest’.
“That was impressive,” Ringmaster says calmly, counting out the money Asher won. Our bet made at least seven hundred and the two percent cut is close to a grand, if not more.
“People should stop underestimating us.” I straighten my back and roll my shoulders to appear even taller.
“Noted.” Ringmaster nods, and sets down a fat stack of cash. “Here’s the winnings from the bet you placed. $745, and the cut that was promised; $1,250.” It takes everything in my body not to react. That’s more than we were thinking. It’ll put at least a little more food on the table while I’m building my name up down here to help.
