Walking into the gym to the sound of Rush Tua singing Picture to Burn had never been exciting for Eddie but that day? There was nothing better.

"Eddie Yamaguchiiiiii!" Rush yelled, like he was an announcer at one of their matches. He had enough of a voice that he didn't need the microphone coming from the ceiling to amplify him. A microphone would make Coach toss him out on his ass without a second strike—a caught foul ball. The second reason that Coach would probably kick him out of the gym was the with great tits comes great responsibility crop top he was wearing. "Back from her little stint in prison! Ready to attack!"

"You're so fucking loud for no fucking reason," Eddie said—taking the headphones off her ears. "These are supposed to be noise-cancelling."

"Not Rush cancelling. That's why you can hear me."

"And to think I almost missed you—oof."

Unfortunately, Rush was a hugger. He had been for as long as Eddie had known him. Not a soul on the earth could've told him to get off them because it only resulted in him hugging them tighter. Eddie gave him a couple slaps to the back if only to eventually get him off her.

"I missed you." Rush pulled away after overstaying his welcome in her bubble.

"Gross."

"You didn't deserve what they gave you."

"Well," Eddie said. "I'm here now. Whatever. We move on."

"You don't have to move on."

"I would love to move on," Eddie said. "I was being reactive and stupid and reckless."

"Is that you talking or—"

"What the hell else do you want me to say?"

"That he fucking deserved it, Eddie," Rush said. "Because he did. You know we've got your back. Half the fuckin' association has your back."

"Doesn't matter a damn, Rush," Eddie said. "Can we get to work?"

"Now I know you're not okay," a voice said. Coach Tenadii was always lurking around the corner. Never one to announce his presence, but also never one that needed to. His voice alone—never one to lose the Kiwi accent—could command the attention of a room. One with a thousand Rush Tua's and their deafening decibel levels. "You actually want to be on task."

"I'm actually fine," Eddie lied. "The reason I'd love to be on task is because I got my period this morning because I haven't been working out and that clearly changed my cycle and I'm about ready to kill myself because of it. Something needs to be right about today."

"You get to see me—"

"You are not a highlight of my day."

"Why you gotta be so mean—"

Eddie almost growled. "Quoting Taylor Swift at me is not the way to get me to want to spend time with you, you stupid fuck—"

"Oh-kay," Coach said. He placed his hands in the pockets of the hoodie Eddie had never seen look new. Always distressed, edges fraying after too many washes. "I didn't miss this."

"Yes, you did."

"Believe me, son, I didn't."

"How was the week of just Taylor Swift music—" Eddie dropped her duffel bag on a nearby bench. She pulled her wraps out of her bag, sitting down on one of the benches near the ring, holding them out to Coach. "Please?"

"You get in trouble like that again, Yams, and I'll pay the fine myself to keep you in here," Coach said, taking the wraps from her and tossed one over his shoulder. He took one of her hands and started wrapping. Expertly despite his exasperation. Nobody could wrap as fast, or as well, as Coach could. He should've entered speed competitions as a side hustle if coaching ever gave up on him. "Never ditch me again."

"Says the man who I caught singing You're On Your Own, Kid in his office just yesterday," Rush said, grinning. He was always doing that. Eddie could never figure out why. Or how. Especially for someone who got as little sleep as he did.

"I did no such thing," Coach said.

"And he knows the words," Rush said.

Coach punched him in the stomach. Rush nearly keeled, not at all braced to take a punch like he would in a ring. Like he had in the ring. Many times. Rush was the current light heavyweight champion, after all. He fought his way to the top. Every single world ranking a bloodbath. Not only for his opponent.

Rush groaned. "You've left me no choice, Coach."

"Don't."

Rush was already sprinting to where he hijacked the gym's stereo system every single time he came to training. Coach rolled his eyes.

"Did ya miss me?" Eddie asked, nudging Coach with her elbow.

Coach pointed a finger at her. "This is your fault."

"What's my faul—" Eddie stopped herself when the music started again.

"He's been doing this since your suspension. Like he's a goddamn banshee calling you. Begging you to come back here."

"Think you mean a siren."

"Think that sounds like burpees, you little shit." Coach dropped her hands, wrapped to perfection. Grudgingly held his fists up, Eddie tapped their knuckles together. "They're okay?"

Eddie nodded.

There was no denying the opening notes of Mr. Brightside. If Eddie was someone who teared up at gestures, that might've gotten her. Rush was welcoming her home in his own stupid way. The PA system squeaked to life, Coach groaned. Shook his head as he tried to focus on wrapping Eddie's hands.

"Coming out of my cage and I've been doin' just fine!" Rush screamed.

"Ass down here or you're running for the rest of practice!" Coach yelled.

How Rush heard the threat over the sound of his own horrid singing was almost admirable. Then again, who wanted to do cardio for an entire training session? (As far as Eddie was concerned, that's what sex was for.) (She simply told Coach that she went for a run when she couldn't sleep at night—it was better for both of them to not discuss why Eddie's cardio was sometimes logged at two in the morning.)

