Sick Heart: A Dark MMA Fighter Romance

But this rig. It’s not fancy, but it has food, and water, and it’s safe. As long as Udulf stays away. And I don’t know what Cort promised him to make him leave, but he didn’t stay long. I got the feeling that there is no love lost between the two of them.

I could get used to life on this rig.

A hand slaps the bag in front of me, pulling me out of my introspection. And when I jerk my gaze to Cort’s face, I realize he’s telling me, without words, that we are not done here and I need to keep going.

I sigh, but continue punching and kicking the bag.

I expect Cort to go back to his training, but he lingers, watching me. Then his hand reaches out, just as I’m about to hit the bag again, and he grabs my fist. Blood is seeping through the wrapping over my knuckles. Cort frowns at it, like I’ve just disappointed him. Then he sucks in a deep breath and slowly exhales as he points to the center of the platform.

I follow him across the mats and then he turns to face me. He does a couple of punches, moving his feet, and then he pauses and points to me.

I scoff and shake my head. Not because I’m trying to be difficult, but there is just no way I can imitate what he just did. His movements are fluid, like a dancer. Even if I had known that there was a pop quiz coming, I would not be able to do what he’s asking. It’s all blurry. I need a slow-motion step-by-step.

He sighs again, maybe frustrated, maybe tired, or maybe he’s thinking, Why didn’t I just let my father take her away earlier?

That gets me moving. I don’t want to be here, but I don’t want to be sent to his father. That man is scarier than Lazar. So I make an attempt, punching the air with my fist and hopping a little with my feet.

His laugh is loud and immediate. And when I look over my shoulder at him, he’s scowling and shaking his head at me.

I drop my fists and frown back. It’s not my fault he’s asking me to do things I can’t.

He demonstrates again. But it’s still too fast and while I can see that he’s punching with his left hand and taking a step forward—and this seems like a very simple thing—when I try it, none of it works. My punch is late, my feet are in the wrong place, and I actually lose my balance and his grip on my upper arm is the only reason I don’t fall over.

He shows me again, this time breaking the movement into six unique parts. He holds up a single finger.

One. Got it.

He does it and points at me, but when I try it’s… not good. He stops and shows me again. And this time I break this move down into three parts. A baby step forward, a punch, and a bounce back.

I say that over in my mind as I try and when I look up at Cort, he’s smiling.

I suck in a deep breath of air and turn my head away so he can’t see me smile back.

I do that again, and again. Baby step forward, punch, step back. And he corrects me each time, adjusting my hips, or my chin, or my fist.

Then he moves on to the second move. This time it’s a step back with a punch using the opposite hand. Like I’m retreating from an approaching opponent.

This one takes me longer because the opposite arm and leg are doing different things. I don’t get it down all the way, but Cort must get bored, because we move on to move number three.

This one is mostly pivoting my hips while throwing a cross punch. I don’t have to take any steps forward or backward while I punch, so it’s easier.

Or so I think. Because suddenly Cort is behind me, once again pressing his chest into my back. And when his hands grip my hips, a chill runs through my body at his touch. He directs me to punch and moves my hips, keeping them within some pre-determined parameter. One hand remains on my left hip as his fingertips trace down the length of my right arm. He wraps his hand around my fist and then he does the move for me. His body becoming my body. His hips moving my hips. His hand throwing my punch.

I get lost in this, my mind unable to process the intimacy of it. And it’s dumb, I get it. He’s not coming on to me. We’re not dancing. This isn’t emotion.

He’s teaching me how to fight.

When he backs away, I suck in a deep breath and force myself to continue the move without him, even though he’s wiped my mind of everything but his missing touch.