Alex shakes his head to clear his mind since he
has come into his bedroom for a reason. He opens
the drawer in the bedside table and finds the small
pendant. After he went out with Chris for a drink
and they told him it was their birthday, he has been
thinking about a small gift: a small silver disc with a
pair of encased boxing gloves made with solid black
stone. Dex gave it to him on his eighteenth birthday.
It must have been from Coach’s youth since the
back is marred and the metal could do with some
buffing, but it will make a perfect present for Chris.
Alex will buy a thin chain to thread through the
small hole—he imagines it around their long, pale
neck.
Thinking about Chris makes him forget the guilt
in his gut, forget where he is; he has been swimming
in a deep, dark hole filled with a sticky mass as thick
as oil. Thoughts of Chris calm him, slowly bringing
him to light. He does not need to get out of his
depressed state if he can see the radiance beyond.
The knock on his door startles Alex, and his dad
pushes the door open before he can answer. He and
Gary have been at it since before lunch and now he
is halfway to drunk, his face red and puffy. When
Alex was a kid, he used to think he would turn out
like his father. He nearly did, and it cost him his
entire boxing career.
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“Why you hidin’?”
“I’m not.” Alex puts the pendant in his pocket in
case his dad asks about it. He’s not ready to tell his
family about Chris yet. “What’s up?”
The older man sits down on a chair. “Your ma
spoke to you about the ’ouse?”
Alex nods.
The lead, the guilt, the darkness.
“Some guy roughed Gary up a couple of weeks
ago.” He lights up a cigarette. Alex doesn’t like
smoking in his room, but then this house no longer
feels like his home. Even his box room in the flat
has given him a stronger sense of belonging. He
can’t envisage coming back here to live, so it doesn’t
matter.
“Why? He tried to chat a married woman up or
something?” It’s the kind of idiotic things that Gary
would do.
His dad shakes his head. “Hard to tell. He was a
bit vague. I suspect he owes someone money.”
That would be it. Damn it.
“Tony spoke to me, y’know. He can fix things up.
He said a few matches, and you’ll be back on your
feet.” His dad’s eyes are on Alex, waiting for his
response.
Back on my fucking feet. Alex frowns. “Wish he
hadn’t contacted you. Going over my head like
that.”
“I know Tony’s a bit of a shark, but he’s always
delivered. It’s not only about us. If you don’t want to
help, that’s fine. Your ma and I will figure
something out. It’s about fucking time Gary grew
the fuck up anyway. But you’re too young to retire,
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Alex. Too much of a waste, if you ask me.”
That’s why I don’t ask you. But Alex isn’t going to
argue with his dad. “I’ll think about it. I will call
Tony, hear what he’s got in mind.”
His dad stands. “Good.” They are similar that
way. Men of few words. At least Alex’s dad has
never been a loud drunk. Instead, he’s usually sullen
and morose. Alex was drinking way too much by the
time of the car crash, but it was the easiest thing to
give up. It’s the blame and shame that Alex will
never be able to shake. Sobriety has become his
fodder in the permanently locked prison of his
mind.
~~~
The restaurant Tony chooses to meet him at
boasts a couple of stars awarded by a gourmet list.
It is light and airy, autumn sun streaming through
tall panes of glass, but it doesn’t entice Alex at all.
He would prefer to turn back and forget about the
whole thing. Despite the fact he is now dirt poor and
working in a job he dislikes, he values the freedom
away from all the bullshit associated with fame. The
thought of returning to the ring only fills him with
dread. So what the fuck are you doing here?
Because he’s a good son, and he promised his
Alex only wears his beanie today without the
sunglasses. Over the past few months, he has come
to realise that with his size and stature, disguises
serve no purpose, and being with Chris has given
him the courage not to hide behind dark glasses
anymore. He walks through the expensive
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restaurant, following the maître d’, with half of the
diners and all the waiters watching him. He tries to
ignore the discomfort inside of him.
Tony waves him over. No matter how sharp his
suit is, Tony is still a lowlife underneath. But then,
Alex is an ex-criminal on parole. Who is he to
judge? He sits and is immediately presented with
the heavy leather-bound menu. He glances at the
fancy words and opts for the safe-sounding fish and
chips of the beer-battered exotic fish variety with
potato curls and lemon tartare mayo. That’s a whole
eleven words for the same thing. Tony asks for a
steak, medium rare. Sharks are always after bloody
red meat.
Tony chitchats, bringing him gossip about the
boxing world that’s as alien as the restaurant. At the
third forkful of their food, Tony gets to the real topic
of conversation. “So, Blue. You’ve thought about a
comeback?”
