Darren's blog

It had been three weeks since the brawl in the wrestling gym.

Neither of them talked about it—not to each other, not to anyone else. But it lingered like smoke. The bruises healed, but the fire didn’t. They still passed each other in the halls. Still worked out in the same weight room. But now? Not even eye contact.

And yet—they were thinking the same thing.

It didn’t end right.

The brawl was wild. Ugly. But it wasn’t settled. There was no win. No clarity. Just sweat, blood, and walking away angrier than before.

So the final text came late one night. No threats. No hype.

Jax: One more. Clean. No running. No gear. Back room behind the old gym. No one’s there.

Reid: Friday. Dusk. Don’t bring excuses.

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The back room wasn’t even part of the official training space anymore. Old mats, rusty vents, flickering lights. It was half-forgotten. Which made it perfect.

Jax was there first—hood down, shirtless, pacing. His knuckles were taped this time, but nothing else. He wasn’t here to score points.

He was here to end this.

Reid came in right on time, jaw tight, bare chest rising slow. He closed the door behind him and said nothing. Just dropped his gym bag and stepped onto the mat.

No music. No timer. No coach.

Just the two of them.

Jax stepped forward. “Last one.”

Reid nodded. “Let’s make it count.”

They circled.

This time, there was no rush. No lunging. They moved like they were calculating—looking for that one mistake, that one break in posture. Their feet shifted. Shoulders coiled. Then—impact.

Reid went in first, fast double-leg. Jax sprawled hard, fought him off, then countered with a snap-down. He drove Reid forward and tried for a front headlock, but Reid rolled out, slipped behind, and nearly took Jax’s back.

They reset.

Jax landed a powerful hip toss next—spiking Reid on the mat. Reid bounced, grunted, but rolled with it and caught Jax in a side hold, using leverage to flip him. They scrambled like animals—raw, technical, and aggressive.

Minutes passed.

Grunts. Sweat. Quick gasps between slams. Reid locked in a cradle. Jax broke free and charged. Jax hit a lift. Reid sprawled and reversed. Neither one giving up the mat for more than a breath.

They were both shaking now. Muscles screaming. Pride cracking.

Then—it changed.

Reid caught Jax in a deep single-leg, lifted him high—and slammed him down hard.

Jax hit the mat flat. For one breath, he didn’t move.

Reid straddled, locked Jax’s arms down, chest pressed, breathing through clenched teeth. Jax tried to bridge—but nothing left. His body twitched, but the strength was gone.

He stared up, teeth grinding.

Reid’s voice broke the silence. Quiet. Steady. “This is it.”

Jax’s eyes flared. Not fear. Not even anger anymore. Just... defeat.

He exhaled slowly and tapped the mat twice.

Reid released him.

Jax lay still for a second, sweat running down his cheek. Then, slowly, he sat up. No outburst. No curses. Just heavy breathing and a hollow look in his eyes.

Reid stood, chest rising, blood at the corner of his lip again. “You gave me hell.”

Jax looked at him. “You earned it.”

Another pause.

For the first time, they weren’t enemies. Not quite friends either. But something changed.

Respect. Hard-won.

Reid offered a hand. Jax stared at it. Then took it.

No words followed. Just a nod between two guys who had thrown everything at each other—body, ego, and rage—and survived it.

It was finally done.

And this time, they both knew it.