Blood trickled from Robbie's cheek and I could see already the split over his cheekbone would need stiches. There was no question O'Malley would exploit that injury, and my stomach clenched. He wasn't mine anymore, but damn if I could get my heart to believe it as I watched now.
O'Malley crabbed around the ring, arms in constant motion, feet flat on the floor as he sized Robbie up for his next move. This time, though, Robbie was the one to strike. It wasn't hard. In fact, it was nothing more than a little pop to the jaw. A wake up call that sent O'Malley's head snapping back for just an instant, but it definitely added fuel to the fire. His lips twisted into a smile and he nodded. It was like he was getting off on the whole thing, and that just added another level of fear.
Once someone got that angry, who was to say they'd stop? What if he knocked Robbie down and just kept pummeling him? What if the ref couldn't pull him off like that Tyson v. Holyfield fight that had cost Holyfield his ear lobe?
I had worked myself up into a fine frenzy when Robbie struck again, dipping in and delivering a super clean shot to O'Malley's kidneys that had the other man bent over at the waist just long enough for Robbie to follow it up with an uppercut that sent the Irishman stumbling backward.
My heart pounded and I leapt to my feet as Robbie descended. O'Malley was still unsteady on his feet and all it would take was one more good blow to the--
Ding, ding, ding!
The crowd roared as the room spun. I lowered myself back to my seat, swiping at the beads of sweat that had collected on my upper lip.
Damn that bell. Eight more seconds...maybe even five, and it would've been over.
"I think that's going to hurt ‘em in the long run," the guy next to me said conversationally as he jerked his chin toward the ring. "He didn't go in for the kill fast enough. Now O'Malley's pissed off and he has time to get his legs back. He's going to knock that kid's block off this round, if you ask me."
I was still dizzy with adrenaline and I barely spared him a glance as I snapped back under my breath, "Yeah, well I didn't ask you."
Luckily, the guy was too busy filling in the spectator on the other side of him with his theories, because he didn't deserve my anger. He was just a guy enjoying a fight. I was the one who was acting like an asshole. Too tightly wound, and I needed to relax. Besides, he was wrong anyway.
I watched Robbie covertly through my plain plastic glasses as his team worked on his cheek. He looked totally focused and deep in thought. He knew what he was doing. I was confident of that. Now, if he could just manage to get O'Malley in the same spot in the coming rounds, he'd log a W tonight. I knew it with all my heart.
At that moment, Robbie lifted his head up and turned, scanning the crowd with his gaze. My heart stopped dead in my chest as his eyes passed over me without stopping.
Thank god.
Despite the lengths I'd gone to in disguising myself, I'd been terrified that he would see me even though I'd switched seats with someone further back. Before I could think on why I felt just a tiny twinge of disappointment, the bell rang again and the two men met in the center of the ring. The time for dancing had passed, and this time, they came at each other, guns blazing. Jabs flew, sweat sprayed, and the speckled drops of blood spattered the white ring floor. Robbie was a machine in there, poetry in motion. Each shot calculated and timed with such precision it was hard not to be impressed. But for every punch he let fly, O'Malley was there, throwing five times as many. Granted, they were wilder and he was much more apt to miss than hit, but when he hit?
My own teeth ached as Robbie took another jab to the cheek. I was on my feet again, cheering with the rest of the crowd when he rallied, but right when he was about to throw what looked like a haymaker judging from how far back his arm was, O'Malley came in super close and let off a flurry of body shots that had Robbie reeling back toward the ropes.
"No, no!" I screamed. "Get off the fucking ropes!"
But my words were drowned out with the shouts of a thousand others as the Irishman punished Robbie, pummeling his sides over and over again with his meaty fists. It was all Robbie could do to cover his face and weather the onslaught.
"If he doesn't get off the ropes, he's fucked," my helpful seatmate declared loudly. "Come on kid, show us something!" he called.
There was no sign Robbie had decided to heed his advice, as O'Malley continued bashing him in the ribs. I was eyeing the ref, willing him to stop it. Willing him to see that Robbie hadn't thrown a punch back in countless seconds and couldn't defend himself when suddenly a fist snapped out and clobbered O'Malley in the side of the head, so hard, he stumbled to the right. That gave Robbie the chance to push off the ropes and wheel around.
I lost all sense of time and place as I plugged my fingers into my mouth and let a whistle of delight rip, my whole body shaking with relief. "Yeah, go Robbie, go!"
And go, he did. His hands flew in a series of shots that seemed almost preternaturally fast. By the time he feinted back to catch his wind, O'Malley was swaying like a drunk after a half-price sale at the liquor store.