Rayne & Delilah's Midnite Matinee(44)

For the last few minutes of the fight, I sit completely still and watch him the way you watch an animal you don’t want to scare off. It’s like I’m worried any wrong move on my part will throw him off for that split second and cause him to catch an unlucky punch or kick.

“Hey,” Delia whispers, startling me.

“Huh?” I keep my eyes fixed on the octagon.

“You’re way pale.”

“I can only handle the sight of blood when I know it’s red corn syrup.”

“And also probably when it’s not on your friend.”

“That helps for sure.”

The bell ending the match finally rings. Lawson moves toward Steak ’n’ Veins to shake his hand, but Steak ’n’ Veins turns his back and stalks to his corner. That guy is a serious nut sack, if you ask me.

This has been one of the longer fifteen-plus minutes of my life. I’m not sure how I feel. I don’t regret coming—I know that much. I guess maybe it’s like watching childbirth or something. You’re not gonna be all That was so fun to watch you suffer and see stuff that’s supposed to be inside your body outside your body, but you’re glad you were there for them.

Lawson and Steak ’n’ Veins stand in the middle of the ring with the referee between them, gripping each of their hands.

“Helluva fight,” someone behind us says.

“Can’t believe Nightmare couldn’t seal the deal,” Hairy Sandwich whines. “That’s weak. Going to a decision.”

“Laaaaaaaadies and gentlemen, we haaaaaave a decision from our judges. Judge Collins scores the fight thirty to twenty-nine for the red corner.”

I can’t remember who’s what corner, but from Corncob and Hairy Sandwich’s quick hisses of “Yes,” I gather Steak ’n’ Veins is red. Lawson’s face is expressionless. No hint that he’s bothered or worried. They cleaned the blood off his face and closed his cut when he went back to his corner after the fight ended.

“Judge Hamlin scores the fight thirty to twenty-nine for the blue corner.”

A quick trumpet blast in my heart. I grab Delia’s knee. “Come on, Lawson. Come on,” I murmur.

“Aaaaaand Judge Patten scores the fight thirty to twenty-nine for the red corner. The winner! By split decision! Noooooooooooooah ‘Niiiiiiiightmaaaaare’ Puuuuuuuurdue!”

The ref lifts Steak ’n’ Veins’ arm skyward for a moment before Steak ’n’ Veins breaks his grip and starts running laps around the octagon, pounding on his chest. He jumps up and straddles the top of the octagon wall, pointing at the crowd, face agloat. He’s acting like he knocked Lawson out with one punch ten seconds into the fight, instead of winning by one point or something.

Hairy Sandwich and Corncob jump out of their seats and pump their fists like they themselves won a strenuous physical contest instead of sitting in chairs while failing in their gambit to get two high school girls to join them at a chain wing restaurant.

Lawson lifts his eyes over the faces of the crowd. I know he’s not looking at anything in particular; he just doesn’t want to look anywhere near the ground. Pain grays his face. He’s clearly struggling to be brave in defeat, but it’s obvious how much he’s hurting. It’s heartbreaking. It’s like watching a hawk stumble along the ground with a broken wing. Not that I’ve actually seen that. But I can’t imagine it’s an inspiring sight.

Then I remember that my being here is probably making this ten times worse. Cold guilt seeps in like water when you accidentally step in a puddle in socks. It’s exactly as pleasant a sensation too.

I watch him leave the octagon, walking without any of the verve with which he entered, trying to hold his head high while not looking anywhere near me.

I need to do something for him.





“He looks bummed,” I say.

Josie nods, watching him exit.

“I’d be,” I continue. “And, like, I super don’t care about winning stuff.”

Josie nods again, still not looking at me.

“So what should we—”

“I wanna try to say hi real quick,” Josie says. “He looks like he needs a hug.”

“You giving out hugs?” Hairy Sandwich asks.

He’s barely landed on the s in hugs when Josie goes, “Noooooooooo, we are not.”

“Not even one of those hugs where we pat you on the back really hard so it’s obvious we don’t like you,” I say.

“You’re maaaad,” Hairy Sandwich says in a singsong voice. “You’re mad because your boyfriend lost.”

Josie draws a quick breath through her nose. “Okay, one? Not my boyfriend. But whatever. Two? He has the balls to go in the ring and actually fight, while you two armchair warriors sit and watch. So between you guys? He always wins.”

“I could take him,” Corncob says.

“Nope. You could not. He would beat you up very, very badly and humiliate you,” Josie says. “He would take your gross truck bread and stomp all over it.”

I stand. “We saw Lawson. Let’s go,” I say to Josie.

Josie stands and says to Corncob and Hairy Sandwich, “Sitting next to you two is as fun as holding in a fart in class.”

“Ain’t supposed to hold in farts. Bad for your liver,” Corncob says.