Rafe manages to dodge swing after swing and get in a couple punches that make contact. The other guy starts staggering on his feet, and I can barely breathe with anticipation for it to be over.

Then, Rafe hesitates just once. He doesn’t lean back fast enough and he gets a set of knuckles straight to his jaw. I let out another scream.

I shouldn’t be worried about it. After the way he’s been treating me, I know I should be rooting for the other guy. I should enjoy the sound of the blond guy’s punch hitting Rafe’s face, but my fists clench as I wait for Rafe to throw another swing.

Rafe backs away and the other guy follows. When I try to move toward the circle again, Vic grabs my arm. I’m torn. I want to see the next hit, and I want it to be over.

“Just watch,” Vic says to me, and his voice is reassuring.

Rafe lets the guy corner him, but when the opponent tries to swing again, Rafe slides to the side effortlessly and delivers a crushing blow to the other guy’s face, sending him to the ground.

My hands fly to my mouth, and I stand there horrified as I watch the announcer crown Rafe the winner. I don’t move for a long moment before Vic pulls me in for a side hug. “I hope you’ll join us again,” he whispers to me. Then he just turns away and settles business with the guys at the table.

Without him at my side, I rush off the patio and run toward Rafe. When I find him walking toward the edge of the lot, I send a hard slug to his arm. He’s still shirtless, so my hand meets the cool sweat of his skin.

“What the hell?” he cries.

“What is wrong with you? You could have been killed!” I yell.

“Why the fuck do you care?” he growls as he continues walking. He’s unwrapping the gauze from his hand, and it’s bleeding like hell so the once-white cloth is now dark red.

“Why do you hate me so much?” I yell.

“Hate you? That’s where you’ve got it all wrong, Shelby. I don’t hate you. I just don’t give a shit about you.” He winces and tries to shake out his hand. “Fuck,” he mutters and looks down at it.

I try to feel the hurt from his words, but they don’t hurt, and maybe what he’s saying rings true for me because I don’t care that he doesn’t care about me. I don’t care about him either.

I’m doing this for Ezra, I remind myself.

“Let me look at it,” I bark at him, reaching for his bloody hand. Stopping him under one of the lights, I see the lacerated skin along his knuckles. He should have stitches, but I have a feeling that’s out of the question for him. He’ll settle for some bandages.

“Well, I know that you weren’t going to fight tonight. Then all of a sudden you decided to...maybe because I showed up.”