[PHOTO.JPG: A sneaky photo of one side of Maverick. He is facing the soundboard, hands in motion. The bottom edge of the photo is covered by a leg, clearly crossed to try and cover up the phone taking a photo. Maverick has his usual hoodie, jean shorts, and headphones combo, but the moustache is new. And not in a good way.]

            told you it was bad.

            he looks like fucking Chick Hicks.

            oh, this is Axel, btw.

            Eddie laughed down at her phone. who the hell else would it be?

            potential sponsors?

            making cars references?

            Brendon Ellis did say you deserved better. maybe you're looking to bag some F1 sponsors, i don't know... Michael Jordan played baseball. and whatever.

            are you saying you think i should be an f1 driver?

            or just stick a sponsor sticker on my ass?

            i'm trying to say you're good at your job, maybe that was a bad way to say it.

            usually when you don't use the words good and job, people don't know you mean good job.

            noted.

            shouldn't you be recording?

            Mav's actually recording a song while i write.

            don't write a song about me. <3

            i'm not Carly Simon.

            ???

            oh, i can't wait for the next karaoke night.

            bold of you to think i'll be there.

            bold of you to think Rush won't kidnap you. again.

            touché.

            Axel took a moment to reply again. Pornstache McGee needs me. talk later.

            depending on how long these two last not touching each other.

            Leigh's blushing and not even trying to hide it. the song is too good. somehow Mav's power with the written word overpowers the disgusting squirrel on his lip. imagine that. 

            Eddie fought the urge to tell him about her Beneficial Friendship experience.

            fight good. make Rush cry or something. i'll try to not go blind staring at less hot Bob Belcher.

            i really respect that you're aware Bob Belcher is hot.

            if i were into men i would want to date Bob Belcher or Rush.

            i'll be sure to pass that on to Rush.

            he knows he's my man. <3

            have fun listening to horny little love songs.

             that's why Paul had to write the word 'silly,' you know. he knew nobody would ever have enough of horny love songs.

            i really do have to go. don't want to piss off Dick Dastardly.

            are you looking these up or do you know them by memory?

            feel like coming over and finding out later?

            Eddie got slapped in the head with a towel. Phone dropped from her hand, scattering across the floor.

            "Hey, princess," Rush said. "You good?"

            Eddie rubbed the side of her head. Took her cloth wraps off her shoulder and slapped him with them. "Been better, you fuck."

            Rush nodded at her. Unphased. "Little... visit? From a friend...?"

            Eddie looked down. Oh, baby. It wasn't like Rush and her hadn't seen each other in the showers before. One side of the room was for her, the other side of the room was for him. They were pretty desensitized to the others' body at that point. Which, ultimately, meant that when something was different, the other one knew almost immediately. Rush would probably be the first person to know whenever she decided to be pregnant purely by the curvature of her stomach when it happened.

            That was to say, the couple scattered hickeys on her chest were new. She could only imagine a couple had formed on her neck, too. Eddie hadn't really assessed what she'd looked like before leaving Axel's, and she didn't care what she looked like when she came to sparring practice. There was no reason to check. Anyone she elected to have sex with knew the rule that if they were going to leave any marks, said marks had to be able to be covered by her boxing uniforms or gym clothes. Evidently, drunk Eddie hadn't informed Axel and she'd enjoyed his lips and his teeth and his tongue enough that she hadn't stopped him, either. Embarrassing. At least her next publicized fight wasn't for a few months.

            "I went to Chess' place last night. After Axel took me home. You know me. Hate sleeping alone. Tabloids sure do love it."

            Rush nodded. "Good to let off some steam."

            Eddie rolled her eyes. "I don't want to talk about this with you. You're like my dad."

            "We're the same age."

            "No, we're not. You're 30."

            "Eds, it's March—"

            "Don't talk to me."

            "I wouldn't leave you. I've told you this repeatedly."

            Eddie stared at him for a moment. "Low blow."

            "I regretted it the moment it came out of my mouth."

            "I'm punching you in the head for that one."

