Kristina M. Serrano - Slow Echoes

Kristina Serrano

After starting college at 16, Kristina M. Serrano graduated from Cape Fear Community College with an Associates Degree in Arts, as well as a BFA in Creative Writing Fiction and a Certificate in Publishing from The University of North Carolina Wilmington, landing on the Deans and Chancellors lists. She was the Executive Editor and Prose Editor of an online literary magazine, and, while in college, had the privilege of singing The National Anthem at four large events. SLOW ECHOES is her first published novel, but she has dozens of unfinished YA fantasy and paranormal romance novels stored away for a rainy day. She currently resides in North Carolina with her hyper Bichon Fris, Jake. Visit Kristinas web site Follow on Twitter Like on Facebook Follow on Tumblr.

Acknowledgements

Always first, I praise my Lord Jesus Christ. Also thanks to my parents, Roberto and Pamela Serrano, and family for listening to my constant dreams of becoming an author. To Marisa Chenery for superb edits, and to Perry Prete and the team at Sands/Sandman Press for patiently answering incessant questions and for giving SLOW ECHOES a chance. To my beta readers, Heather Hofstetter, Ali Hodges and Mariah Wilson for your awesome critiques and priceless friendship. To more friends and talented writers, Sebastian Starcevic, Amber Forbes and Rachelle Shaw, for fantastic advice. To Mathew Weaver, Nolan Heath and Rebecca Haggist for sheer support and sweetness. To my BFF of half my life, Yvonne Wilson, for coaxing me out of pretty-pink-princess-picking-flowers mode. To Nina de Gramont. Your countless advice and support have meant the world to me. To Jason Mott for encouraging me to write a fourth book. To Rachael Kenney for her enthusiasm and for being my first official fan. To Margo Williams and Ann McCray for teaching me that flowery should describe a garden instead of words, and to Lee Cannon, Livingston Sheats, Tim Bass and all my other wonderful teachers who helped shape my writing and publishing knowledge over the years.

The domino effectone person trips, several people fall. Especially my family. When it came to falling, we didnt have a choice. If we wanted to stay alive, people had to fall with us.

Tonight, I had no clue, even when one guys stumble knocked a whole crowd forward.

Youre a jerk, Casebolt! a man yelled into the stunned silence. I hope Wilkinson beats you to a pulp!

A young guy laughed, his silky voice out of place in the room of beer-filled men and blood. Yeah, you wish, Appleton. Appleton. Hed just won the heavyweight rounds. And your mom wishes shed left you at the hospital after you were born.

Appleton shouted something else, and in the cool light of the wine-bottle chandeliers, I saw a couple men scrape a guy off the floor. He then proceeded to push his way through the crowd, lifting his hands to put gloves on as he went.

Coming, ref, he called, the men shifting as if he were a mole tunneling beneath the earth. Dont start the fight without me.

I only saw bits of him as he walked toward the ringa flash of ashen skin here or there, a glimpse of messy wheat-colored hair.

He disappeared as he climbed through the ropes. The first thing I noticed was the ticked look the referee gave him, complete with crossed arms. The second thing was his purple-black right eye.

The third thing I noticed was him.

He raised his long, sculpted arms to the ceiling to stretch, a tattoo circling his left biceps in a frayed loop. After rolling his head a couple times, he said to the referee, What? Im here, arent I? Lets get this show on the road.

Get in your corner, Casebolt.

Casebolt knocked gloves with Wilkinsonwho was just as if not more ticked than the refereebefore obeying the command.

Something was odd about this last fight. I couldnt put my finger on it until I saw Wilkinsons corner man clinging to the rope behind him, waiting to rinse out his mouth and wipe sweat and blood from his face after each round. Casebolt had no one.

Shouldnt he have someone in his corner? I glanced at Casebolt, who slipped in his mouth guard.

Yeah, he should, Cliff, my boxing and kickboxing instructor, said, but hes the black sheep of the boxing community. Guess no one wanted the task.

But someone could stand in, I protested, turning to Cliff. No matter how jerky, every fighter needs someone in his corner.

The referee was just announcing the start of the first round when Sheridan, Snow Hills professional flirt and beefy instructor for advanced fighters, patted my shoulder. Youre right, honey. Ill grab a towel. Hes my new roommate, after all.

I hadnt realized Id been holding my breath until I let it out when Sheridan left, pushing his way to the edge of the ring. He climbed up the side and then said something to Casebolt, who nodded, before disappearing as the referee rang the bell.

Wilkinson was obviously older and more experienced, not to mention looked as if he was pushing heavyweight. As the two circled one another, the larger mans gaze was intense and focused while the younger contender seemed almost bored. As if he wanted to get hit, Casebolts gloves werent as high as they should have been. He held them by his bellybutton. To my surprise, he was the one to make the first movea jolting jab, then cross to the jaw that reminded me of a baseball bat striking a ball at full force.

Im not sure who to call on this round, Cliff said into my ear.

I turned my head, but didnt take my gaze off the ring. Are you kidding me? Casebolt landed a few more jabs before Wilkinson was able to make contact, and that was just a graze against the shoulder.

Sheridan returned as the first round ended. Casebolt ambled over to him, a bored look on his face. He didnt even sit on his stool in the corner or get a sip of water, just halfheartedly blotted his face with the towel Sheridan had handed him and then walked back to the middle of the ring. Glaring, the referee said something to him that sent him to his corner to start the next round.

As he stepped across the canvas, walking closer to my side of the ring this time, he did a double take. His gaze held mine for only a moment, but it felt like so much longer. Curiosity danced between us, so many questions neither of us could ask. Or can I?

Id come there because Id wanted to watch live fights, but also because Id chosen to do my senior project on boxing. Now I knew who I wanted to interview for my article.

Wilkinson only made it to round three before Casebolt knocked him out cold. Id seen it, but I really couldnt believe it. It wasnt as if Wilkinson hadnt been trying. It wasnt as if he didnt have a billion times more experience than this guy. No cheating, no foul play. Just sheer good punching.

I struggled to keep my gaze on Casebolt as the announcer declared the end of the fights, and the crowd began to break up, but I lost him the moment he stepped down from the ring.

Cliff tapped my shoulder. Lets wait here until most of this crowd is gone. Itll be easier to get out that way.

I bit my lip, glancing back at the ring. Cliff would probably be more than happy to help me track down the boxer of my choice for my interview, but, for reasons I couldnt explain, I didnt want him to go with me. So how do I ditch him and Sheridan long enough to track down Casebolt? Sheridan

I glanced beside me. Sheridan walked away, talking to a couple men in the crowd. Okay, I said to Cliff. I just want to ask Sheridan something really quick.