With a few minutes to go, I lose contact with everyone else. I lie down on the floor. With my eyes shut, my arms at my side. My gloves touch the tops of my legs. I don’t see anyone. I don’t hear anyone. I’m alone in my mind. There’s tension all around me, pressed to the outline of my body. It gets beneath me and lifts me …

I want it, I tell myself. I want it more than him.

Future scenes from the fight angle through my mind.

I see Rube trying to get at me.

I want it.

I see myself ducking and counter punching.

More.

I see myself, standing, at the end. Standing at the end of a real fight. Not a win, or a loss, but a fight. I see Rube.

I want it more than him, I repeat, and I know that I do. I do want it more, because I have to. I’ve —

‘It’s time.’

Bumper’s near me now, and I jump to my feet and stare forward. I’m ready.

Perry’s shouting voice registers, but only for a second. When Bumper pushes through the door, the crowd makes its usual noise. I see it, I feel it, but I can’t hear it. I walk on, inside me. Inside the fight.

I climb the ropes.

I get rid of the jacket.

I don’t see him, but I know he’s there.

But I want it more.

Now.

The ref.

His words.

Silent.

Looking at my feet.

Anywhere but at Rube.

In the suffocating seconds between now and the fight, I wait. No practice punches — I’ll need them all. It’s fear and truth and future, all devouring me. It hunts through my blood and I’m a Wolfe. Cameron Wolfe.

I hear the bell.

With it, the crowd comes storming into my ears.

I walk forward and throw the first punch. I miss. Then Rube swings and gets me on the shoulder. There’s no slow beginning, no warm-up period or watching time. I move in hard and get underneath. I hit him. Hard on the chin. It hurts him. I see it. I see it because I want it more and he is there to be hurt. He’s there to be beaten and I’m the only one in the ring to do it.

It’s three minutes per round.

That’s all.

Fists and pain and staying upright.

Again, I feel my fist cut through my brother, only this time it rips into his stomach. In reply, a right hand lands on my left eye. We trade punches for nearly the whole round. There’s no running, no circling. Just punches. Towards the end, Rube gashes me open. He gets me in the mouth, making my head swarm backwards and the pulse in my throat go numb. My legs go, but the round’s over. I walk straight to my corner.