The PA went off and Rush came sprinting out. Always willing to run less when he knew Coach never delivered an empty threat. He left the music on, though.

"Welcome back, Eddie," Coach said. Turning on his heel and getting into the ring. "Have you been training outside of the gym or are you a week behind?"

Eddie cleared her throat. "Kept up the cardio."

Rush made a sort of strangled noise in his throat. Unfortunately, being Eddie's friend, if the person she did her cardio with hadn't been great—sometimes Eddie liked to bar hop and bed hop—he was the only person she wanted to call to come get her. If they happened to wake up before Eddie could catch her getaway car, Rush always kept his old wedding band and was more than willing to play the jealous husband. Worked every time. He deserved an Oscar for some of those performances. It was how Rush and Eddie worked.

If she'd called either of her sisters, they would've lectured her. Rush simply made sure she was okay. Both reactions were blankets woven with love, but one was itchy and the other exactly what she needed. Rush also had a decent bed in his guest room, so Eddie didn't have to spend another lonely night in her empty apartment.

"Need I remind you, your fight against Sameh is in November? And you've missed some time?"

"I know."

"Been smoking again?"

"I would never."

"So the cigarette smell when you came in—"

"Maybe it was Rush," Eddie offered. Rush went to punch her and ended up with his arm pinned behind his back. Bitch.

Coach sighed and stomped his foot on the ropes, pulling the rest up with his arm. "Get up here, you idiots."

Eddie let go of Rush, looked at him. Tried to sprint forward, was promptly tripped by a stuck out foot. Eddie reached for Rush's ankle as he ran ahead of her—like she was an ankle-biter from Paranormal Activity or some shit. Now. Whenever Eddie met fans, in the street or on carpets or at charity galas, many times the first things said to her was that she looked taller on TV. Eddie didn't know how to tell those people that the entire circuit was pretty short, relatively speaking. Hell, Eddie had to look up when she talked to Maverick. Dictionary definition of short wasn't even written words, it was a picture of him cut and pasted like a kindergarten art project.

All that was to say: Eddie fucking missed Rush's ankle. And he sprinted up to the ring like Coach was giving out free fudgsicles—Rush loved fudgsicles—before Eddie could pathetically scramble to her feet. Coach rolled his eyes.

What a fucking homecoming.

*

There weren't any other coaches in the association who had two clients. Publications galore wondered how he handled having two boxers. And the truth? He was good at scheduling, bargaining. Since he retired and started coaching, he put some phenomenal boxers in the ring. It was one of the reasons Eddie only wanted to fight with him in her corner. One of the reasons she was willing to allow half his time to go to Rush if it meant she had the other half.

Sometimes it was like he had eyes in the back of his head, two sets of mouths that kept both of them feeling like they were being attended to in practices. Sure, Eddie understood that she wasn't a reigning champion like Rush was. That because she wasn't number one, she didn't get the same amount of cheers like Rush did, or Thema would when the time came for their fight. Eddie was still trying to earn her name. She'd been trying to earn her name her entire life.

It was the same as Bodhi Hayes, Rush's next fight. Except people would forgive Bo if he lost. They tended to tell Eddie and any other woman who lost that they were never deserving of the fight in the first place—that all the men who liked to use keyboards instead of boxing gloves could've easily won that fight without training. Everyone loved to cheer until they lost. Then they liked to tell them just how shitty they always were. Nothing like kicking someone when they're down.

Eddie beat Wren Swiftwater via knockout the night she was suspended by the WBA. The only thing that saved her fight against Thema was that she openly spoke in favour of Eddie. Said that people needed to respect fighters or they were going to keep fighting back. The only reason she wasn't put on the cross? People fucking adored a champion.

And the cycle would continue. Over and over. Until every single one of them knew what it was like to be loved, and everyone knew what it was like to be destroyed.

Eddie was working with the speed bag while Coach had Rush in the ring. She didn't expect Giovanni's comments to race through her mind every quick punch she threw. It wasn't the worst thing he'd ever said—but that didn't matter, did it? Eddie had done that stupid interview with Archibald Rigby to tell her side of the story if only to let someone know she had a voice that she could use. Warn him of what would happen if he said something about her again. As if he was punished other than maybe a broken nose, or a black eye—he served no time. She'd seen too much red that night to really know what she was punching—she just knew she'd thrown a fist. Whatever she'd hit would heal.

Eddie didn't do permanent damage. Giovanni Perez's face would forget what Eddie had done eventually. Move on. Eddie wasn't sure she could.

Eddie didn't know she'd yelled until a hand clasped her shoulder. She turned. Chest heaving. Rising and falling like she'd run up a mountain.

"Eds..." It was Rush. Worry dressed his face. He looked like he wanted to hug her but there was no denying he knew she'd probably hit him if he tried.

Over Rush's shoulder, Coach and Rush's sparring partner stared at her. No judgement, only worry.

"Do you want to talk—"

The small bell on the gym's front door jingled. The four of them turned, attention away from Eddie. Pattering footsteps should've been enough to tell them who it was. Every single Thursday, the same footsteps found their way to Rush.