            "That's fair. I'm sorry."

            Eddie threw the two strips of cloth at him, in a relatively non-menacing fashion. "Can you help me wrap my hands, please?"

            Rush didn't do much to stop them hitting him. Accepted that Eddie wanted them to hit him. Picked them up off the floor after they had dropped. "Shove over."

            Eddie moved a little on the bench she sat on. Rush sat down, facing her. She had small hands, there was no doubt. Probably could've wrapped them herself. But Rush did it better. Gentler. Rush checked for circulation and Eddie wrapped her hands like she never wanted to feel her fingers again. 

            He tossed one of the cloths over his shoulder. Took her hand in his gently. Wrapped like he'd done it 1000 times. Maybe this was lucky 1001. Something special about palindromes. Rush wrapped her hands when he was mad at her. Rush wrapped her hands when she was crying. Rush wrapped her hands when they were laughing so hard he could barely manage to wrap them and Coach would come in and yell that they needed to get going—which only made them laugh harder.

            The first time Rush wrapped Eddie's hands, he asked after every single weave if it was too tight, if it was fitting the way Eddie wanted it to. Coach was late—had a doctor's appointment that ran long. Came in time to wrap Rush's hands, was shocked that Rush had already done Eddie's. Slapped him on the back, told him he'd done well. Basically Coach's version of bowing down and kissing the ground he walked on.

            Rush had done Eddie's hands enough times that he didn't have to ask anymore. He knew every curve. Every single weave Eddie wanted. Like it was second nature. Like he knew it better than himself.

            Rush finished with her second hand and held his fists up like he always did. Like Coach always did. Eddie tapped her knuckles against his.

            "Good?"

            "Thank you." Eddie went to stand up and Rush put his hands on her shoulders, gently pushing them down. She shot him a questioning look.

            "Are you good?"

            Eddie shook his hands off her shoulders like a chill had gone up her spine. "Is Laki okay?"

            "He's fine," Rush said. "Didn't really know what was happening. He was worried about you."

            "I'm sorry."

            "Ew, stop saying that to me." Rush crossed his arms. "I've told you it's fine."

            "It's embarrassing. I can't do that in front of him."

            "Eds, maybe you need to talk to someone."

            "People keep saying that to me."

            "Maybe they're right—"

            "I don't want them to be right—"

            "That's different than thinking they're wrong."

            "I hear Coach calling my name."

            "No, you don't."

            Eddie pushed off the bench. "Don't want to keep him waiting."

            "Eddie."

            "Your funeral if you piss him off."

            "Eddie."

            Eddie was already on her way out. "I'm already on the hit list. Ready to go."

            "Don't make me full name you."

            Eddie cartwheeled out the door—like she had since she was little. If August taught her one thing while she was growing up, it was how to do a cartwheel. Eddie taught Laki how to do one the second time they had met each other. It was an important part of being a human being.

            Eddie ran to the main gym. Pictured Rush's eyeroll and ran a little faster. Coach looked surprised she was out first. She was never out first, unless she said something wrong to Rush. Or the press. Or she'd gotten herself in trouble somehow. There were many reasons to run into practice first, to say the least. A quick seat on the benches at ringside was likely all the more suspicious.

            Rush jogged in, wrapping his hand as he ran. Some kind of stellar skill. The other waited for Coach's assistance. He got his hand wrapped quickly. Coach had been wrapping hands long enough that if he went blind and lost the feeling in his fingertips, he could still wrap them by the sound the cloth made as it wove.

            "Took you two boneheads long enough."

            "Rush's fault."

            "It was not."

            "Have I ever given any indication I give a rat's ass who's fault it was?" Coach asked. "Drop. Now."

            Rush smacked Eddie in the shoulder and Eddie smacked him right back. Both stood up from their spots on the bench and started going to town. The worst was when Coach never said a number. It meant the burpees would be part of practice for a while. Sparring later. Damn.

            It was going to be a long one.

