“Watch,” I say to Amanda. “He’ll twist himself around the Pulverizer like a pretzel.”

The pretzel never happens. Instead Max gets on top of the Pulverizer and hammers him with punches.

The second round ends and I take a deep breath. So far so good. I’m still here. My dinner is still in my stomach. Max isn’t seriously injured.

The Pulverizer starts the third round with a slew of desperate punches. His long arms windmill around and Max gets caught. He reels back, and the Pulverizer moves in with one brutal punch after another. He drops to the mat, and the Pulverizer keeps on him. Punch after punch. Max’s face is covered in blood. He rolls toward the ropes, but he doesn’t tap out.

My entire body seizes up. I scream at Obsidian to stop the fight. I yell for Jake. Homicide. Anybody. I run up to the ring. Amanda is right behind me.

Shilla the Killa in her striped referee shirt calls a halt. She waves the Pulverizer to the corner nearest us and crouches down beside Max. Sweat drips off the Pulverizer’s back and splashes on the floor. Our noses wrinkle. The Pulverizer reaches behind him and digs into his shorts. Amanda and I share a glance and mouth to each other, “Gross.”

What is not gross, however, is the set of brass knuckles he pulls out of God knows where. Only Amanda and I, standing directly behind him, see him slip them on seconds before Shilla says the fight can go on.

Max struggles to a crouch. The Pulverizer strides across the mat toward him.

“Max,” I scream. “He’s got a weapon.” But I’m too late. The Pulverizer smashes his fist into Max’s skull. One hit is all it takes. Brass knuckles are illegal for a reason. Max sags to his knees, and I am up the stairs and in the ring, running, running across the mat. I throw myself between them. I hold up my hands and scream.

“Enough. He’s down. Leave him alone.”

No one steps into the ring. No one comes to help us. Jake leans over the ropes and shakes his head. Max is down, but he isn’t limp and he hasn’t tapped out. I’m breaking the rules.

I don’t f**king care.

Light streams into my eyes casting the Pulverizer in shadow. Darkness flickers at the corners of my mind. He grabs my wrists and lifts me up in the air and away from Max. I kick. I scream. My foot hits his sternum. He drops me and I crawl back to Max. The Pulverizer grabs me around the waist and tosses me through the air.

My back smacks hard against the pole. Dazed, I slide to the mat. My vision wavers. I fumble behind me, trying to orient myself and then I feel the handle of the first aid kit slide into my hand. I look over my shoulder. Amanda.

“He needs you,” she says quietly.

I push myself to my feet. My missing memories come flooding back. Susie pushing the bat into my hand. My father lunging at my mother. My first pathetic attempt to slow him down. My second swing, from up by my ear like Grandpa Joe showed me. The crack as the bat hit his head. Susie and I watching him crumple to the ground, moaning. I wasn’t a victim. I had fight. I didn’t give up then. I won’t give up now.

I stalk across the mat. The Pulverizer is kicking Max in the ribs. Max is moaning, too far gone to tap out. I don’t hesitate. I break into a run and aim the end of the first aid kit at his diaphragm, exactly where Max hit Homicide. One hit had Homicide down on the mat. I don’t need to be strong. I need to be accurate. I never thought my EMT training would be so useful.

The Pulverizer does not see me coming. My strike is dead on. He falls to the ground, gasping for air. He taps out and his handlers run in to help him.

I drop to my knees beside Max. He isn’t moving. His face is gray and his skin is clammy. I check his pupils and sit back on my heels. Dread winds its way up my spine and through my body to squeeze my heart. He’s going to die. I never got to tell him I love him.

Amanda climbs into the ring and sits beside me. “Do something. Help him.”

“I’m not a paramedic. I can’t help him. Call 911.”

“Jake called them already, but right now, you’re all he’s got.” She opens my first aid kit. “Tell me what to do.”

“Pray.”

“No,” she shouts. “You can do this. You can save him.”

Max’s eyes flicker open. He looks around and his eyes meet mine. He lifts his hand and strokes my cheek. “Baby,” he whispers, “I’m glad you’re here.” His eyes close and his body goes limp.

I can’t see through the tears streaming down my cheeks. “Max!” I grab his shoulders. “Max. Don’t you dare leave me again. Once was enough.”

Amanda fumbles in my first aid kit. “I guess I’ll have to treat him myself. Looks like he needs a bandage on his head.”

She unrolls a tensor bandage, and I grab her wrist. “You can’t wrap that around his head. We need gauze.”

“Gauze it is.” She hands me the sterile package, and I tear it open and press it to the bleeding wound on Max’s head.

“I guess we should poke him with something next.” She pulls out an epinephrine injector. “This looks painful. Where should I stick it?”

“No.” I grab the injector and throw it back. “That’s not what he needs right now.”

“What does he need?”

“Ice. Stabilization. I need to check his pulse and breathing. I need a blanket.” I glance over at her smiling face. “I know what you’re doing.”

“Good,” she says. “Now he has a chance.”