Alex wishes he could choke on a fishbone, but
there’s none in the perfectly cooked fillet.
“Yeah, thought about it. What’s your proposal?”
Tony is used to him. Alex’s reticence means he
won’t say more than the absolute minimum, except
when he talks to Chris, who can coax anything out
of him.
Tony puts down his fork, the remnant of a piece
of steak glistening ruby blood on the shiny silver.
“You know Lewis Keane?”
Keane’s a big, strapping beast, an Irish
heavyweight who was a few ranks below Alex and
whom Alex has beaten twice before. As far as Alex
knows, Keane retired two years ago.
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“He wants to fight a few matches, add to his
retirement fund, you understand?” Tony cocks his
head to gaze at Alex.
Alex understands, all right. If his circumstances
were not so different, he might be doing the same.
Now, he’s wary of the limelight. Lewis Keane would
be a good match, though. The audiences will love it
—two veteran heavyweights of similar skill level.
“How much?” Alex is going to do the necessary to
keep his family afloat. But what happens next time
they need a bail-out is anyone’s guess.
Tony’s shrewd eyes roam Alex’s face and body.
“After my expenses, trainers
, insurance…” He
taps some numbers on the calculator of his mobile
and shows it to Alex. As Alex thought, it’s enough to
buy a small family house in Essex.
“And I can negotiate sponsorship, a percentage
with the venue and a TV deal with a sports
channel,” his ex-manager adds. More than one
house, then. The start of a little savings for himself
too.
Alex doesn’t trust Tony, but he’s a good
businessman. For his own benefit, Tony would get a
good deal for Alex. That’s why Alex stuck with the
twat over the years and why Tony managed to screw
him over. Can he do this? Can he face the world
again?
“As little media as possible. No junkets, no
commercials and let me see the contract when
you’re ready.” Alex knows Tony won’t be able to
stop the media interests, not if he wants the TV
deal. “I’ll need some intensive training nearer the
time.”
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He will train with Coach, but for at least a few
weeks before the match, a pro would be good. After
all, it’ll be a demonstration fight, not a proper
tournament or championship.
Tony assesses Alex for a moment. “You won’t
come back for real?”
“No.” Alex answers without hesitation. His hands
are already clammy. Anticipating a match never felt
like this, as if he were being forced to stand naked
and humiliated in front of millions. He sighs
mouth.
Good but hardly worth the thirty quid they
charge.
~~~
Alex kisses the soft skin of Chris’s neck, drinking
in the delicious scent: spicy yet floral. He can always
tell who Chris is as if they are viscerally in tune.
There’s something natural about Chris’s scent when
they aren’t working. The rich fragrance they wear to
appointments doesn’t suit Chris in any form—
expensive, bland cologne as if they’ve just come
from the perfumery of a department store.
Alex traces a line down to her shoulder and tastes
the sweet flesh. His fingers make a parallel line
along her smooth chest, stopping at the nipples. A
wisp of sensation flows through Alex while he licks
her belly with a feather-light touch before he sits up
and considers her. For the thousandth time since
they met, he can’t quite believe he’s here, holding
and savouring her.
Chris pulls herself up and gazes at Alex, too. A
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hint of a smile rivals Mona Lisa’s.
Alex reaches out to his discarded trousers and
retrieves her gift from the pocket. He places the
small medal in Chris’s hand. He went to the Jewish-
run jewellery shops near Farringdon and found a
thin silver chain to accompany the pendant.
“Happy birthday.”
“For me?” Chris’s face lights up, radiating a
beauty and grace incongruent with their grotty
surroundings.
Alex nods.
Chris examines the silver disc, fingering the
encased boxing gloves. When she looks up, tears
glitter in her eyes. “It’s so beautiful. Thank you. Put
it on for me.” She turns to let Alex reach the back of
her neck.
Alex struggles to clip the small hooks together
because of his thick fingers, but when he succeeds,
he beams.
“I didn’t win this one. Coach gave it to me when I
was eighteen.”
Chris turns to face him again, touches the surface
of the small disc and leans forward to kiss him.
“It’s the best gift anyone has given to me.” Her big
eyes shine with so much warmth and happiness.
Alex grins. “I wanted to give you something
personal, a gift that means a lot to me.”
“And you have. You do.” Chris asks, her voice low,
“Seriously, why aren’t we having sex?”
Alex sighs. “I don’t know. I’ve been wanting you
ever since I laid my eyes on you on the stairs.”
His words are not enough because he’s aroused
and Chris must be able to feel his woody.
