BRAWLER [under contract]

prologue

His pulse drummed beneath his skin in deep, hollow beats. It pounded between the walls of his skull as thick drops of sweat soaked the canvas floor beneath his trembling, bloodied knuckles. Grimacing against the pain of a bruised, swollen jaw and blinking as he attempted to focus through his blurred vision, young Rylee McCormick looked up at his looming opponent as the referee began counting down from eight.

Rylee spat out a thick glob of blood along with his mouth guard, pushed himself up off his hands and knees and rose to his feet. He brought his hands, curled and ready, up to his face and assumed the traditional boxing stance. Blocking out the crowd around him, he stared at his now-surprised opponent. Glancing over to his right, he spotted the three most important men in his life: his trainer, tutor, and sponsor. They all stared at him with fragile anticipation.

The voice of his trainer, Skip, echoed in his head, "When you leave the ring, there better be another good fight in you."

Rylee closed his eyes for a moment as he felt strength building within his veins and ripping through his muscles. He was a welterweight pitted against a much larger welterweight. There wouldn't have been that much of a difference if they had been arm wrestling, but after two rounds, he felt as if he was fighting a grizzly bear.

He had been training for months and had been up against men much larger than he was. This set-up was usually discouraged in the ring, but the social experts said that people were more likely to bet on a fight that had a clear underdog than on a "fair fight."

"Get up in his face, pal," Rylee's trainer encouraged, his fingers drumming on the rope.

Rylee had to win. Losing would mean throwing away everything he and his team had fought to build. In some ways, being a boxer meant losing a fair amount of dignity. He was a dollar sign and a meal on the table for himself and his mum; he didn't mean much unless he won. Fortunately, his trainer, Skip Lawson, respected him deeply and was the one who encouraged him and mentored him while his sponsor and second trainer, Jason Floyd, challenged him ruthlessly.

"Come on, you tosser!" Rylee's opponent, the undisputed champion Roy Fitz, snarled. "Just get back down, and we can all go home."

Shaking his head, Rylee moved forward. He dodged one punch, giving him a chance to get low, and then backed Fitz against the ropes. Fitz kneed him twice in the ribs, which the referee discouraged, but that didn't stop Rylee. In between dodging his attacker's punches, Rylee unloaded hit after hit before recovering to a standing position and delivering a sweeping left-hand hook to Fitz's jaw. Fitz went down and stayed down until the referee announced the champion.

The crowd flew up from their seats, and Skip was the first to swing under the ropes and congratulate Rylee.

Grabbing the kid by the head, Skip whispered, "Knew you had it in ya! You had one more, didn't ya?" His heavy Irish accent always thickened when he was excited.

"Thanks, mate," Rylee panted through a weak smile as he looked over at Jason, who was still standing in the crowd with his arms folded.

"Don't ya worry about him, pal. You know how he is. He's proud of you in his own way," Skip assured, clapping Rylee on the back. He then grabbed Rylee's grey robe and draped it over his shoulders. "Come along."

Rylee's tutor, Smitty White, gave him a firm handshake before returning to the growing crowd. "Good one, lad."

"Thanks, Smitty," Rylee said with a small smile as Skip led him through the human pathway. But before they could exit the arena, Jason stepped forward.

In the dark growl that Rylee feared and Skip loathed, Jason said, "Let me talk to him."

Skip snorted and shook his head. "Not today, Jason. The boy's done enough. Leave him alone."

As Jason grinned through a row of annoyingly white teeth, his weather beaten features crinkled, emphasising the faded scars running down the right side of his face. He motioned Rylee forward and then glared at Skip. "How is he going to be a better fighter if he doesn't learn from each fight? He won because of me."

"He won because of us," Skip reminded him truthfully, placing a firm grip on the back of Rylee's neck. "Let's just get a drink and get some sleep."

Jason Floyd huffed as he watched the two men pass him. He was an ex-marine and knew the meaning of survival. He didn't care how old Rylee was nor how much he was able to tolerate; he would push him until he could no longer move a muscle. Jason was the perfect trainer and sponsor, but had it not been for Skip, Rylee would've been emotionally drained and discouraged.

Skip was a rookie trainer who loved boxing in the way a child dreamt of horses: he was passionate about the idea, but wasn't fully aware of all the sacrifices that came with it. He had an unrealistic view of the profession, but perhaps this was a good thing, as Rylee needed someone to balance out Jason's pragmatic personality. Skip loved the boy the way a father loved his only son, but sometimes Jason had the upper hand, and Skip wasn't always there to protect Rylee.

"Fine. But tomorrow, we're training six hours, and you're going to learn to move those feet faster." Jason cut in front of the two and gave Rylee a fierce glare before returning to their trailer outside.

Sighing, Skip looked down at Rylee, whose shoulders were now slumped beneath Skip's hands. "Don't worry. You did great. Another two weeks of paying for rent and food."

"I just feel like a sodding mule."

Skip shook his head. "No, Rylee. I know that's how you must feel. But I see it in your eyes. Every time you fight, that's all you are. It's what fuels you to be alive. That adrenaline you feel can't be taught. Your natural movement can't be trained. You were born to do this."

Smirking, Rylee looked up through the strands of his dark sweaty fringes. "I don't know any other life. And I wouldn't want the one I had before you found me."

"Good. Now, come on. You've got a big weekend ahead of ya, and you gotta sleep."

"All right. Thanks, Skip."

And this was just the first of many fights for these three men.

A boy. A trainer. And a marine. They had all come together in hopes of finding light at the end of the tunnel. They bled more than blood and took life's sucker punches with the bravery of veterans. But through it all, they transformed a small-town boy into the city's most courageous fighter.