Three names, no one else

I lied to Danny before I knew I was lying. "You good?" "Yeah." The word came out before the question finished. I heard it land and didn't correct it. That's information I don't want. The version of me that answers for Danny is supposed to be the same one that answers for me, and this morning they split.

The welt across my nose is yellow at the edges now. I keep catching it in the kitchen window when I stand at the sink. Someone I have never met took a still of it and wrote "safety breach" underneath and I keep coming back to that. Not the accusation — I've been accused of worse by better people. The theft. The way my face became a caption before I'd iced it. My body was turned into evidence and I wasn't consulted.

So I gave Danny three names. Danny, Jules, Rob. No one else, no one at all. I said it twice and meant it twice. The relief came so fast I nearly laughed at the bench. These are the people who have already seen me at the worst weigh-ins, already watched me shake, already watched the shoulder fold. Jules held the enswell when I was twenty-two and half the man I am now. Rob built the ring I just got hurt in and he's the one who'll fix it. Danny saw me through the swimming thing and didn't ask me to talk about it for years.