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Chris’s eyes shimmer in the dusk. “Then, why are
we still dancing around? Is there something wrong
with me?”
Alex cups her head in his big hands and kisses
her. “No. There’s absolutely nothing wrong with
you. Maybe I want you to think of us as special.”
“We are… You are special.”
“And you are too, Chris, and I want you to know
that. It’s not a threat or anything like that. I want to
wait for our first time when I’m confident. Until I
am not scared that I won’t be good enough for you.”
Chris leans in to kiss him again. “But you are
good for me.”
Alex touches his head of wild, thick hair. “Chris,
I’m afraid… Sometimes I’ve not been able to get it
up.”
Chris blinks. “Since when? I’ve felt your
erections.”
Alex looks away, embarrassed. “With you, yes.
When I was in prison and with the meds… I
sometimes want to, y’know, jerk off, and then… I
can’t.”
Alex’s eyes turn down, afraid of Chris’s reaction.
“I love being with you, Alex. I don’t need a
working dick. I like your penis when it’s sleeping.”
Alex grins. “It’s often sleepy these days.”
“Then I like it a lot.”
Alex pulls Chris closer to him, his heart dancing
with her easy acceptance. “Why do you want me,
though? Why are you interested in battered old me?
And I’m not fishing for compliments.”
“And you won’t get any, Big Blue.” Chris kisses
him. “I wouldn’t call thirty-something old.”
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“You know why I feel that way.”
Chris lies flat on the bed. “Well, you’re depressed.
It doesn’t make you…flawed. I should be the one no
one wants.”
“Plenty of people seem to want you.”
Chris opens her mouth to protest, and Alex raises
his hand to stop her, but she goes on. “They want
me for what I sell them, give them the illusion that
they get what they want.”
“I want you, no pretence, no illusion. You’re not
kidding when you said you’re my security guard. I
feel safe with you. I trust you.”
Chris smiles.
“Well, do you trust me?” Alex asks as if he’s
posing a challenge.
Chris covers her face with both hands. “Gah. I’m
so off this conversation. I don’t do this. I can’t do
this.”
Alex laughs, forgetting his moroseness for a
second. “Do what? I told you I love you and trust
you.” He tickles Chris under her smooth armpit.
“Tell me you love me too?”
Chris wriggles and starts chuckling. “I’m not
telling you anything! I don’t like…talking about
feelings.”
Alex tickles Chris some more because he knows
he can.
“Get off me! Get off, now!” Chris tries to move
away, but Alex grips her by her wrists. In one fluid
motion, Alex overpowers Chris onto the bed and
hovers on top of her, still gripping her arms over her
head.
“This is so unfair—”
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Alex’s mouth claims Chris’s over her protest and
kisses her and tastes her sweet and fresh lips and
tongue until she stops struggling against his
rawness. He releases Chris’s arms. Heavy breaths
fill the air between them. When he moves away a
few inches to catch his breath again, Chris kneads
Alex’s hips with her smooth palms and pulls him
down against her, whispering, “Stop acting like a big
romantic, just… Rut against me, Alexander.”
Alex does. Chris arches and they move in unison,
building their need together. Move. Press. Kiss. All
rational thoughts leave Alex’s head. He closes his
eyes and forgets about his fears, drowns in the
sensation of Chris’s body against his.
His dream moves along her body.
Alex opens his eyes and sees the indigo of her
dilated pupils. Heat bubbles and consumes them
until Alex tenses and shouts as if his fist has been
raised by a referee.
It’s been five years since he was intimate with
someone like this, and he feels the threatening tears
as he gazes down at Chris. He moves off the
beautiful body underneath him and flops down on
his back.
They stare at the ceiling.
“Fuck. You made me come in my underpants.”
Chris smiles. “You got it up no problems, mate.”
Alex laughs. After stilling himself, he touches
Chris’s briefs. They’re damp, too, and he grins.
“We’re going to have dried cum in our pants. Go
and clean yourself up.”
Chris turns and now looks down at Alex, their
legs entangled and hanging outside the bed. “That’s
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it, isn’t it? You’re a prude. You think spunk is dirty.”
“No, I don’t!” Alex protests.
Chris giggles. “You better not. I work with the
stuff.” She puts her hand in Alex’s boxers and
scoops up a mouthful of his seed. She licks her hand
and fingers clean, saliva and white streaks
everywhere. Chris eating his cum like that has
aroused Alex again.
She beams. Before Alex can say any more, Chris
hops off the bed like a Jack-in-the-box. She goes off
to the bathroom to have a pee and comes back to
bed in another clean, tiny thong.