"Three more laps."

  Ballard’s standing on the steps leading to the gym, cynically smoking cigarettes while Eddie struggles to catch another breath of oxygen.

  "Three? How?" Eddie stops in front of him and throws his hands up.

  Old Ballard laughs. He weighs over a hundred kilos—a death sentence at his age. The cigarettes shave even more years off his life. But people like him know they don’t have much time left. So they enjoy it like it’s their last.

  "You’re fighting a kid twenty years younger, Walsh."

  "Twelve years."

  "Same difference. You don’t want to pass out in the ring, do you? This isn’t like chopping salads for fancy folks. Get moving."

  The temperature’s over twenty degrees, even though it’s evening. He’s exhausted after a long shift. He kept his mouth shut most of the night to avoid anyone bringing up his upcoming fight, and now this…

  He wonders if he warned Maisie he’d be late. He hopes so.

  "Rory Flint would’ve run them already."

  "I’m not twenty, and I’m not Rory Flint."

  "But you agreed."

  "I haven’t agreed." He and Ballard bicker on the street like father and son. Ballard takes it all with a smirk.

  "Well, I heard otherwise. And I don’t care. You’re the one who’ll look bad, not me."

  "Won’t you be in my corner?"

  "If you ask me to." Ballard doesn’t hide that he finds the whole thing amusing. "Go."

  Eddie barely lifts his feet off the ground, but after a moment, his blood starts flowing, and momentum helps him keep going. He used to do these laps in no time and still have energy for a sparring session. Now he’s not sure how he’ll even get home.

  A cool breeze comes from somewhere, easing the evening heat a bit. It gives him a boost, but not much. One of the three remaining laps is done. He motivates himself by picturing Ballard’s smug grin, like he’s enjoying this at Eddie’s expense, sitting on the gym steps.

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  "Stop." Ballard halts him before the last one.

  Eddie stops. Gladly.

  "The last one with these." Ballard’s pulled out two two-kilo dumbbells from somewhere and hands him one for each hand.

  "Please? You want me to die?"

  "If you don’t die in training, you’ll die in the ring. Come on, quit whining. You weren’t like this back in the day." Ballard’s serious this time.

  "I’ll get you back for this, old man."

  "Yeah, sure. If you’re making me run, better call an ambulance. Now shut up and go."

  Rex’s gym is near a residential area, and people heading home from work or out for a walk see him. Eddie’s sure they’re talking about him or laughing. Of course, he might be wrong, but that’s how it feels. Though maybe they’re used to it.

  He considers giving up halfway through the last lap. The dumbbells are only two kilos each, but it’s like carrying sacks of cement. That’s how awful it feels.

  He could explain to Maisie why he’s late, but how’s he going to explain it when she sees him barely moving at home?

  One last turn, and he can see the gym steps. Ballard’s gone inside. A stray cat’s taken his spot to greet him. He could walk the last few steps but doesn’t. He pushes through them too. When he stops at the steps, he sits, unsure how he’ll stand again to climb them. His legs are on fire.

  He stretches his legs out on the steps and props his elbows on the ones above. The wind picks up slightly, brushing his overheated body. Sweat pours from every inch of him, dripping onto the steps. The cat that greeted him comes closer, rubs against his hand, and leaves the way it came.

  Eddie’s so exhausted he could stay like this all night. But Ballard’s probably waiting. So he braces his hands and stands up, barely. He stays upright, but he can’t feel his muscles. If Rex asked him right now if he’s in, he’d say no without a doubt. Though he said no the first time too.

  He doesn’t want to hear about boxing or Rory. He just wants to get home and lie next to Maisie.

  "Walsh!" Ballard’s hoarse voice calls from inside the gym. Eddie starts up the steps slowly. Each one feels like climbing the highest peak on Earth.

  When he gets inside, Ballard greets him with two bandages.

  "Sit and give me your hands. Thirty minutes on the speed bag, and you’re done for today."

  Every part of Eddie screams to strangle Ballard. But his mind holds him back. Is the old man sane? Eddie can barely stand.

  He sits slowly on the chair across from Ballard and offers his hands.

  Old Alfred Ballard starts wrapping them, looking at him with eyes full of mockery.

  Then he pulls the bandage off and bursts out laughing.

  "Go home, Walsh. I’ve been dying to see that face. Same stubbornness as always."

  Eddie stands. He’s still not sure if Ballard’s serious.

  "One day you’ll drop dead, but you won’t quit. That head of yours… That’s why Rex pushes you, not guys like Stanley."

  Ballard winks and signals he’s free to go.