“I don't know, that guy was just cruisin' for a...bruisin...” Nate said. His thought process had trailed off as he realized how ridiculous he sounded. Shannon let out a breath and the color in her cheeks started to fade.

“You might be retarded,” she said. “I don't need you to swoop in and be my knight in goofy armor.”

“Okay, I'm sorry, I just--” Nate couldn't reveal too much. Now was definitely not the time to confess love. “Can I walk you home tonight?”

“Are you fucking serious!? What did I just say?” Shannon asked.

“Not to try and protect you! I just wanted a quiet natural setting to apologize the crap outta you,” he said and smiled.

“The quiet, natural setting of East Jersey?” She asked. Nate wanted to come up with some clever and studly one-liner to retort, but drummed up nothing.

“Yes, please.” The day wrapped itself up quickly and the three left their Russian boss to close up shop.

“Not too bad for a Wednesday,” Walt said. He stretched and yawned, his cherry red faux hawk from the morning now unkempt fuzz. “We'll see you tomorrow Shannon.”

“Actually,” Nate said, “I'm gonna walk Shannon home, so I'll meet you back at the apartment, ok?” Walt smiled and headed left. Nate and Shannon headed to the right. After 3 blocks of apologies, Shannon finally spoke up.

“You're not really gonna fight that asshole, are you?” she asked.

“I don't know. He's kinda asking for a fight...” he said.

“Yeah, and you're not a fighter, Nate Coop. Promise me you won't try anything stupid with that guy.”

“I guess you're right.” Nate looked down at the pavement as the two walked in silence.

Another block went by and Shannon spoke up again.

“They're beautiful, aren't they?” she asked.

“What?”

“The stars. So many out there, but only the brightest stand out. It's amazing.”

Nate stopped walking. There was only one way for him to be the brightest for Shannon, and it would involve breaking the promise. Aw...fuck, he thought.
******************************************************************************************************

Nate looked into the mirror at the young man that looked back. His normally cheerful demeanor was gone, and an unusual seriousness was dulling the glimmer in his aqua blues. Unstopped training from a grouchy old Irishman had taken its toll on sweet, goofy Nate. Irenev had given him a surprising amount of time off to grind against practically everything Nate believed in. He had always thought of himself as a lover. He was a dorky dude who loved reggae music and skateboarding on the weekends. The closest he ever came to being in a fight was dodging middle school hockey brawls when he lived back home in Quebec.

Day nine of training was starting just as the others had, with Nate getting up when absolutely no one should and training until he went numb. His bathroom breaks were now his only time to think, and thankfully after day three of the torture Nate's silent weepings on the toilet seat had stopped.

He ached down to his marrow, and being yelled at for eight hours a day wasn't helping. The trainer barked orders again and Nate walked slowly towards the ring. The ring stood strong and unforgiving. He stepped up the small wooden stairs and put in his mouthpiece. His practice partner was waiting in the other corner like a sedated animal, eyes following him with each step. Nate's dark eyebrows gave one final sad incline before edging out to complete his stone face attitude.

The bell rang and the opponent came forward, faceless, emotionless and closing the gap. Nate braced himself as the gloves came flying, striking his flesh like a dozen little hate crimes. The blows kept coming, the hoarse screams of the trainer blending with the rhythmic pounding of his own heart in his ears. The stings and impacts were growing, and with that, Nate's frustrations. The opponent kept on the attack, but Nate had had enough.

The pulses of heavy breathing and flesh pounding contact were broken by the muffled yell of “FUCK OFF!” and a swift uppercut. The opponent didn't hit the mat, as Nate had hoped, but it definitely jarred him enough to pause his pursuit. The bell rang and Nate sat in his corner, unsatisfied. The gloom that hung over Nate was lifted briefly with the slamming of the gym entrance door. Walter jogged to the side of the ring and gave his sweaty, bruised pal a hug.

“How goes the training, Clubber?” Walter asked, handing his Canadian comrade a bottle of water.

“I still can't believe I’ve been doing this for like a week and a half,” Nate said, “I've never been so exhausted in my life.” Nate took a big swig.

Walter smiled and nudged Nate's shoulder, “C'mon buddy, get through today and we'll call up Shannon and the three of us can get root beer floats and watch Shaun of the Dead.” Nate's eyes flashed with life for a moment, then dulled again when he heard the grunt of his angry trainer.

“Walt, you can't be here. The trainer's gonna make me run til my knees bleed.” Walt nodded and walked away from the ring. Nate turned to face his opponent again. He took a step forward, but the sudden burst of music in the old gray gymnasium caused everything to freeze for a moment. The headgear muffled the song at first, but a smile found its way to Nate's face as he recognized the melody.

“Gonna Fly Now,” Nate said through the mumbled filter of a mouth guard. The famous theme from the Rocky films bounced off the walls and into Nate's heart, making him laugh.

“BILL CONTI WROTE THIS FOR YOU! WHOOOO!” Walt said as he booted open the gym door. For the first time in almost two weeks, Nate felt good. A few moments later, the door opened again, but to Nate's surprise, Walt was not coming to finish the cheer up job.

The silhouette of a small female came walking in. The worn, tattered banners and trophies that lined the walls caught a little of the entering light from the outside and seemed to give one last glimmer before the door snuffed it out again. Nate recognized her and immediately took his cue to exit the ring. The trainer growled something at Nate, but it was obvious that the woman meant training was over for the day. Nate jumped out of the ring and quickly fumbled the plastic guard out of his mouth. Shannon stepped into the dim light by the ring and her eyes looked over Nate, disappointed.

“You know, I thought the first time I’d see you shirtless would’ve been under happier conditions,” she said. “Why are you doing this?”

“Doing what?” he asked timidly.

“Why are you fighting Kardissa?” she asked, tilting his chin up with her fingertips so their eyes could meet. Nate wanted so badly to come up with some lie that wouldn’t make him seem desperate, but he came up short.