by Cody Ryder
“I was born and raised here, actually,” Joe nodded, brushing a sweat-matted lock of hair from his forehead. “I moved up to Nor Cal for university and I ended up staying there.”
“Oh, okay. What brought you back down here? Family?”
“No,” Joe said. “Work.”
“Work. What do you do?”
“I…” He hesitated for a moment. “I’m an entrepreneur. I’ll just put it at that.”
Bruce nodded. “Mysterious. Fair enough.”
“How about you, Bruce, what do you do?”
“Family business.” He smiled. “I’ll put it at that.”
“So we’re both business owners,” Joe said. “No wonder you’re so stressed out. I could feel it in your punches.” He rubbed his palms and made a face. “I probably won’t be able to pick up a pencil for a week, thanks to you.”
Bruce grinned. “Hey, you encouraged me. Didn’t I say I was going to go all out?”
“Yeah, but had I known you were carrying so much pent up energy maybe I would’ve reconsidered. Not to mention, you’ve got fantastic technique.”
“I don’t do anything half-assed. I get the feeling you’re the same way.”
Joe’s lips pulled into a slight smile, and his reply came softly. “That’s right. You can’t be successful by doing things half-way.”
“No, you can’t.”
“Alright, everyone,” Frank said, walking to the middle of the room. “Break time’s over. Let’s get into some matches.”
“Finally,” they both said in unison, and laughed.
“Nobody is required to fight, but you’re all encouraged to,” said Frank. “You can drill as much as you want, but if you want to learn how to box you’ve got to do it. Any volunteers to start?”
Joe and Bruce exchanged a glance and raised their hands. “We’ll start, Frank,” Bruce said.
Frank turned around and clapped his hands together, a wide grin spreading on his face. “Bruce! I knew you would wanna fight. And your name is?”
“Joe.”
“Great, Joe. Welcome. Alright, center. Helmets on, mouths guards in. Two minute rounds.”
The two of them popped in their mouth guards and slipped on their padded boxing helmets, and then took the center while the rest of the class made a ring around the perimeter of the mat. They tapped gloves and then drew up their guards. They both only had one thing on their mind at that moment—how good is he?
“Fight!”
Back in San Francisco, Joe had a private instructor come to his home every Friday to give him boxing lessons. He was one of the best in town, hired by all sorts of Bay Area big shots like Larry Page and Mark Zuckerberg, and so Joe was more than confident in his boxing skills. He considered himself to be a competent boxer—not someone who could compete, but who could hold their own in a match against a skilled rookie. Later that night, he reassured himself that he’d probably let himself get too overconfident, and that was why it happened—not because Bruce was a better boxer than him or anything, but because he’d let his guard down.
Bruce’s punches came fast and concentrated in a flurry of red flashes that Joe barely dodged. He was not only just quick with his hands but light on his feet, and Joe had to dance around the mat to get away from him. Every time he tried to stop and counterattack, Bruce was on him slinging punches that exploded against his gloves and hooked under his guard to pound solidly against his chest. The cheering and encouraging shouts of the class filled his ears.
Get ahold of yourself, Joe, he thought. Stop letting him crowd you—damn, he’s fast! Are you going to let him get you so easily? Come on.
He spotted a rare break in Bruce’s guard and charged forward, gloves swinging. Nothing but air. Bruce effortlessly bobbed and weaved out of the way of his punches. Pop, pop. Joe felt his head jerk back twice as Bruce’s gloves said hello. He was starting to get frustrated now—he didn’t think he’d landed a single solid strike against anything but Bruce’s defense. Every time Joe pushed, Bruce pulled, vanishing from his reach. The frustration of being outmatched smoldered inside of him, and it wasn’t alone. Something else was flickering down in his heart, something that he certainly hadn’t expected to find now.
“Come on, Joe! Push!” Someone shouted.
“Good hook! Good hook!”
“Circle around him, circle around him!”
The voices started to fade to the background as if they submerging into liquid, and everything was starting to lose their focus in Joe’s vision except for one thing: Bruce and his azure eyes, locked solidly onto his gaze.
Frank’s voice seemed to come from a distance. “Thirty seconds left! Finish strong, boys!”
Joe was getting tired. He refused to acknowledge it, but it was true—his stamina was waning from dancing around so much, trying to get out from Bruce’s influence. He wasn’t used to all this evading; usually he was the one calling the shots.
Are you going to let him get the best of you?
One more push. One more…
Joe saw the punch coming in slow motion. He raised his arm to block it, but came short. It broke through his guard like an angry bull smashing through a wooden fence.
It took him a moment to realize that he was on the ground. The world was glowing and everything seemed to be vibrating. His head swam—were those stars? No, they look more like…flowers. Yeah, white flowers. Roses, maybe… He tried to stand up, but the spinning put him back on his behind.
The pitched whine that filled his ears slowly gave way to the sound of Bruce and Frank’s voices.