*

Rush vomited and Eddie lasted about 15 minutes extra before Coach took pity on her and let her stop doing burpees. That was, Eddie wasn't sure Coach remembered that she was still there when he went to make sure Rush was drinking enough water. Taking care of his champion. The one that would be remembered. The one in the history books. The one with the belt.

            Perks of being the current champ in his weight division meant that Rush got to go home when he puked. Perks of being suspended and behind on training, Eddie got to spend more one on one time working on her fighting. Coach would wear the punch mitts for as long as Eddie wanted him to—it was one of their deals.

            Two Eddies existed in the world and she had always known that one were persevere.

            There was the Eddie who liked to shut down. The one who needed to crawl her way through the dark and try to find some semblance of light in the grimy tunnel. She had dirt under her nails and blood in her mouth and there were too many moments where giving up was a lot easier than going.

            That suspension did a lot to Eddie.

            It took away the second version of her.

            This version. The one who was sweaty and panting and had hairs sticking up in every direction and it felt good. Eddie was at her best when she was in the ring. With her silly satin shorts and her devil nickname. With Mr. Brightside blaring and her boots ready to fucking dance. Just her and her gloves, her opponent and their flying fists. Eddie could dodge and swing and somehow the crowd screaming was completely silenced by blood pumping in her ears in the best way possible.

            To suspend her from doing the only thing she ever loved was to sentence her to jail, to death if it lasted any longer.

            It was some kind of euphoria to be back. But even at her best, there was no version of Eddie that didn't feel like she deserved the blood and the bruises and the broken bones.

            "Got something to tell you, Eds," Coach said. Eddie punched his hand.

            "Now?" Eddie asked, ducking as he swung his hand above her.

            "You're already punching me."

            "What?"

            "WBA called me."

            "About?" Eddie hit a nice triple combo. Dodged two swings from Coach.

            "They want you to have an exhibition match." Never one to take the bandage off slow.

            "I'm in the title fight. Why would I—"

            "Pissed off a lot of people, kiddo."

            "Did Giovanni piss off a lot of people?"

            Coach took another swing at her head and Eddie barely dodged it. "Watch it."

            "He should watch it. I did my time."

            "Eddie."

            Eddie stepped back. Lowered her guard, hands at her sides. "Why do I still have to take the heat for this?"

            "Because you were the one who broke a man's nose."

            Eddie tossed her hands out at her sides. "You said you were on my side."

            "I am on your side," Coach said, "but that doesn't mean I don't have rules to follow. The same ones you do. They want an exhibition between you and Parker Ross. She gets her ring advantage."

            "I fought Wren—"

            "Why do you have this incessant need to argue with everything I say?"

            "I'm stating a fact—" Eddie hit the punching mitt into the side of Coach's face. Like a damn child.

            "It's an exhibition match on your best behaviour or there's no title fight for you." Coach swung his hand at her. Dismissively, not like he was still working on her dodging. "Hit the shower if you're gonna argue."

            "Coach—"

            "I'm not playing this game with you, Eds," Coach said. "I know Rush humours you. And your sisters. And whoever else you hang out with at any given time. But I won't. I will always be on your side, in your corner. You know that. But if you want this title, you need to show them that you can behave. Or they'll remove you before you even have the chance."

            "I'm only half the problem." Coach had a way of making Eddie feel smaller than she already was. It wasn't that he loomed, it's the way he pushed his shoulders back and held his chin up high. Called her kid like she wasn't grown.

            "Kid, I want to see you go all the way, I really do," Coach said. "But sometimes you gotta lose the fight to win the war. Got it?"

            Eddie nodded. "What do I need to know about Parker?"

            She'd seen the other fighter a couple times. Almost every fighter in the WBA supported her actions that led to her suspension, but she hadn't heard much else about her. She was newer. Lockwood and her trained in the same gym. Not like Eddie could ask—August had a strict no boxing talk rule at the dinner table whenever Eddie visited.

            Coach shrugged. "Nasty uppercut. Nothing you can't defend against."

            Eddie stepped toward Coach and put her hands up in defense. "My best behaviour?"

