"Is it safe?"
"Most of the guys know I'm gay," Carson said. "And I don't give a damn anyway at this point in my life."
Evan stood up and crossed to where he was standing. He glanced over his shoulder to make sure no one was watching. Then he put his arms around Carson's shoulders, kissed him on the lips, and said, "This is more exciting than I thought it would be. I'm glad I came." Carson had put his arms around Evan and he could feel the red boxing gloves pressed against his back.
"I'm glad you came," Carson said. "I reserved a ringside seat for you."
Evan almost laughed. He never would have guessed anyone would have reserved a ringside seat for him in a place like this. But he knew they couldn't remain this way for a long time, so he stepped back and said, "I've always been curious about one thing."
"What's that?"
"What do you guys wear under your shorts?"
Carson sent him a seductive smile. "Why don't you see for yourself?" He moved his hips forward and said, "Take a look."
Evan hesitated for a second, then reached out and pulled the waistband on Carson's boxing shorts. When he glanced down into Carson's shorts, he saw something that looked like a black jock strap, but it was thicker and padded. "I've never seen one of those before." He reached into his shorts and grabbed it to see if it felt as soft as it looked.
"It's a groin protector," Carson said.
Evan gently released Carson's waistband and patted his crotch. "I'm glad you're wearing it, because I wouldn't want anything bad to happen to such a nice groin."
After that, Carson asked his trainer to take Evan out to his seat where he could wait for the match to begin. The room had filled up by then and he found himself in a crowd of people murmuring their expectations. Some were cheering for "The Dog," which was Carson. Others were cheering for someone they referred to as "Ice Man." Though Evan had no idea what any of them were talking about, he picked up a few things that were helpful. He learned the man they called the referee seemed to be the judge and he decided what worked and what didn't while The Dog and Ice Man were fighting. And they fought in rounds, which he figured were intervals between fighting sessions. In his mind, with his limited knowledge of boxing, it all seemed so uncomplicated he sat back, crossed his legs, and waited for the fight to begin. He wished he'd thought ahead to bring a snack. He hadn't eaten anything all day.
But when the match started and he saw how hard Carson had to fight to compete against the guy they called Ice Man, he started shouting and screaming along with everyone else. This Ice guy was huge and mean-looking, with a big round bald head, massive feet stuffed into blue ankle high athletic shoes, and a long hook nose. His eyebrows pointed down in a natural way that made Evan wonder if they ever went up, and his small beady eyes were set closely together. Every time he threw a punch at Carson, Evan's heart stopped beating and he felt a pull between his legs.
By the twelfth round, Carson's lip was bleeding, his body drenched in sweat, and he wasn't hopping around with the same energy with which he'd started the match. He was swaggering now, as if forcing himself to remain on his feet. In the same respect, Carson had thrown a few good punches of his own and the big ugly Ice Man wasn't bouncing around as much anymore either. At that point, Evan just wanted it to be over. He didn't care who won. He felt like running up to the ring, jumping over the ropes, and kicking the Ice Man in the nuts.
He almost got into a fistfight himself during the last round. Carson made a move and the referee made each fighter go back to his corner for a moment. Evan had no idea what had happened or why the referee had done this. But he overheard the woman next to him turn to the man next to her say, "That fucking Dog is a fucking waste. Ice Man's gonna kill him." She dropped her g's. She was a big one, too, with bleached frizzy mullet and a hot pink sweatsuit. She also looked as if she'd seen the inside of one too many tanning beds.
Evan gave her a good shove with his elbow that almost knocked her off her army boots.
She grabbed him by the collar and said, "What the fuck?"
He pushed her back and said, "It was an accident. Calm down, asshole."
"Who you callin' asshole, asshole?" she shouted.
He wanted to grab her by the back of the head and drag her into the ring, but Carson and the Ice Man started fighting again and Evan and the woman both forgot why they were arguing. This time it didn't last long. When Carson started to sway back and forth, Evan had a bad feeling. The Ice Man had thrown the last punch and it seemed to have knocked poor Carson senseless. The woman next to Evan screamed, "Kill'em, Ice man," and Evan flung her a look. Then the Ice man lifted his arm again and tried to swing. But at the final moment, when no one expected it, Carson dodged the punch, turned around, and threw his own punch. He hit the Ice Man square on the jaw and knocked him down for the count.
