His lips twitched as if he were about to say something, but instead he started down the hall, through the doors in the direction of the locker rooms. I collapsed against the counter, watching him go, trying to calm the tornado swirling in my chest.
Chapter 9: “Pain is inevitable; suffering is optional.”
Slayde
She was here. In the same club where I worked. Boxing for Christ’s sake.
I hadn’t been able to stop thinking about the angel on the beach for two nights. I didn’t want to think about her, but shit, I couldn’t stop myself.
Chances were great I’d never see her again. Then again, in a town the size of Bayville, she was bound to turn up somewhere. I just never expected it to be here.
All day Wednesday, I’d focused my thoughts on not looking for her in every face I passed, trying not to remember her fair skin, long dark hair, and large, pale eyes. I didn’t even know her name. It was nuts.
Last night, I’d spent an extra few minutes in the shower, head pressed against my forearm, remembering the curve of her neck as I relieved the pressure. Then I felt like an asshole. She’d been hurt, almost raped, and here I was jerking off to her memory like it didn’t matter. It did matter. I wanted to kill that guy. Nothing had felt as good as slamming my fist into his skull. Twice. But I’d stopped. I hadn’t lost control. That in itself was a miracle.
I cranked the hot water all the way up and scrubbed my face and neck hard under the spray. I got out and shaved, focusing on what I was doing and not wondering what she smelled like. When I crawled into bed, I went to sleep, not fantasizing about touching her soft skin, fighting with all I had to ignore the emptiness inside.
This morning, I didn’t care if I didn’t have permission. I’d been working at this gym almost a week, and nobody came in before eight. At seven, I parked the Ford in the back of the lot and let myself in. I quickly changed out of my jeans into the only other pair of shorts I owned and shoved my hands into the gloves I’d borrowed from behind the front desk.
Standing a little more than arm’s distance from the bag, I stepped forward and clipped it with a solid left hook. God, that felt good. Stepping back I went at it again.
Right jab, left jab, right, right, left hook.
Right jab, left jab, right, right, left hook.
Everything went away when I was boxing. Elbows tight, my gloves were right at my cheekbones, a little brush before each hand shot out like a cannon, hitting with an explosive force I felt through my entire shoulder, down through my torso.
I didn’t know how long I’d gone at it before I finally let loose with my signature move, a rapid-fire volley of jabs and hooks. High-volume punching not a single fighter could beat.
It was so good. I was a junkie freebasing the best coke on the planet. All the shit was gone, and it was just the fight and me. I could feel the rumble rising at the base of my throat until I backed away, slamming my fists against the wall, resting my head on my gloves as I came back down. It’s why I would’ve been the champ. I was young, and I was fit, and I could keep that shit up for days.
But in one moment, it all crashed down. Those dreams were gone. I’d never have it again, just like my life would never be the same, just like I’d never find her.
Anger, deep, dark, violent and bitter anger stirred in my chest. It was the heat rising, and I opened my mouth to let out the rage...
That’s when I heard her voice, and I turned around.
Teetering on the edge of giving up, of quitting and losing all the ground I’d gained, she spoke to me through the fog of heartbreak. I looked up, and the noise died away.
Since this morning, I hadn’t spoken to her or even allowed myself in her proximity, but I hung back and stole glances. I studied her reflection in mirrors I cleaned.
Her hair wasn’t black; it was dark purple. She was tiny, maybe only five foot, and she couldn’t weigh a hundred pounds. Still, her torso was lined, and I could see small muscles in her arms. She was strong, I was sure of it, and she had a nice little ass.
She had the brightest blue eyes. When she listened to her clients, her expression softened in this way that said she wasn’t pretending. She was really hearing them. And then she smiled, and the cutest little dimple pierced her left cheek... Fuck me.
I wanted to wrap my arms around her and hold her, lift her, kiss her full mouth. With a growl I shook the image away. I was a fucking creep spying on her. A goddamn fool, too—a fucking janitor working at a gym in a shit town in the middle of nowhere wishing for an angel.
“Can you help me with these weights?” A smoky female voice cut through my self-flagellation.
I stopped wiping the now-exceptionally clean mirror and turned to face a woman smiling at me with an expression I knew too well. She wore tight, black yoga pants and a neon pink sports bra, and nothing more. Her blonde hair was loose down her back, and she waited, smiling an open invitation.
“Sure.” I didn’t respond. I moved past her over to the bench-press bar, which held what looked like about two hundred and fifty pounds.
“Some people are so inconsiderate.” Her laugh turned into what sounded like a purr as I pulled off the heavy plates and stacked them on the rack. “Are you one of the new trainers?”
My eyes met hers, and I noticed her bottom lip was clutched under her top teeth. Was she seriously biting her lip at me? “No, but I can get Pete for you. Or Kenny?”
She released it in a smile. “Oh, that’s alright. I know them. What do you do here?”