            "Just like prison, Eds," Coach said, putting his hands up. "You know about prison, right?"

            Eddie punched his hand.

*

"Hey, loser." Eddie gently shook the bottle of rosé that was definitely from her eclectic cellars and not the liquor store around the corner. Definitely.

            Axel looked amused. Leaned against his doorframe. Eddie should've known better than to read his shirt. Mount and Do Me in bold letters. "Loser?"

            Eddie nodded. Scrunched her face up a little. "Loser."

            "You're the loser who didn't reply to my text."

            Eddie looked around. "I'm here."

            Axel narrowed his eyes. "Suppose you are."

            "Here's the thing."

            "This'll be good." Axel crossed his arms. Lulled his head against the frame.

            Eddie wanted to smack him. "You need to not."

            "Not?"

            Eddie unbuttoned her shirt a little.

            "In the hallway?" Axel raised his eyebrow.

            Eddie wanted to smack him. "You have a wandering mouth."

            "How was work with Sportacus, Axel? Wonderful, Yamaguchi. How was it explaining to Rush where you spent the night? Horrific, thank you."

            "I need you to not have a wandering mouth."

            "That's part of my charm."

            Eddie ignored the ways her eyes dipped to look at that very mouth and the stupid smile on it. She pulled her shirt back a little to show the marks left. "This? Not happening again."

            "You seemed to enjoy it."

            "Shut up."

            Axel pressed his lips together and tried not to laugh. At least he did, in fact, shut up.

            There were few times in her life where Eddie was as serious as she was in that moment. She pulled her shirt back to cover herself. "I don't get to enjoy it because if I put on my uniform and news outlets see that, I'm going to be slut-shamed and there's nothing I can do to stop that. I learned that the hard way, and I'm never doing that again."

            Axel looked less amused. Nodded. "Noted."

            "Thank you."

            "So when you say uniform... does that mean...?"

            Eddie rolled her eyes. "The circumstances with which you may leave a mark are that it has to be coverable by my uniform."

            Axel nodded again. "Duly noted."

            "Now," Eddie said.

            Axel stepped out of the way of the door. "Now?"

            "Now."

            Axel took her wrist and Eddie let herself be gently dragged in the door. Let the collar of her shirt fall over her shoulder and did little to prevent it nor fix it. "How'd it go with Rush?"

            "It didn't."

            Axel looked at her. "So we're not telling him?"

            "I'm not going to be the one to tell him," Eddie said, shutting the door behind her. "You can do whatever the hell you want, I'm not your mother."

            Axel turned to look at her. Big, dumbass smile. "I'm not Oedipus."

            Eddie snorted. Rolled her eyes.

            "How was sparring practice? I heard the bitch baby threw up."

            "He did," Eddie said. "Is that what you text about?"

            "Sometimes," Axel said. "What else happened?"

            Eddie narrowed her eyes. "I have to fight an exhibition to prove I can be well-behaved. Are we really talking about this now?"

            "You don't want to talk?"

            "There are other things I'd rather be doing."

            "Recording was fun." Axel's hands pulled at the belt loops of her jeans. Eddie took a step closer. "I did not write a song because we weren't there for much longer. I didn't want to double text. That's embarrassing."

            "You texted me like four times in a row this morning." Eddie unscrewed the bottle she held and took a drink straight from the top.

            "Embarrassing."

            Eddie held out the bottle to him, which he quickly took a swig from. "Anything else you want to chat about?"

            "Where's the exhibition?"

            "I was kidding."

            Axel sipped a little more rosé.

            "New Orleans."

            "Funny," he said, and Eddie snatched the bottle back. "I just signed a contract to photograph an exhibition match there. They wouldn't tell me who it was, but they did tell me I had to be ready for anything. Weren't happy I was the only one who didn't have photos of a certain someone punching a certain someone else."

            Eddie took a long sip from the bottle. Swallowed hard. Kept her hand around the neck of it like a noose. "Funny."

            "Funny."

            Eddie narrowed her eyes at him.

            "Can I admit something?"

