Dirty Games Off Ice
The boxer blocked most of it but one of Jax’s punches got through and the guy staggered.
Then the boxer countered with a hook that Jax caught on his forearm instead of his face. I heard the crack, saw Jax’s face twist, but he didn’t stop. He kept swinging until the boxer finally backed up a step, shaking his head.
“Enough,” the boxer said, spitting on the sidewalk. “Two against one ain’t my style. You kids have fun explaining those bruises tomorrow.” He turned and walked off like nothing happened, just another Tuesday for him.
Jax stood there panting, holding his right hand against his chest like it hurt bad. “You okay?” he asked me, voice rough.
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