Unspoken(28)

“What was that about?” Ellie hissed at me.

“I don’t know.” I raised my palms and shrugged. I couldn’t explain what had just happened, neither my actions nor Bo’s.

“Want to bet something?” a person at my elbow asked. I turned and a guy about my height waved a pen at me. He had a wad of cash stacked behind a little notebook. I shook my head, but Ellie pulled a twenty out of her pocket and handed it to the bookie.

“Twenty dollars on Bo Randolph.”

“Three to one odds there. Other guy’s more lucrative.”

Ellie shook her head. “Why bet against the house?”

“Fine. Name?”

“AnnMarie West.”

“What?” I protested, but the bookie was already moving on to the next set of people.

Ellie just grinned and shrugged. Phil looked stoically ahead. I wondered how he, instead of the guy opposite him, got stuck babysitting us. I didn’t have much time to ruminate because the bookie went out into the middle of the ring. For a small guy, he had a booming voice. He twirled around, as if he was emceeing a big Vegas fight. His arms were outspread as he spoke.

“We’re about to begin. Book is closed. There are no rules. Fight until the other taps out.”

As if by practice or rote, the crowd roared back in unison, “There are no tap outs.”

I looked to Ellie for an explanation. “Tapping out means surrender, like the white flag,” she whispered to me.

“So they aren’t allowed to tap out.”

“I think so. I mean, at the fight I went to, the other guy waved his hand or something, and Bo climbed off and the bookie guy announced him the winner. I didn’t see the tap out but I guess someone signaled something.”

I was worried now. “Does it mean that someone could die down here? Like from a blow to the head?”

“Technically, I guess.”

We both looked to Phil. As if it took more effort than he had inside of him, Phil expelled a sigh and said, “Guys in the corner will tap out for the fighter if he can’t or won’t tap out.”

“Like Finn or Mal?” I asked

I received a short nod in return. My chest tightened as I stared into the well-lit square that was waiting for the fighters. There were stains in the concrete. I wondered if it was blood from previous fights. I didn’t want to see Bo get hurt. What was I doing here? It’s not like I was a pacifist, but I’d never watched anyone fight. Ever. And I’d never seen anyone hit in real life. I put my hand to my stomach, as if that could quell the queasiness. In Bo’s corner, Mal stood off to the side using his body to create some space between Bo and the pressing members of the crowd, who looked like they wanted to be in the fight, not just watch it. Finn was wrapping Bo’s hands in white tape or wraps.

“Will they wear gloves?” I asked.

Ellie shrugged. “I don’t think so.” We both looked to Phil, who pretended he didn’t hear us.

Bo looked up, as if he could sense me watching, and winked. He unzipped his hoodie the rest of the way, exposing his tank and well-defined biceps. Even from across the square, I could see the veins in his arms standing proud of his muscles, as if there were barely room for the arteries under his skin. He flung his arms out, crossing them in front of him, stretching his back and chest and arm muscles. Each movement accentuated the sculpted perfection of his body. He had jeans on and some weird soft shoes. My eyes swung to the opposite corner.

Bo’s opponent’s head, like Phil’s, was bald, with a tattoo of a skull encompassing the sides and top. The pain from getting a head tattoo seemed to me like it would be unbearable. My eyes watered when I was just brushing my hair. Bo was in for a tough time with this guy. Skull Man, as I’d mentally dubbed him, was shirtless and wore jeans as well. His feet were bare.

“Do they have to wear shoes?” I asked Phil, despite his previous attempts to ignore us entirely.

“No, you can wear whatever you want.”

Right, of course. This was no-holds-barred, no-rules fighting. Wear what you want. Don’t tap out, even if you are going to die. Mal ran down the line toward us and handed me Bo’s sweatshirt.

“Hold on to this, sweetheart, will you?” Mal said with a wink and took off before I could say a word. I looked down at the sweatshirt and then, because I had this weird feeling I would feel safer if I wore it, I shrugged it on. I looked toward Bo again, and he gave me a nod of approval or acknowledgment. The gesture warmed me as much as the material of the sweatshirt. The clean male smell of him surrounded me, and I felt a little more at ease.

There was no time for more nonverbal communication. The bookie announced the fight was on, and Bo and his opponent, Skull Man, advanced toward each other. There was no desultory greeting in the middle. Instead, the two danced around each other, sizing each other up. I wished I knew more about Skull Man, but I wasn’t getting anything out of Phil. I leaned back into the crowd, hoping to catch the threads of other conversations. About two feet behind Ellie, I honed in on two guys arguing about which of the fighters was better. I took a step back to hear better.