Bruce’s face came out of the haze as he crouched down in front of him, and the world slowly started to come back into focus. “—shit, are you okay, Joe? Hey.”
“Let’s get his helmet off,” Frank said. “Somebody grab him a water? Wow, Bruce, what a punch!”
“Joe,” Bruce said, squeezing his shoulder. “Are you okay? I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to get you that hard.”
“Whoah,” Joe said. “What a punch.”
Bruce held out his palm. “Here, take out your mouth guard…have some water.”
“Can you stand?” Frank asked. “How many fingers am I holding up?”
“I’m good, I’m good,” Joe said, getting to his feet. The spinning had stopped, and the lights were slowly dimming back to normal.
Frank clapped his hands together. “Alright, everyone. Well, that was a good way to start the matches. Who wants to go next?”
Five
Joe and Bruce walked into the parking lot, gym bags slung over their shoulders. The night had turned cold and stars filled he sky. The air on his sweat-dampened skin sent a tremble through his body, so Bruce pulled out a hoodie from his bag and slipped it on. He wrapped his gym towel around his neck and wiped off his forehead.
“Don’t you have a jacket?” he asked Joe. “It’s pretty cold tonight.”
“No,” Joe said. “I’m good. The cold doesn’t usually bother me. Being up north made me used to it. My car’s just over there anyway.”
“You know, I really don’t feel comfortable just letting drive off after knocking you out like that.”
“I’m okay, Bruce, really. And you didn’t knock me out, you just stunned me.” He grinned. “Next time, it’s not gonna happen the same way. I’ll be ready.”
“Okay, I’ll remember that. But seriously, Joe. Why don’t we go somewhere, just so I don’t feel so guilty? We could…go for coffee?”
They turned down one of the rows of cars. “This is mine,” Joe said, stopping in front of a black Tesla Model S. “And I’d love to go somewhere, just…not coffee.”
“You don’t like coffee?”
“No, it’s not that, I just would prefer to not have any caffeine at this hour.”
“I understand. Okay, well…hm. I just realized I have no idea what’s good to get at this hour besides coffee. I don’t usually go out much.”
Joe leaned against the side of his car. “How about a drink? I know a place. I know the
owner.”
“I don’t usually drink on weekdays, but…okay.”
“Hop in. I’ll drive. It’s nearby.”
As Bruce settled into the Tesla’s leather seats, he wondered just what kind of business Joe owned. He considered asking him about it again, but he remembered the answer that Joe had given back in the gym and decided against it. Sometimes people preferred not to talk about work, and he understood that—especially if they worked for a high-profile company or were majorly successful, and Bruce got the impression that Joe wasn’t just putting on airs.
Drives a Tesla and he’s from the Bay Area, he thought. He must have some kind of tech business.
“Ohh,” Joe groaned with a wince as he slowly reclined into his seat and drew the seat belt across him. “I’m going to be sore tomorrow. Those punches were like battering rams, man.” He rubbed his jaw and backed the car out.
Bruce gave him an apologetic look. “Your head okay?”
“Yeah. Just a little sore.”
The bar was nearby, and the route to get there took them straight past LeFlorette’s. Bruce glanced out at the shop as they passed, taking in the darkened windows that, at this hour just few months ago, would’ve still been glowing and silhouetted with night-time business. The sudden tightness that gripped Bruce’s chest only deepened when they passed by The Standard, still bustling with customers.
Bruce breathed a sigh and looked away. Leave work at work.
“Everything alright?” Joe asked.
“Yeah,” said Bruce. “I just realized that maybe we should’ve changed. Sweaty gym clothes.”
“It’s alright. It’ll just be a quick drink anyway. Work night, after all.”
He swung a left and then pulled the car into a small parking lot. “We’re here.”
The place was one that Bruce had heard of before—Julia had mentioned it, and he’d had customers who frequented it. It was a fairly upscale place for the neighborhood, with a sleek modern interior that let you know you immediately you weren’t going to find three-dollar PBRs on draught. It was mostly empty, with a young couple seated at a corner booth snacking on a cheese plate and sipping red wine. Bruce felt even weirder about waltzing in wearing a pair of gym shorts and a hoodie, but Joe seemed completely nonplussed about it.
“Hey, Eddie,” Joe called, and a bearded man in a knit beanie standing behind the bar turned around.
“Joe! Hey, what’s up man? Welcome.”
“Can we take this table?” Joe asked, pointing to one of the tables against the wall.
“Sure thing, bro. What can I get you?”
“Scotch and soda, please. Not too strong. What do you want, Bruce?”
“I’ll take the same.”
They went over to the table, and again Joe winced as he lowered himself into the seat with a long and strained groan.
“Oh, now you’re exaggerating,” Bruce laughed. “I didn’t hit you that hard.”
