Chapter 5 The Weight of the Ring

Pablo shuffled back in a series of quick, practiced steps, the sole of Ajax's heavy training boot missing his temple by a mere fraction of an inch. The rush of displaced air whistled through the quiet gym.

The older man leveled a glare that could have sent a professional heavyweight running for the exit. But Ajax was too pissed off, too wound up in his own head to care about the danger. He dropped back into a fighting stance, his hands raised, his eyes wild and dark.

For a long, agonizing moment, the only sound in the warehouse was the echo of Ajax’s ragged, labored breathing. Slowly, the rush of adrenaline began to recede, leaving a dull, hollow ache in his chest. His racing heartbeat slowly settled into a heavy, rhythmic thud.

"You have got to get control of that temper," Pablo said, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous register. "In the ring, a hot head gets you put to sleep. In the real world, it gets you a cell."

No shit, Ajax thought, slowly lowering his guard.

He couldn't remember a time when he hadn't been angry. As the years went by and the pressure at home mounted, his fuse had only gotten shorter. He hated the suffocating, paralyzing feeling of helplessness. MMA was the only thing that kept him sane—it was the only place he was allowed to exhaust his rage with permission, without being called a monster or a delinquent.

In the beginning, getting his face smashed in by more experienced fighters had actually been a relief. The physical pain was a welcomed distraction from the emotional chaos inside his head. But once he learned how to fight back, he started putting a face to his problems and delivering the beatdowns instead.

He was a natural. A naturally angry bastard, but a natural nonetheless.

Ajax walked to the edge of the ring, unstrapping his gloves with his teeth, and sank onto the floor. He rested his head back against the heavy canvas of the raised octagon, pulling his towel over his face to block out the harsh, humming fluorescent lights above.

A second later, a freezing cascade of water hit him square in the face, soaking his hair and dripping down his neck.

"What the hell!" Ajax yelled, gasping and throwing the soaked towel aside.

Pablo stood over him, holding an empty plastic water bottle with a smug grin. "You looked like you needed to cool down. You were smoking." He groaned loudly as he sat down on the canvas next to Ajax, rubbing his lower back. "Damn spine... this cold weather is killing me."

Ajax let out a begrudging, quiet snicker, the tension in his shoulders finally starting to dissipate. "Comes with the territory, old man. You should have retired years ago."

Pablo’s smile faded, replaced by a soft, fatherly concern. "What's really going on, kid? High school couldn't have been that bad on day one. You used to love learning."

Just the mention of Riverton High brought the dark cloud right back over Ajax's head. He pictured the cramped hallway, the mocking laughter of the students, and the petty power trip of the teachers. "Worse than I remembered. It’s like stepping back into a cage, except I'm not allowed to hit anyone."

Pablo nodded slowly, wisely choosing not to push further into the academic side of things. "And how are things at home? Cassandra doing alright?"

Ajax clenched his jaw, his hands tightening. That was another topic he had no desire to touch. The reality of their tiny, cramped apartment, the bills piling up on the counter, and the constant, lingering fear of his mother relapsing into illness was too much to carry. Instead, he deflected.

"Are you sure you don't want to try asking my mom out again?"

Pablo grunted, looking away toward the entrance of the gym. "Been there, done that, kid. Tapped the broken pieces of my heart back together. Your mother and I are meant to be friends, Ajax. Nothing more. She’s too fragile, and I'm too rough around the edges."

Ajax snorted, shaking his head. "Yeah, right. You’ve loved her for over nineteen damn years, and you still do. Don't think I haven't noticed the way you look at her when she actually smiles."

"Don't start," Pablo warned, his voice carrying a rare, unyielding edge of authority that told Ajax the conversation was officially over.

Ajax bit his tongue. To hell with love. What had love ever done for his mother besides make a fool out of her and leave her abandoned when she needed help the most? He couldn't understand why she was being so stubborn about Pablo. Without him, they would probably be sleeping in a car right now. Sometimes, Ajax couldn't help but wish his mother had married a man like Pablo—a man who actually showed up—instead of the spineless coward who had fathered him and then vanished when the money ran out.

"How about a match this weekend?" Ajax asked, desperate to steer his thoughts away from his family's messy past.

He needed a release. His entire body was vibrating with pent-up, dangerous energy. With four more days of high school standing between him and the weekend, he needed something to look forward to—some way to bleed off the pressure before he ended up doing something he’d regret in the middle of a hallway.

Pablo shook his head instantly. "No. Absolutely not. You can't go to school on Monday with your face looking like a car wreck. I don't need Cassandra climbing up my ass, accusing me of turning her son into a brain-damaged street thug."

"I don't plan on getting hit," Ajax countered, a arrogant edge returning to his voice. "And let me worry about my mom. I can wear a hoodie, or tell her I tripped during gym class." He stood up, heading back toward his only reliable therapist: the heavy punching bag.

"Ajax—"

Ajax raised a hand, cutting him off. "It’s either in a controlled ring here with a referee, Pablo, or on the school football field against some untrained jock like Cliff Radford who looks at me wrong. Your choice."

Pablo stared at him for a long, quiet moment, measuring the raw, volatile determination in the young man's eyes, before cursing under his breath. "You little bastard. Fine. But if you get a concussion, you’re telling her you fell down the stairs."