"Harder, Eddie. Harder." Ballard yells with his old-man voice from the sidelines. "Harder. You can do it!"

  Eddie hits the heavy bag, which barely budges. For almost thirty minutes, he’s been doing the same thing nonstop. His arm aches from the vibrations, and his wrist softens with every new punch.

  "A little more. Just a little!" Ballard emphasizes the last word.

  Eddie swings, trying to purge every rotten emotion with each hit. He punches for Maisie to forgive him, punches for Theo to forgive him—though the little guy probably doesn’t understand a thing—punches while thinking of the money he’ll earn. He punches to forgive himself. He knows only then will others forgive him too.

  "Stop."

  Eddie stops. Sweat drips from his forehead. He doesn’t wipe it, letting it run.

  "Stretch, Eddie. You’re old now, keep that in mind. Show your muscles you care about them."

  Eddie sits on the floor. A puddle forms around him in a minute. He can’t feel his arms, especially the right one, but soon blood rushes back, and everything’s fine again. A fresh breeze comes from somewhere, helping him cool off. Ten minutes later, he hears Ballard again:

  "Stanley and Edgar aren’t coming today, so get up here with me."

  "I’m not fighting you."

  Ballard’s slipped on the big pads and put on a chest protector.

  "You’ll fight, I’m telling you. I’ve got to earn my money too. I’m not just here to stand and shout."

  Eddie’s back up in the ring. Ballard’s barely climbed up, but he raises the pads and stands in front of him. Eddie doesn’t start.

  "You waiting for your mom? Or for Maisie to come chew you out?"

  Eddie hits Ballard square on the right pad.

  "Hit, you dog. Hit and get it all out."

  Eddie swings again, hard and less focused. He hits once, twice, a third time. When he stops, Ballard’s pressed against the ropes, breathing heavily.

  Eddie steps back.

  "Don’t take them off." Ballard stops him, pushes off the ropes, and starts laughing. "Well, that was good. But it’s time to add some brains. Start with just rights."

  Eddie’s let it all out. And he really only has strength left to finish the session.

  "Now lefts."

  Eddie’s like a kitten—exhausted and obedient. He could fall asleep right there. He even considers spending the night in the storage room, where he likes to nap between workouts. If he didn’t have a wife and kid waiting at home, he’d do it without a second thought.

  "Two lefts and an under with the right."

  Eddie follows through.

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  "Left! Left! Left!"

  Eddie punches after every word.

  "Again."

  "Do it again."

  "Faster, kid." This time, he doesn’t insult him. Eddie complies.

  "Is that all you’ve got? Mix some rights and lefts till you drop."

  Eddie searches for Ballard’s eyes but can’t find them behind the pads he’s holding. He starts. Left, right, left, right… until he hears Ballard cough. He stops. The old man doesn’t sound good.

  "Don’t go easy on me, kid. I’ve missed this. Keep going."

  Eddie hits again. And again, and again.

  "Hey, hey. You’ll kill your coach."

  Rex’s voice from the side of the ring stops him. Eddie looks at him, startled, then at Ballard. The old coach’s face is bright red. Did Eddie really go that far? Ballard egged him on. It wasn’t him. He didn’t want this.

  "No problem, Rex. I feel more alive than ever." Ballard says, breathless.

  "Your eyes want it, but your heart’ll betray you, old man. How old are you, a hundred?"

  "You here to get in the way or to say something?" Ballard talks to Rex like a friend.

  "I’m here to talk to both of you, but only if you’re not done killing him."

  "Eddie’s got four laps around the gym, a hundred fifty push-ups, and he’s good."

  Rarely in his career has Eddie complained about anything. He’s always done what he’s told, especially in the gym. Sure, it might not be the most leader-like quality in the world, but he figures coaches know more. Now, though, he’s close to giving up. He climbs down from the ring but doesn’t grumble—it’s not his style.

  "Kidding, Walsh." Ballard laughs, and Rex joins in. "I’m not that much of a sadist. We had a good session."

  "You got a strategy yet?"

  "Eddie knows what to do. I’m here to guide him. Not to invent tactics for him. And I doubt I’d tell him anything new."

  "Fair. I’m behind you guys." Rex is friendly. "We don’t have great odds, but we’ll make some decent cash."

  "Strange they haven’t backed out yet."

  "I was thinking the same." Rex admits. "Didn’t think the offer would hold, but once the signatures went through, I relaxed. And I hear Rory’s taking it seriously."

  Eddie thinks of Beatrice and her story about Rory. She said totally different things about him, and Eddie doesn’t know who to believe. But he doesn’t care. He just wants to perform well. And not go down in the first round. At least not that.

  "You know my take on Rory, Rex. The kid’s good—better than our Eddie—but he’s nothing special. And his dad’s holding him back. Whenever a parent becomes a manager and doesn’t step away from their kid, it’s a mistake."

  "For me, it’s about Eddie putting on a good show. Rory can do whatever he wants. But to the point—" Rex claps his hands, the echo bouncing around the empty gym where only Ballard and Eddie remain. "Tomorrow? Training?"

  "The day before the fight? No. Absurd."

  "Good. Weigh-in’s at noon. Ballard, you don’t have to come—your call. But Eddie—" Rex points at him. "Eleven thirty latest, be there. You’re the last, eighth fight, so we’ll wait a bit. And no falling for provocations. The little Flint might try to test you."

  "Come on, Rex." Eddie finally finds a way into the conversation. "Who’s the veteran here? The kid or me?"

  Rex pats him on the shoulder.

  "You’re right. I underestimate you sometimes. If you want, you can test him. I know that’s not you, but if Rory’s set on becoming a champ, he’ll need a little toughening up… if you catch my drift."

  "This is my first weigh-in for a main event. I’ve usually been one of the early ones."

  "Well, I’d wish you it’s not your last, but that’s up to you."

  "And don’t go winning, or the gym’ll fill up with annoying punks wanting to see where the mythical Eddie Walsh got started."

  "Mythical…" Rex repeats. "Imagine that. The mythical Eddie Walsh. With two wins and twenty-two losses."

  Ballard’s laugh echoes last in the gym.