Page 146 of Unwritten Rules

CHAPTER 40

NATE

Taylor lunges first, bouncing forward with a sharp jab from his long left hook glancing across my jaw as I pull back just enough to avoid a solid connection.

Dancing to the side, knowing that the best course of action against someone like Taylor, who has sheer bulk on his side, is to avail of my superior stamina.

To tire him out.

And so, I continue to do just that, allowing him to get a body blow in here and there lest he realise my larger game plan.

This continues for the first three rounds, until Henry appears behind me as I lean against the ropes during the break between the third and fourth rounds.

My breathing is more ragged than I would have liked at this stage, and I’m beginning to wonder if my strategy is working at all.

“He carries his left hook lower once he’s made a bodily connection, Hawthorne.”

I glance over my shoulder, more grateful than he knows for his tip, but he’s staring straight ahead.

“Thank you…brother.”

His jaw tics, but he doesn’t correct me, giving room for hope to seep into my weary body. He slowly meets my questioning gaze, but I can’t fathom what emotions I’m seeing in his darker-than-usual eyes.

“Just watch for your opening and end that smug fucking prick.”

Harold enters the ring, glancing at Taylor and then at me. “Round four, gentlemen. Toe the line.”

The chatter of the surrounding crowd immediately halts, an almost eerie silence washing over the gathering.

I step up to toe the line while Jameson does the same. There’s a gash on his cheek and bruising already marring his stocky body, but he’s lost none of his earlier swagger.

In fact, he has obviously grown even bigger balls, because he winks at me, smirking broadly at the same time Harold shouts, “Knuckle up.”

“That birthmark lives rent-free, Hawthorne. A twinkling little star made for—”

I cut him off with a sharp jab to the gut, quickly bouncing back on the balls of my feet before he can retaliate, but I’m not quick enough. He brings his left arm up, swinging, knocking me underneath the chin and sending my world spinning.

Blinking rapidly, I shake my head to dispel the fog surrounding me. Time seems to move at a snail’s pace.

I can make out my opponent, whose form is hunched over, obviously winded from my punch. Sucking in oxygen helps the world to stop wobbling.

The space comes back into focus just in time for Jameson to land a blow on my already bruised ribs, driving the air from my lungs.

I stumble backwards, finding purchase against the ropes as Jameson draws closer. He appears a little unsteady on his feet, or perhaps that’s my vision making him appear shaky.

“Time for lights out, Hawthorne.” His left fist connects with my temple, and my head snaps to the side. But somehow, I stay on my feet as the bell rings, signalling the end of the fourth round.

My vision blurs in my right eye, and when I reach up to rub it, my fingers come away bloody.

“Might want to get that seen to before the next round.”

Jameson ambles to his side of the ring, grabbing a proffered bottle of water from a bystander while I take the towel Harold offers to me. Dabbing my eyebrow, I mop up what I reckon is most of the blood and drop the destroyed towel onto the floor outside the ring.

“Here.” Henry thrusts a water at me, which I take gladly, sipping slowly despite wanting nothing more than to down it in one swig.

“Al, there’s a first aid kit over there underneath the tarp.” He points at the side of the ring by the seats they’ve just vacated. “Grab it quickly.”

Alex rushes to do his older brother’s bidding while Cade picks up the stained towel, his face as serious as I’ve ever seen it. “You missed a load, brother.”