Took the knee, said last

The floor saw it. Rob, Lachie, Hannah, two fighters I don't know, all standing there watching blood run off my brow onto the canvas, and my face did something I could not stop. I knew what it was the second it happened. I have spent four years making sure nobody sees that face. I let Josh work the cut all week — my call, my plan, my teaching — and today he found it. Blood in the eye. Body shot the shoulder could not check. Right knee on the canvas.

I did not black out. I just sat on that knee and felt the room watch. That is the worse part.

Danny stopped it. Change room quiet. Lou rang. Broadcast wants the last slot, eleven pm Tuesday. He asked about the shoulder. I said last. He said the shoulder. I said last again. I am not closing a card because the shoulder healed. I am closing it because I need to finish something on my feet, with the cut still on my face.

Mirror after. Blood wet on the brow, tape half off, and the face looking back did not look like mine for a second. Then it did. Same hard mouth. Same dead eyes. That is the guy who lost a swimming career at twenty-two and never made peace with it. He does not get to look surprised in his own mirror.

Couch in the dark. Phone face down. Replaying the word last in my own voice. Could not tell if I meant final or last on the bill. Both. I meant both.

I said last because I am tired of other people deciding when I stop. The swimming committee did. I will not let a shoulder do it. Even if it splits me open on camera. The cut is going to be visible anyway. Good. Let them see where the work went.

Cut tender under fresh tape. Ankle held. Shoulder the same. I touched the buckle crack under my chin without thinking, same place as yesterday, and then I stopped.