Eddie walks into one of the hall’s two locker rooms. He’s sharing it with five other guys. The organizers always split them—half here, half in the other room. That’s how it’s been. Stanley’s taken locker number eight; Eddie sits at number ten. Close enough to Stanley, but not in his way. He fully knows this is his night, but he doesn’t want to crowd his friend.

  He’s not nervous, which is rare for him. He’s got nothing to lose. If everything goes as expected, he’ll be back at Cork’s in the kitchen next week.

  "It’s a total surprise seeing you here."

  "Right? I asked Rex not to tell you on purpose. I saw your face yesterday at the weigh-in. You were shocked. It was funny, but I didn’t want to give myself away."

  Stanley puts on his socks and rubs some callus cream on his hands. The little bit left on his fingers, he smears over the scar above his eye—long healed, but clearly a habit he hasn’t shaken.

  "What do you think of the Romanian?"

  "Andrei?" Stanley obviously knows him. "Works on ships. Tough kid. He’s had a few fights."

  "So he’s not a boxer either."

  "No offense, Eddie, but in this whole gala, maybe only Rory’s close to real boxing. The rest of us are just here for fun."

  "And money."

  Stanley nods. He agrees.

  "But I still think I’ll beat him. I’m better, as long as I don’t run out of steam. I’ve gotten older too, like you. What about you?" Stanley slips on his shoes and, still in his underwear, leans back against his locker, closing his eyes. "How’s your wife? I heard from Rex she’s not thrilled about you fighting."

  Eddie’s both surprised by the question and relieved to have someone to talk to. Stanley’s not his best friend, but he’s someone he can trust. He’s done it before, and Stanley’s never let him down.

  Truth is, he and Maisie have barely spoken since the radio interview. They both knew this was coming. The good news is Maisie hasn’t left yet. The bad news is Eddie doesn’t know if she’ll show up. He got her tickets for the best seats and even asked the organizers to look out for her if she comes with the kid.

  "Maisie…"

  Eddie doesn’t know how to answer him. Though he’s got so much to say.

  "I get it. Too personal. Sorry…"

  "No, Stanley. Actually, I’m hoping they’ll be here. But Maisie really doesn’t want me to fight. She said she doesn’t want to see me anymore if she sees me in the ring."

  "I’d probably react the same in her shoes."

  "But the money’s good. And I’m doing it for Theo."

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  "Theo’s the little one, I assume?"

  Eddie nods. He hasn’t started getting dressed yet. He’s not worried, even though it’s just him and Stanley left in the room. The first three fights are done. From what he’s heard, his guy Jake Carter won quick, the Italian beat Mason Shaw, and Oli Bruce knocked out Harry Foster. The fourth fight’s on now, and from the noise in the hall, Eddie suspects it’s a good one.

  "Well, boxers." Ballard lumbers into the locker room.

  Eddie and Stanley stand to greet him.

  "Sit down, don’t overdo it. You’re old guys, after all."

  Ballard heads to the other corner, grabs a chair, and sets it in front of Stanley.

  "Give me your hands."

  Stanley, like an obedient kid, stretches both palms forward. Ballard takes one, pulls bandages from the little bag he brought in, and starts wrapping carefully—around the knuckles, over the wrist, through the fingers.

  "Is it time?"

  "They’ll come check you any minute. Be dressed by then." Ballard scolds him. "I don’t want them seeing you naked. Boxing might be a brutal sport, but it’s a gentleman’s game too. The guys before you are wrapping up soon, and we’re out."

  "What about me?" Eddie asks.

  "Like it’s your first time fighting. When I head out with Stanley, you start getting ready. It’s not rocket science." Ballard really acts like a dad with them.

  "Where’s Rex?"

  "Rex is somewhere in the stands. I banned him from coming in. I want you guys to yourselves. Play a song or say your prayers. The hall out there’s packed. About five hundred people, and they’re not here to cheer you on." Ballard finishes Stanley’s hands and moves to Eddie’s. "They’re here for blood and entertainment. Only your relatives are rooting for you. The rest want you to lose. Not just you—everyone. So don’t play for them. They won’t be happy if you win. Play for the ones who support you. Not me. Not Rex. We don’t care either. Fight so tomorrow, when you walk Brantley’s streets, people point at you as one of the town’s worthy folks. Not so you’re ashamed and hiding scars from another flop."

  Ballard’s done with Eddie’s hands too. He pats his palms, has him flex his arms, and looks satisfied.

  A brief burst of euphoria fills the hall, followed by applause.

  The refs come into the locker room, check Stanley over, put on his gloves, and lead him out, ready for the fifth fight. Shortly after he’s gone, Callum Ward—The Bull—walks in, his face screaming victory. He says something to Eddie, but Eddie doesn’t catch it. He wants to step out and cheer Stanley on. And check if Maisie’s there. But that’s not the best idea.

  Besides her, he’s not expecting anyone. Some folks from the kitchen might be in the crowd, but he won’t hold it against them if they don’t show. He’s had no parents for a while now, never had siblings. Since Theo was born and he started living with Maisie, he’s drifted from his friends. Truth is, there are years after which friends drift away on their own. You’re left with two or three at most—the loyal ones. Eddie doesn’t even have that many. Maybe Barney from the kitchen, and Stanley. Why not? He doesn’t spend much time with them, but he feels close to them. Even though he hasn’t talked to Stanley in a year, for instance. Still, he knows he can tell him anything.

  Eddie’s ready now. He’s just waiting for Ballard and the ref to put on his gloves. He considers throwing a few air punches or hitting the bag they’ve got in the locker room but decides it’s pointless. He’s focused solely on Rory Flint. He’ll train on him when the time comes.

  The Bull, Callum Ward, wishes him luck and leaves the locker room happy, saying he’ll root for him. Eddie gives a thumbs-up and stays alone. He just wishes it were quieter. The main hall’s too close—he can hear every shout, every conversation from there. And the five hundred people in the stands, in Brantley’s small space, sound like at least five thousand. When they stand, everything shakes.

  Eddie’s crouched over his bag, pulling out a photo of Theo. He stares at it for a long time, kisses it, and talks to it:

  "Your mom’s mad at me, but one day you’ll understand I didn’t take this for the money—it’s for you. I want you to hear about me and brag that’s your dad. And for everyone around you not to believe it."