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Chess; the few times they’d been out somewheres and Chess showed up Amy’d wanted to leave right away. She’d been real casual on it, made up some other reason for taking off, but it ain’t been hard to catch that as soon as Chess walked in Amy wanted to walk out.
    Weren’t hard to figure out why, neither, or that it was his fault. He knew that when Chess were around he looked at her, watched her for too long. He knew he kept glancing at her. He knew his eyes followed her when she moved, and that they ain’t stayed on her face neither. He couldn’t help it, no matter how much he wanted to.
    “Boxing?”
    He nodded.
    She did that considering thing again, and his neck got warm. He could see it on her face, in her eyes, that look that made him feel like she saw right through him and pegged him to the wall. “You ever think of doing that? Like, prizefighting.”
    He shrugged, trying to think of a way to answer, trying not to be uncomfortable. Not causen the question were a wrong one, but causen he ain’t wanted to think on it. On what happened. Ain’t wanted to recall how aye, he had thought on it. More than thought.
    Funny thing was, though … he’d tell her, iffen the discussion went that far. He’d never told anybody; well, Bump knew, coursen, but nobody else. But Chess would understand. Chess he’d tell. Iffen it came down to it.
    He ain’t wanted it to, though, leastaways not just then. She’d heard enough shitty stories. So he tried to think of a way to say it that wouldn’t be a lie but wouldn’t be opening it up, neither. “Thought on it, aye. When I were a kid. Only … met up with Bump, dig, he find me an took me in, an … just stayed.”
    He waited for her to ask more, while the memories flashed in his head, harder and sharper because he ain’t had been expecting them. Darren who said he were a fight promoter. Darren’s huge house filled with expensive shit, the big gym, all Darren’s friends—powerful friends, connected friends—coming to meet him and telling him how he were gonna fight for real, in a ring. 
    And all of it a lie. And Darren climbing into his bed that night, and the next thing he knew there was blood everywhere, a bloody knife in his hand, and Darren were dead. Then running and hiding, knowing those friends was after him, hearing they was offering money for his head.
    Bump found him first. He’d never looked back.
    He felt Chess’s curiosity. He also felt her caution. Aye, she knew there were more than what he were saying. Question was whether she’d ask on it.
    She didn’t. Instead she said, in the kind of light tone that meant she knew something were up but were letting him decide iffen he wanted to chatter on it, “Lucky for all the rest of them you like working with Bump better.”
    Heat crept farther over his neck, up his cheeks. “More happening, aye?”
    “And not so many rules?” She were smiling when she said it, though. Like she even accepted that, like it ain’t bothered her none. 
    Which meant he could agree, and admit it, without feeling like shit. “Aye. Ain’t much for those. An ain’t wanting all the shit goes with it, anyroad. Havin pictures taken an all.”
    “Yeah. I wouldn’t want to do that, either.” She tilted her head. Her hair fell over her shoulder. He wanted to reach out and brush it back, let it slip through his fingers. Her hair was really fucking soft. He remembered that, remembered it so hard sometimes—the way it had felt, the way she’d felt, her hands on him—he thought he were gonna pass out. Probably because when he remembered it all the blood left his head and went somewheres else. “No privacy at all.”
    Aye, he knew that about her. Funny thing was, he doubted she realized, or thought on, the fact that she ain’t had much privacy anyway. Everybody knew she were Bump’s witch now. Everybody knew she were his friend. Everybody knew who she were , was the point. And Bump’s people watched to make certain she were