When the fight was over and Carson was declared the winner, Carson's trainer came over to Evan and said, "He told me to tell you to wait out here for him. He said he wouldn't be long."
Evan had been biting the inside of his mouth the entire time. He wanted to see how Carson was after such a brutal match. But he didn't want to overstep. He nodded and said, "Tell him I'll be out front waiting near the door."
An hour later, Evan glanced up from a game he'd been playing on his phone and he saw Carson coming toward him. Evan had been in the front room of the gym, in a section that looked like a waiting area with a couple of folding chairs, a metal desk, and more grey cinderblock walls. Carson was alone, carrying a gym bag, and his face was swollen. They'd put a small Band-Aid at the corner of his lip and he wasn't bleeding anymore. Evan stood up and met him halfway.
"Are you okay?" Evan asked. He actually looked better than Evan had thought he would look after that brutal display. If Evan had been up there in the ring with that Ice Man, he would have been in the emergency room now begging for pain killers.
Carson tried to smile, but he couldn't because of the Band-Aid. "I'm good. Thanks for waiting so long. They had to patch a few things up back there." He laughed and made a joke out of it.
At a closer glance, Evan could see his swollen eye. "You poor thing."
"I won," Carson said. He didn't seem concerned about his eye.
"I know, but look at you."
Carson waved him off. "This is nothing. I've been in worse shape. I actually feel good. Let's go out and do something. You probably didn't eat yet."
Evan took his arm and said, "Oh no. I'm taking you back home right now. You need to soak in a hot tub and put some ice on that eye to get the swelling down." He thought it was nice that Carson wanted to go out, but there was no way he'd take him out in that condition. The man needed rest.
As Evan led him out the front door, Carson didn't object and he didn't pursue going out. This time Carson let Evan escort him to the corner, hail a cab, and help him into the backseat. When the driver pulled away from the curb, Evan's phone rang. It was Kenny. He'd called to tell him he was at Zack's house for the night and he would be home around noon the next day. When he asked how Evan's evening at the fights had been, Evan smiled and said, "It was amazing. He won. You should have seen the big guy he beat up, too. I've never seen anything like it before."
Kenny didn't sound all that impressed; he didn't ask Evan where he was, either. He hesitated for a moment, sighed aloud, and said, "I'll see you in the morning, Dad. Love you."
Chapter Eight
When the taxi dropped them off in front of Carson's loft in Chelsea, Carson climbed out of the backseat and pretended he was fine. But Evan had learned to watch expressions closely. As a writer, he kept notes on various expressions so he could use them in his historical novels. One thing about fiction he'd learned was that when people were in pain, they'd made the same expressions in 1815 as they made in 2012. And that night Carson's face had a pinched, twisted look, as if each step he took toward his building caused him pain. When he tried to smile, he squinted and clenched his fists so hard his knuckles turned white.
Evan knew Carson was trying to be brave, and he didn't want to diminish his ego. So he quietly played along with Carson and offered small suggestions without letting Carson know he knew he was in pain. He held the elevator open for him, but he didn't help him get inside. On the way up, Evan mentioned again how thrilled he'd been to see Carson win the fight. When they reached the door to Carson's loft and Evan saw he was having trouble lifting his arm to get his hand into his pocket for the keys, Evan sent him a seductive smile and he put his hand in Carson's pocket before he had a chance to object. In other words, he made it appear he was flirting instead of helping. He did this on purpose because he'd had years of experience dealing with men who had inflated egos and too much pride. Whether or not Carson knew he was doing this he would never know. But he suspected Carson didn't have a clue. Men with huge egos usually didn't.
The loft was one vast open-concept space with exposed brick walls and a modern kitchen that had glass cabinets, concrete counters, and one of those huge complicated faucets that had always reminded Evan of an instrument in a doctor's office. The floors were stained concrete and all the pipes, wires, and duct work had been left exposed. Evan preferred less open-concept and more private, individual rooms. He didn't mind seeing the kitchen during a dinner party but he didn't like sleeping in a bedroom that overlooked the living room.