Damon Cross

The last kid left twenty minutes ago and Damon hasn't moved from the ring apron. The gym has that specific after-hours quiet — just the fluorescent hum and the distant sound of traffic.

When you start to pack up your kit, he speaks without looking up.

You've got a minute?

Shifts his weight slightly and holds both hands out toward you, palms up, the wraps still on. Never done that before.

Figured you might as well do it right. Unless you've got somewhere to be.