"Hey, buddy!"

And like that, Eddie was dust in the wind. A tumbleweed in the desert. She was the crumbs on the floor swept up at the end of the night whenever someone bothered to remember they were there.

Rush's son meant the world to him, lit up the dark days. It was a shame he only got to see him a couple times a week because of work—sometimes worse when he had to travel for a fight, spend a couple weeks across the country, or worse, across the ocean. The Australian fighter he won the title from who announced his retirement the year prior hurt Rush a lot. Being in Brisbane when his son was in San Francisco was worse than any punch a reigning champion could hit him with.

Rush hugged him tightly. Laki had to be about ten now, maybe eleven. Eddie couldn't quite remember when his birthday was. The sweetest kid, she'd even admit that out loud. Nobody hated the kid, even if they hated kids. And Eddie hated kids.

"What are you doing here, little man?"

"Aren't you coming to my soccer game?" Laki pouted a little. "You said you were going to come watch this week."

"I—" Rush stumbled. Not because he wanted to miss the soccer game. He never fucking wanted to miss a soccer game, he sometimes had to miss the soccer game.

"Yes," Coach said. "He is."

Rush turned to look at him. Shock dressing his face.

Coach raised an eyebrow at him. Challenging him to protest. "And he's taking you for ice cream after."

"Yes!" Laki made a fist and pulled it close to his chest before he looked around Rush's arm. "Auntie Eds, are you coming?"

"No," Coach answered. "She's not."

"Not this time, bud," Eddie said.

"Auntie Eddie was there last week," Laki said.

"Was she?" Rush asked, putting his hand between Laki's shoulders and moving him toward the door. Grabbed his gym bag without breaking a stride. "Tell me about it."

"I scored a goal!" Laki said.

"Did you?"

Eddie wished she'd recorded it. But that suspension had ruined a lot of things, going to a kid's soccer game was a way to clear her mind. Laki nearly ran off the field to hug her when he realized she was there. That was worth it. The goal was scored about five minutes later. Right before halftime. The moment that whistle blew, he ran over. His grandmother stared on. She might've taken good care of him, but that didn't mean she wanted anything to do with Rush. Never one to forgive the teen pregnancy when Rush wanted to stay in a dangerous career that could take him away at any moment.

"See you tomorrow, kid," Coach said.

Rush gave him a small peace sign as he opened the door for Laki. Thanked him silently, Coach nodded at him. The small bell rang again.

Coach looked at Eddie. "Ready for the ring or do you need a minute?"

Eddie nodded. "I'm good."

*

We're going out tonight.

i don't like you that way. also, too forward. Eddie rolled over in her bed, burying her head into her Saint Bernard's back. He was long since asleep. Had been since he'd settled down from Eddie returning home after practice. Legs like gelatin and arms deader than a sea that hadn't seen a tossed rock in decades. She didn't even want to call Chess to come fuck her for a fear already gracing her brain that she wasn't going to be able to walk the next day.

Not like that.

:(

Make up your mind.

don't like you like that. don't want to go out. coach worked me to death after you left.

Laki's team won.

that's good.

WE. ARE. GOING. OUT. TONIGHT.

and what if i said no?

Then you'd be a shithead.

then call me a shithead.

Tamara took Laki home. Can we please go do something?

Eddie never understood the pipeline of going from mom and dad to their real first names. She supposed that if anyone deserved it, it would be Rush's mom. Her parents hadn't been around long enough for her to learn what it was like to let them go. She had to learn as she went.

The poor dog was probably confused as all hell as to why Eddie would leave him alone all day and then not let him leave her bed all night.

"You don't think I should go, right?" Eddie asked. A snore in response. A loud one.

Eddie sighed. Her phone rang—she considered letting it go to voicemail. But all he would do is call again. She pressed the phone to her ear. "I'm tired."

"You can still be tired surrounded by friends."

"That's stupid."

"Maverick will be there."

Eddie stared at her ceiling. Plain white bullshit ceiling. "How do you know Maverick?"

"Met him in London a couple years ago."

"How?"

"Does it matter?"

"Maybe."

"What if I said we finally get to meet his Everleigh?" Rush asked. "Or. His—his girlfriend Everleigh. That's what I meant."

Eddie and Rush said, "His Everleigh works," at the same time.

"Why do you want to go out?"

"Because you got back from your suspension," Rush said. "That's something to celebrate. Bo said he wants some of us to meet someone."

"Meet someone?"

"You know that guy he's been not so subtly posting pictures of on Instagram?"

"You really shouldn't be this good of friends with someone you're going to fight."

"Bo's cool. And he wants us to meet someone. And we should do that."

Eddie would be a liar if she said she hadn't had a couple drinks before Rush had called. Maybe that was why she was so tired. But the thought of meeting someone who might be seen around the WBA if things went well with Bodhi was exciting, to say the least. New partners usually were. "When and where?"

"You won't regret this, Eds."

"I probably will."