The hallway felt colder now.
LJ stood there, rooted in place as Miles’ footsteps faded into the distance, that stupid flickering match board still buzzing overhead like it had a goddamn pulse. He could still feel the ghost of his brother’s arm beneath his fingers, still hear the echo of his voice—measured, sharp, controlled. Like he had it all figured out. Like he was the only one who understood.
Behind him, Carter muttered something sarcastic under his breath and stalked off, no doubt on his way to find someone to vent to—or punch. Ally lingered by LJ’s side, quiet, eyes on him like she wanted to reach out but didn’t know how to without breaking whatever fragile thing was holding him together.
LJ didn’t move.
His jaw ached from where Liam had caught him earlier, but that wasn’t what made his hands tremble. It wasn’t the loss. He could live with losing.
It was this.
Three rounds. With Miles. In front of the world. For nothing. For entertainment.
He sucked in a breath through his nose, trying to steady himself, but it rattled on the way out. Ally shifted beside him, almost imperceptibly, like she knew what was coming and was bracing for it.
“I didn’t come back for this,” LJ said quietly, more to himself than her.
But the words hung in the air between them like smoke. Heavy. Bitter.
“I didn’t claw my way through the injuries, through SCW, through every goddamn doubt I’ve ever had—just to be thrown into a ring with my own brother like we’re pieces on someone’s sick little chessboard.”
His voice cracked, but he didn’t stop.
“Miles says this is what he was talking about. This?” LJ turned, finally facing Ally fully. “He knew this was coming? He just didn’t think to warn me? Didn’t think maybe I should know that I was being played, too?”
Ally frowned. “No, he didn’t know. No one knew until just now. He wasn’t keeping it from you, LJ. He was trying to protect—”
“I don’t need protecting,” LJ snapped, louder than intended. His voice bounced off the walls, a sharp slap in the otherwise quiet hallway. He caught himself and ran a hand through his hair, the tension coiling in his shoulders so tight it felt like he might snap in half.
“I need a fucking chance. A real one. Not scraps. Not games. Not being pit against the only person who ever gave a damn whether I sank or swam.”
He looked up again, eyes glassy but defiant. “And now I’m supposed to box him? Put on a show for the same people who’ve spent a year treating me like a footnote in my own story?”
Ally’s gaze softened. “Then make it your story, LJ. Don’t let them write it for you.”
That stopped him. Not entirely, but just enough for the storm inside to pause it's swirling.
He stared at her for a long moment. No more words. No excuses. Just the gnawing truth of it all.
She stepped forward, placing a hand gently on his chest, over his racing heart.
“You want to matter? This is where you do it. Not by being louder. Not by being bitter. But by showing them exactly who you are.”
LJ’s shoulders rose and fell. He nodded, but it was stiff. Wounded.
He turned away, heading toward the locker room without another word, the towel around his neck still soaked with sweat and salt.
Three rounds.
No bullshit. They promised each other.
No safety net.
Just blood and gloves, fighting one another.
And for the first time in a long time… LJ didn’t know if he was ready.
--------
STATIC SHOT | DARK BACKDROP | LJ STARES DIRECTLY AHEAD — QUIET, CONTROLLED, BUT CUTTING
"You really didn’t even look at me, did you?"
A pause. Just long enough to let that sit.
"You said it to Ally, like I wasn’t even standing there. Like I didn’t just lose a match. Like I didn’t just give everything I had out there, and still come up short."
His jaw tenses, but he doesn’t blink.
"This is what you were talking about."
LJ repeats the line, mockingly, but there’s no sarcasm. Just weight.
"You knew this was coming. You saw it, and you didn’t say a word. Not to me. Not to your brother. You just stood there… waiting for it to happen."
He leans in slightly, the intensity rising just enough.
"You know what hurts most, Miles? Not that I have to fight you. Not that King Guy wants us to box like we’re some kind of sideshow attraction. Not even the fact that I’ve gotta stand across from the one of the only people, besides Ally, who’s ever really believed in me in that ring."
A breath. Tight. Controlled.
"It’s that you’re fine with it. You’re fine with letting this happen. Like it’s just another lesson I’ve gotta learn. Like pain’s part of the package when it comes to loving you."
He straightens, jaw clenched now, fists still bruised from Liam.
"I’ve spent the last year trying to prove I’m not just your shadow. That I’m not some tagalong little brother who got handed a contract out of pity. I fought tooth and nail just to be seen. Just to be taken seriously. And now the only way I get your attention is with gloves on?"
Another pause. His voice lowers.
"You wanna teach me something? Fine. Teach me."
LJ leans forward, expression unreadable but fierce.
"But when that bell rings, don’t expect the little brother who looked up to you. Don’t expect the kid you took under your wing. Expect someone who’s done waiting to be seen."
He takes a single step back, letting the silence grow heavy again.
"I love you, Miles. But I’m not pulling punches. Not for you. Not for anyone."
