BRAWLER [under contract]

chapter six | CONVERSATIONS

"Here, give me your hands." Skip took hold of Rylee's quivering, bloodied hands and examined them. "Get used to this pain." Skip took out a roll of surgical tape from his back pocket and began taping Rylee's knuckles. As he did, Rylee noticed the tiny grooves and jigsaw scars running across Skip's own hands. There was a larger slash that snaked from the inside of Skip's palm to the outside beneath the knuckles – as if he had grabbed a blade of some sort.

"What happened there?" Rylee asked, nodding to the faded scar.

The side of Skip's mouth twitched and his brows pulled together as he thought for a moment. He hummed but didn't say anything until he had finished bandaging Rylee's hands.

"An accident."

"Must've been some accident."

Skip glanced up at Rylee and then back down at the scar. Rylee knew he couldn't be fooled by the older man – it was clear that there was more to the story than what Skip was ready to share.

"So," Rylee began, changing the subject. "In street boxing, do people bet on me?" He studied Skip's eyes and saw a different expression pass over them. He had seen that look before in his mother's eyes when they almost lost the house and in his father's when he was let go from his last job. It was that desperate, calm-before-the-storm expression adults wore when they were worried about money.

"I bet on the best and I train only the best. Now, if you're ready to do this, tell your mum tonight and come with me. This was my last stop before I catch a subway to Kensington. So, are you coming?"

"Yes. You have my word. I can show you back to my place." Rylee walked over to his things and packed them up.

Skip did the same. "There's some Duke Cannon lotion in my car for your knuckles. Take a tub with ya."

The two of them left the gym, and Rylee locked up behind him, leaving the key behind a loose brick for the janitor to find the next morning.

"So, why did you take up boxing?" Skip asked as he pulled his car keys out of his pocket.

"There was a time I was worried that Dad would hurt my mum."

"Survival, eh?"

"Yes. But seeing as he was just a sodden drunk, I took it up as more of a hobby. Never really had proper training, so I appreciate you doing this for me."

Skip opened the passenger side door for Rylee before making his way around the beat-up silver sedan. After getting in and starting up the car, he said in a serious tone, "No problem, pal. You're good, but I can make you better."

Rylee shut the door and buckled up. "Go straight for about half a mile, take a left, and my house is literally on the corner."

"Simple enough." The car sputtered to life and then puttered down the lonely London streets. The radio was playing, but it wasn't loud enough to drown out any conversation. "So, really, why do the boys jump you? Key their car?" Skip asked.