The shoulder knows first

“Hayes shoulder giving up?” Four words, and suddenly every quiet catch feels like evidence. I can call it clickbait, but my body took it personally. That hitch in Round 4 was real. So was the fear that everyone else had noticed before I did.

I wanted Danny to tell me why he followed Briggs. I don’t know what I wanted to hear: that it was harmless, that Briggs had asked, maybe even that Danny wanted me to see it. Asking would have meant admitting the blue tick bothered me, so I wrapped my hands and kept hitting.

Vic’s message should have fired me up. Same card. Same October night. “See you there, mate” sounded almost friendly, which made it worse. I’m not there to see Briggs. I’m there to beat him, and I need everyone to understand that difference before the first bell.

The cruel part is that part of me is already measuring myself against him again. He had the career I used to imagine as mine. I had an ending, a body that changed its mind, and then I had to build this one from scratch. He gets to be the obvious favourite. I get to be the boxer people write question marks beside.

I should sleep on it. I don’t want to. I want to go back to the phone and find one insulting reply that proves my shoulder is fine.