He had barely finished before the crowd erupted. O’Connell might have been born in Ireland, but he lived here now, and that made him their local boy. I turned to Tommy, who was whooping and hollering with the best of them.
“Hurricane?” I asked, and he grinned in reply.
“It’s because of the amount of fucking devastation he leaves behind when he’s done fighting. He destroys everything in front of him.”
Of course, that was his name. I felt like I’d been in the path of a hurricane from the day I met him. Only this one wasn’t tearing me apart. He was making me whole again. I watched him bounce up and down and rotate his shoulders to stay warm and ready. Women all over the arena were screaming, “We love you, Hurricane,” and other stuff a little more obscene, but they were more than outnumbered in here by the men. Beer was flowing readily, albeit in cheap plastic cups and I could see why Danny had wanted to keep me away from all of this. Right then I looked toward O’Connell, who was scanning the crowd for me. When his eyes finally met mine, his face broke into one of the cockiest grins that I’d ever seen, and he winked at me, blowing me a kiss from his boxing glove. He was telling me not to worry, that he had this, and for the first time, I really believed that he did. The bell rang and the crowd roared. The Hammer was slightly shorter than O’Connell but solidly built. I knew from the boys’ gossip that his trademark left hook was like a hammer, giving him five knockouts in his last seven fights. For the first two rounds, it seemed like both men were sparring more than fighting. Tommy said that they were sizing each other up. By round three, just when my nerves were settling themselves down, the Hammer tired of playing cat and mouse. That was when the magic that Danny had been talking about happened. The Hammer went in with a combination that ended with his killer left hook, but it never connected. O’Connell was moving around on that canvas like he was on fire. Every punch that didn’t connect wore on his opponent. By round five, the Hammer looked tired and worried, and O’Connell looked ready to close this down. His predatory gaze was frightening, and when he stopped dancing, he didn’t stop punching. Left, right, left. Hook, hook, uppercut. With every combination, O’Connell punished. Frank didn’t have a fifth of the power that O’Connell had, so I had no idea how the Hammer was still standing. Seconds from the final bell, O’Connell threw a lethal combination, and it was all over. Serving the Hammer with his own signature punch, O’Connell gave him a final left hook that knocked him out cold. The Hammer, arms flaccid at his sides, fell like a tree in the forest, hitting the canvas with an audible smack. O’Connell went to his corner and waited as the referee called the fight then the corner men swarmed the ring. Tommy was with them, but I was rooted to my seat, straining to see a glimpse of O’Connell over the crowd. When the Hammer finally regained consciousness, the look of relief on O’Connell’s face was palpable. That was pretty much when the whole arena exploded. The Hammer was undefeated and in line for a title fight later on in the year. I didn’t know what that meant for O’Connell, but I knew it was big. Waves of people pushed down the aisles as O’Connell’s music boomed through the speakers and still I sat. Not knowing what to do next. After a few minutes, both fighters made their way to the centre of the ring and tapped gloves as the announcer’s voice boomed through the arena.
“Ladies and gentlemen. May I introduce your winner by knockout in the fifth round, Cormac ‘the Hurricane’ O’Connell.”
The seat next to me depressed as Danny sat down and tapped the hand resting on my knee.
“That boy is enough to take years off me,” he moaned.
“I thought you said he had this in the bag,” I squeaked.
“He did,” chuckled Danny, “but watching your kid fight would tie anyone in knots.”
I didn’t think he realised that he’d referred to O’Connell as one of his own kids, but it didn’t matter, that was what they were.
“Well, darlin’, speaking of painful experiences, you’d better brace yourself,” he told me then disappeared as O’Connell walked toward me. Behind him stood a tired-looking, stern-faced woman.
“Hey, baby, did you see it?” O’Connell grinned then pressed his sweaty lips to mine in a quick kiss.
“I saw it all.” I smiled.
Throwing his arm across my shoulders and pulling me into his side, he introduced me.
“Sunshine, this is me ma, Silvia. Ma, this is my girl, Em.”
“Oh shit,” was my first thought. “It’s the mother.”
IT WAS CLEAR THAT SHE’D been a very beautiful woman once. How could she not have been? After all, O’Connell had half of her genes. The years of alcohol abuse had obviously taken their toll and no amount of the make-up that she’d towelled on or the too tight clothes could disguise the obvious signs of her aging. When O’Connell looked toward her, she played the doting dutiful mother to perfection. Smiling and gazing at him adoringly, she seemed delighted that her only son had introduced her to the object of his affection. Behind his back, she looked at me with nothing less than pure evil and I had no idea what I’d done to deserve it. I could feel myself withering under the intensity of her animosity. I had been the victim of that look before, and I knew that this meeting would not end well for me. How could I possibly tell that to O’Connell, though? The answer was that I couldn’t, so I did the only thing that I could do. I stuck out my hand and said, “I’m pleased to meet you.”
“Likewise, dear.” She assessed me as she shook my hand.
“Did you enjoy the fight?” I asked her, searching for small talk.
“Of course,” she replied, as though that were patently obvious. “I love to see my son win. What about you, did you enjoy it? Cormac tells me that this is your first fight.”
I answered her as honestly as I could.
“I was proud of him, and I’m glad that he didn’t get hurt.”
“Well, we’re all glad about that, of course,” his mum interjected.
“Hello, Sylvia. It’s a pleasant surprise to see you sober and upright.” Kieran burst into the conversation, and my jaw dropped that he would insult O’Connell’s mum, especially in front of him.
“Kieran, I see that age hasn’t improved your manners at all. Shouldn’t you be out scouting for tonight’s STD-infested whore,” she retorted. I was stunned that they weren’t even pretending to like each other. While Kier and Sylvia ignored any kind of social propriety, O’Connell just looked embarrassed. Removing his arm from around my shoulders, he reached for my hand and gripped it hard, as though he was worried that I would run at any moment. I ran my thumb gently across his hand. I didn’t know if he’d feel it beneath his wraps, but he squeezed my hand in return, and it was like we were having a silent conversation.