            "Fill your boots."

            "I was trying to find somewhere to put my Millennium Falcon 'cause I finished last night."

            "Poor choice of words."

            Axel giggled. Not chuckled. Not laughed. Giggled. "Long story short, my room's a fuckin' mess. I tore that place apart, got distracted by photos and books and clothes I forgot I had."

            As if Eddie gave a shit. Teasing him was necessary, though. "Do you always invite people over and then destroy your bedroom—"

            "You didn't reply to my text—"

            "Is that why you mentioned the kitchen counter—"

            "Oh my God, no—"

            Eddie laughed. "Did you know you get really red when you're embarrassed?"

            "You—" Axel laughed and rolled his eyes. "It's—Yes, I knew."

            Eddie fought the overwhelming desire to pinch his rosé tinted cheek. "Is that you not-so subtly asking to go to my apartment?"

            "Depends on how you're reacting to it."

            "If my roommate doesn't like you, you're gone."

            "I'm great at making friends."

            "His name's Peter."

            Axel raised his eyebrows. "Peter."

            "Peter."

            "It's not, like, Mav, is it?"

            Eddie laughed. "You think I want to be roommates with Mav?"

            "Leigh is." Axel shrugged. "I'm sure at some point Stevie and Mav'll be roommates writing some masterpiece together if they don't kill each other first."

            "Isn't this the last album?"

            Axel smiled a little. "I don't think he can stay away the way he thinks he can."

            Eddie considered this for a moment. "Everleigh and Stevie are extremely different versions of roommates."

            "On a scale of Stevie to Leigh, where is Peter on your rank of roommates?" Axel asked. "Because if it's Leigh, this is gonna be awkward."

*

As it turned out, Peter loved Axel. Probably more than he loved Eddie. That was probably what happened when Eddie brought a 160 pound dog a new friend with hair as scruffy as his own. Axel sat on the floor near the front door, took the rosé from Eddie, and pet Peter. The two of them didn't budge once things settled down. Best of friends.

            There wasn't even time for Axel to comment that Eddie had a weirdly maroon living room—that was okay. August loved to point out the undeniable Victorian vampire aesthetic every single time she was over. It wasn't embarrassing to Eddie that her house looked lived in. There were shoes misplaced by the door, blankets unfolded on the black leather couch. There was clean laundry in a basket because Eddie hadn't put it away yet. She wouldn't have judged Axel's messy room any less than she would've judged his chest hair. Who gave a rat's ass?

            "This dog is bigger than you," Axel said after too long of a moment baby-talking at Peter.

            "He is not." Eddie had found a spot on the couch. Accepted that sex, despite the invitation, was likely not happening that night.

            "Can you deadlift him?" Peter laid his head on Axel's lap. A big suck up.

            "I've never tried."

            "Lame." Axel looked at Peter; they had the same dopey eyes. "Your mom is lame as fuck."

            "I can deadlift twice his weight, so the answer's yes," Eddie said.

            "Prove it."

            "How much do you weigh?"

            "That's a personal question."

            Eddie stared at him for a moment. "I've seen you naked."

            Axel put a hand on his chest. "Are you asking to deadlift me?"

            Eddie got up from the couch. Walked into her workout room, grabbing the straps she used for lifting at the gym. She preferred the figure eight and Rush judged her every time he saw it. Practically gagged at the sight—he was a lasso man. As she walked back into the room, she wrapped her hands and wrists. In reality, her and Rush had deadlifted each other before. All she really needed was to make sure he didn't squirm. The look of panic when he saw the straps was a little too entertaining for Eddie. She stretched her shoulders out as she walked back in.

            Eddie whistled twice through her front teeth. Peter's head perked up. "Bathroom, please."

            Peter got up and sauntered there. Eddie always had the heated floors on in there, he loved them dearly. Embarrassing that was a command for when she wanted to have guests over and her dog knew it so well.

            "Um—" Axel looked around for a moment.

            Eddie held her hands together like a Christmas caroler in a church. "Hold your hands like this."