“I thought you wanted to go somewhere because you were worried about me,” Joe said, looking wounded. He smiled.
“Yeah. Well I’d feel bad if I found out later I gave you concussion and nobody got you to a hospital.”
“How do you know I’m not married?” Joe asked.
“Well, obviously, you’re not wearing a ring.”
“Okay. I could have a boyfriend at home.” Joe said. “Or a girlfriend,” he added quickly. “Someone.”
The ordering of his response made Bruce blink. “Well, I don’t think you’d be staying out at a bar with someone you just met if you did. Unless you’re that kind of guy, but I don’t think you are.”
“Fair enough,” Joe said. “Well, you’re right. I don’t have anyone at home to make sure I don’t have brain damage. So, thank you.”
“Your scotch and sodas,” said Eddie, coming up to the table. “Enjoy, guys.”
They picked up their glasses and held them up in a salute. “Cheers to…not having brain damage,” Bruce said with a laugh.
Joe smiled, leaning in. “Cheers to that. And to us meeting. I’m looking forward to getting back in the ring with you, Bruce.”
They clinked glasses and drank.
Joe clicked on the light in his condo and tossed his gym bag down onto the living room floor next to the towers of moving boxes, and pulled off his shirt as he made his way to the bathroom. His chin throbbed lightly, and his chest and abs felt like tenderized meat. He smiled. It was all a good hurt—he hadn’t taken a beating like this in a while. And he certainly hadn’t met anyone in a long time who could dish it out like Bruce could.
Bruce.
Joe tugged his gym shorts off his thighs and turned on the hot water in his shower until the mirror started to steam up. He stepped under the water, gritting his teeth for a moment as the heat nipped his skin and bathed his soreness until it all felt wonderfully numb. He let the water tumble down over his head, drenching him entirely, and ran his fingers back through his hair. As he closed his eyes, his mind filled with a vision: his face. His handsome face, with those eyes—those blue eyes. They were the last thing that he’d seen before getting tagged in the jaw, and they were burned into his mind along with the burst of whirling white blooms that looked so much like flowers.
He was good at reading people’s eyes. It’d always been something he had a skill in; it had armed him in business school and had been honed through all the meetings and negotiations he’d had to go through to get The Standard started. The feeling that he’d gotten from Bruce’s eyes was that he’d lost something, or he was trying to find something—Joe wasn’t entirely sure. But it was there; he’d seen it in the flash before he was knocked flat on his ass.
“Tell me something,” Joe had said when they were back at the bar with their scotch and sodas. “I noticed your intensity went up when our instructor gave his talk about stress.”
“Mm,” Bruce said, his face in his glass.
“What were you thinking about?”
He watched as Bruce swirled the ice in his glass, and knew that the question might’ve been too intrusive given their new acquaintance, but he wanted to know. The curiosity had gotten him as hard as Bruce’s punch had.
Bruce swigged down the rest of his drink and set the glass down. For a moment, Joe thought that he wasn’t going to give him any answer at all, but he finally spoke up. “Have you ever wondered about the direction your life has taken you?”
“Sure. Doesn’t everyone?”
“I guess so. I’d been so sure about my life that I never really stopped to think about where I was going, until recently. We get so used to things, you know? We think it’ll all be the same forever. Things are going good, they’ve always been, what could possibly change? And then, bam. Curve ball. Suddenly you’re left wondering about everything. About if everything you thought you were so sure about is even right for you anymore.” He chuckled. “I’m sure you’re thinking, ‘everyone goes through that at your age’, or something.”
“Hey,” Joe said, patting the table. “I’m not an old man; I’m only thirty-three.”
“Sorry,” Bruce laughed.
“To be honest…I’m going through just about the same thing right now. Can you tell me any specifics? Maybe I can offer some elderly advice.” He smiled, and Bruce laughed again.
“Well…I’d rather not go too much into it. It’s…complicated.”
“Okay,” Joe said, leaning back in his chair. “Fair enough.”
“Basically it has to do with my business. And the future of said business. And what the future of said business means for the future of me.”
Joe nodded. “What is your business?”
He watched as Bruce ran the tips of fingers along the perspiring surface of his glass, his eyes drawn down. A slow smile pulled his lips. “Sorry. I’d rather not say, exactly.”
“I understand,” Joe said. There it was. That flame of curiosity, and it was burning brighter.
In the shower, Joe lathered shampoo into his hair. He had his eyes shut, and his mind
still lingered around the memory of their conversation in the bar. He was intrigued. He felt that ache to know what it was that Bruce was going through—something that he hadn’t felt in a long time. He wanted to know more about him. He was curious about him. No, it was more than just a normal curiosity. When was the last time he’d had this feeling…?
He could hardly remember.
He washed the shampoo from his hair, his thoughts turning to Bruce’s clear blue eyes. They were gorgeous, and his heart was beating faster just imagining them. His heart throbbed…and something else too.
