Big Eli didn't hesitate. The second he heard the word, he released his grip and pushed himself up. His knees cracked loudly as he stood. He didn't look at Trent, who rolled onto his back, chest heaving, his face bright red with exertion and profound embarrassment.
Eli walked calmly to the edge of the mat, stepping carefully back over the ropes. He sat heavily on a wooden stool and began pulling his thick wool socks over his pale, calloused feet.
Rusty walked over, his eyes wide, holding the wad of cash. He counted out five one-hundred-dollar bills. They were wrinkled, damp with sweat, and smelled faintly of beer.
"I'll be damned, Eli," Rusty said quietly, pressing the money into the farmer's large hand. "I'll be goddamned."
"Thanks, Rusty," Eli said, stuffing the bills into the front pocket of his overalls. He tied his work boots, the familiar routine settling his heart rate back down to a dull, rhythmic thump.