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“Only because that prick kicked him in the baws.”

They start going through it, Niamh joining in, each of them pointing to a different shot as proof they’re right. I stay quiet. Because I know what’s coming.

Briony finds my hand and holds it while the scores are read. Unanimous decision. Vale.

The referee raises his arm. Vale throws his head back and roars, while Cruz stands beside him, looking utterly spent.

There’s a chorus of swearing around me. I just watch as the championship belt is brought into the cage and fastened round Vale’s waist.

Fuck.

Monday evening, I step into the back court and spot Briony kneeling beside a raised bed, pulling weeds, while Penny lies stretched out on the grass beside her. I head over, leaving my gym bag on the bench.

She looks up and smiles. “Hi, you.”

“Hey.”

She gets to her feet, holding her muddy hands away from me, and lifts her face for a kiss. I put a hand at her waist and give her one.

Penny gets up too and noses at my leg.

“All right, wee yin?” I crouch and scratch under her chin. She presses her head into my palm.

“How was training?” Briony asks.

“Fine.”

She studies me. “Convincing.”

I straighten. “They’re having a rematch.”

“Cruz and Vale?”

“Aye. They announced it an hour ago.”

“Oh, Ryan.” She gives me a sympathetic wee grimace.

It was hardly a surprise. For the past two days, the media and the fans have been kicking up a fuss about Saturday’s fight. The scoring, Vale’s dirty tactics, whether Cruz was robbed. Half the fucking internet seems to want a rematch.

Not me, though.

Not that I don’t think Cruz deserves another chance. But a rematch means my shot at the championship gets pushed back to God knows when.

“Have they said when the rematch will be?”

“Naw. They’ve only confirmed it’s happening. So I’m waiting for them to arrange it, then for them to fight, then for whoever wins to be ready again.” I rub the back of my neck. “Fucking ages, basically.”

She looks at me for a moment, then kneels down again and pats the grass beside her.

“Come and help.”

“Wi’ what?”

“The weeding.”

I give the flowerbed a dubious look. After the gym, what I’m in the mood for is a hot shower and a big plate of food, not grubbing about in the dirt.

“Honestly, it’ll help. You’re obviously frustrated, and weeding is very satisfying. You can take it all out on the weeds.”