            Axel did so despite the look on his face.

            "Can you please lay on your side, stiff as a board—"

            "Kinky—"

            "Shut up—" Eddie said. "I need you to not move or we're going down—"

            "I have been told I'm good at going down—"

            "Axel—"

            "You were one of those reviewers."

            "Oh my God."

            "The dog's gone, now my other brain is working. I'm so sorry."

            "Do you want me to deadlift you or not?"

            "I... weirdly do."

            "Then listen to what I'm saying."

            Axel sat a little straighter. "Yes ma'am."

            "Can you get away from the door so you don't smack your head?"

            Eddie wished Axel hadn't crawled. It was a little pathetic. He listened to what she said, though. Straightened himself, propped his head up on his fist while he waited for Eddie.

            "Permission to touch your elbow and thigh?" Eddie asked.

            "Considering—"

            "Answer the question."

            Axel looked up at her. Eyes shining. "Draw me like one of your French girls."

            "Are you taking this seriously?"

            "Serious as I take the Patriots."

            Eddie made a face. "That's a character flaw."

            "The Sox?"

            "Axel."

            Axel laughed. "Yes, you can put your hands wherever you want. I've already been told not to bite."

            Eddie reached down and Axel straightened out again. She took his elbow in one hand and his thigh in the other. It wasn't difficult to lift him—quite the opposite. Eddie deadlifted him a couple times. Stopped for a moment when Axel started giggling.

            "Don't squirm."

            "You're making this look easy."

            "It is easy," Eddie said, "And why are you looking at me?"

            "What do you want me to look at? The wall?"

            "Not me."

            Axel laughed a little harder. "Can I see the dog again?"

            "If you want—" Eddie went to put him down gently but Axel interrupted the thought with a prominent, loud:

            "Peter!" And a crisp whistle to follow.

            While Peter was a gigantic dog, he was fast. Eddie got a saint Bernard in hopes that he would be lazy, occasionally want to go on a hike with her. And, mostly, he was.

            Except when he was excited. And he got excited when he met new people. Which meant that Peter came barrelling into the room, and tried to jump onto Axel. Likely would've fucked up Eddie's back from the force.

            Great news. Peter completely ignored Eddie.

            Bad news. Peter completely ignored Eddie and tried to jump through her to see Axel. A flurry of unbalanced legs and flailing arms and grunting and trying not to step on the dog.

            "Jesus—"

            "Oh God—"

            "Peter—"

            "Fuck—"

            Peter barked and wagged his tail. Axel thought it was a lot funnier than Eddie did. His chest rattled with laughter. Eddie took far too long to notice his hands on her hips. Took even longer to noticed she'd landed flat on him.

            She pushed her hands on his chest. "I'm sorry."

            "Why?"

            "Because—" Eddie looked down and Axel laughed harder. "Because."

            "He's a dog, that's what dogs do," Axel said. "I had, like, a foot to fall. Are you okay?"

            Eddie groaned. Let her forehead fall against his chest. "I don't want to admit this happens a lot."

            Eddie insisted on a big dog. Rush had warned her against it. But from the moment she saw him at the shelter, she knew she wanted to spend the rest of his life with him.

            Axel laughed harder. "Incredible."

            "This is not how tonight was supposed to go."

            "Night's still young, Akuma."

            (Did Eddie feel a set of lips against the top of her head? Surely not.)

            "Deadlift was pretty impressive." His hands were wandering and Eddie wasn't going to stop him.

            "Subject change requested." Eddie meant to push herself up but kind of poked him in the nipple instead. Lamely propped herself up above him. If he made any singular comment about her legs on either side of his hips, he was going to get a knee where he didn't want one.

            He'd barely had any rosé and Axel was the giggliest son of a bitch Eddie had ever met. Something about that was almost charming. His hands were on her hips. A small smack on the ass cheek. "Can we talk about a sponsorship sticker on your ass?"

            Eddie pinched his nipple on purpose that time.

"Ow!" Axel let his head rest on the floor and laughed. "Is it Jettie?"

            "No."