The Fight

Bo was the one waiting for Kit inside the ropes. The moment I saw him standing there with his knuckles already wrapped, I understood exactly why the large, silent man from the Longshore had never once spoken a word in front of me. He hadn’t needed to. His whole job, that night in front of me and every night since, had been standing quietly in rooms while people worked out for themselves what he was for.

The ten days had gone faster than I wanted them to and slower than Kit seemed to need. Malik had come to the flat above the locksmith’s every morning at six to run him through pad work and footwork drills meant for a man twenty years younger. He watched him with the same low, unhurried attention he’d once given Danny, correcting a guard here, a stance there, never once raising his voice even when…