Celeste Is The Color of Affinity

Chapter 2

Trinity sniffed, wiping at her tear soaked eyes with a handkerchief. “I just want you to be careful.”

Ean cringed at the sight. She had been nothing short of emotional these days. She could seemingly go from laughter to tears in a matter of seconds. “I know. I can assure you, I’m fine.”

“Oh, but you’re just saying that,” she stopped to take a sob filled breath, “because it’s what I want to hear.”

He sighed, she was right. He was trying to appease her. She was the only mother he had ever known and the last thing he wanted was for her to be crying over him and his fool hardy decisions. “Mum, look at me. I’m okay. I haven’t gotten into a brawl in weeks.”

She sniffled, her eyes meeting his before she sighed softly. “I’m being foolish aren’t I?”

He smiled gently, as if she were a wild animal he was trying to soothe, “Not at all. You’re worried. I understand but I promise, I’m not as reckless as you think.”

“Oh, I know you aren’t. But I really do worry over you. You act just like Artair and not to mention that my bloody reckless uncles have managed to get their hooks in you.”

He grinned. “I think they molded me into a pretty fine specimen. If I were a horse, I'd be best in show and you know it.”

She laughed, “God, you sound like uncle Andrew.”

“Now, stop those tears. And tell me you love me.”

“Of course I love you, Ean. Why do you think I worry so?”

He merely smiled before kissing her swiftly on the forehead, “And I love you. Now, I must be going. Dry those tears.”

As he left he pulled his buttons opens and rolled up his sleeves, he leaned back into his seat. He didn't want Trinity to worry but he would do what he pleased.

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The Mighty Fist was packed to the hilt, men were placing their bets left and right, drinking down liquor by the pound. Tavern girls scrambled around to satisfy customers, serving more drinks and getting out of the way of petty brawls.

Ean leaned back in his seat, swirling the liquor in his cup around. His eyes flickered to the ring every once in awhile as new opponents in. He ached for a fight. He literally hungered for it.

He slammed his cup down on the table and ran a hand across his face.

“If you’re feeling so tortured just go and fight a round.” George, his best friend mumbled with exasperation.

“You damn well know I can’t. If I leave here with any bruises my mum will lose her mind.” He snapped at George.

George tsked, leaning back in his seat. George had thinned out over the years, growing tall and lanky, all of his baby fat gone with manhood. Years had passed since the night Ean had saved him in a show of spiraling heroics and fact that the two men once boys had met again was nothing short of luck.

“You know that no one is even going to get a hit on you anyway.” George said matter-of-factly.

Ean thought about it for a moment before a smile spread across his face. “By, God, you’re right.”

He stood, his chair hitting the hardwood floor. He made a beeline for the ring, George following behind him. As he neared it, he froze.

There were two people in the ring. One of them was a large muscular man and the other was, a skinny lad wearing a black cloak that covered his face. The two men circled each other before the bigger of the two struck forward, his fist narrowly missing the smaller man.

The scrawny man dodged before moving forward with quick feet, his right hook shot upward, connecting with the larger man’s chin. The larger man’s teeth connected with his lips, his eyes sealed shut as he fell backward in the ring, landing hard on his back.

The scrawny fellow recoiled, jumping backward, fists up, seemingly waiting for the larger man to defend himself. The larger man laid sprawled out, unmoving.

Suddenly roars of disbelief exploded in the tavern, men stood, some laughed, others stared in astonishment.

Ean was utterly shocked. The little fellow had really managed to come out on top with only one punch.

“Good, God. What is that lad’s fist made out of? Steel?” George mumbled.

Ean wandered the same thing. Curiosity hit him full force and he knew in that moment he wanted to spar with that man. The little man went to the edge of the ring to collect his money before moving to climb out.

Ean climbed onto the ring, stopping him. “I’ll admit I wasn’t expecting you to knock him out with one punch. I apologize for underestimating you.”

The man merely pulled his cloak down to cover more of his face but otherwise stayed silent.

“I’d like to challenge you to a little sparring match. Unlike your unconscious friend here, I never lose.”

The cloaked man shook his head, and climbed out of the ring, leaving Ean standing dumbfounded. Before Ean could stop himself, he was chasing after the mystery man, jumping out of the ring and following behind him. He pushed through drunken groups of men and busy tavern girls before making to the exit.

He caught up with the man just as he made it outside. He placed his hand on the smaller man’s shoulder, and before he could say anything, the smaller man swiftly turned around and landed a hard, painful punch to his left cheek. Ean fell backward, landing on his arse. He winced, grabbing at his cheek.

“Bloody fucking hell,” he snapped, his eyes shooting up in time to see the mystery man disappear around the nearest alley.

His frown grew into a full on scowl. He worked his jaw before wincing once more. That right hook had felt more like being punched by an iron bar. He stood up, licking at his lips. Oh, he most definitely wanted to spar with that man.