4

Slam!

The heavy bag quivers under the impact of my right fist, while the chain groans and clanks its protest above me. Before it can settle back into place, my left hand drives forward, disrupting its equilibrium once more. Back and forth, I throw punches, the ache in my wrapped knuckles intensifying with every swing.

Every time my fist meets the bag, I'm picturing his face. The pretentious, fake smile of the blonde man who took off with Theo last night… his symmetrical, punchable features and sharp cheekbones.

"Jesse," I spit out as a powerful right hook sends the bag hurtling away at an angle.

Theo spent the rest of the evening with him, and I couldn't tear my eyes off as the two of them danced. Jesse's hands were too bold, too familiar, gliding over Theo's lithe body with so much intention I wanted to remove them from his arms.

Can't lay a finger on what's mine if you're lacking the necessary appendages, now, can you?

Another vision rushes through my mind of Theo giving me a casual wave as he and Jesse make their way out the door. Sweat drips down my forehead as I unleash a flurry of jabs and crosses, knocking the bag into a disoriented dance. My lip twists into a sneer, my fists and arms burning with exertion.

It's not fair to him.

I know it's not fair.

Doesn't make it hurt any less.

The memory of Theo's piercing blue eyes flashes through my mind, bright as the afternoon sky and almost too big for his face as he looked up at me. I can still feel the warmth of his slim body in my lap and the gentle whisper of his breath against my ear.

The more time I spend with him, the more difficult it becomes, but I can't stay away.

Can't stand being apart.

Every time I have to reject him, it's like battling against the weight of the world. Fighting against my own damn heart. Pushing a fucking bolder up a never-ending hill, and every time I slip, it feels like I'm starting right back at the beginning. Each argument from him, insisting that we could be amazing together, gets harder and harder to refute.

Because he would be my forever. Of this, I am sure.

Since the moment he crashed into my life, I was captivated. Months I spent trying to push him away were in vain, because his determination has no limits. He was resolved to break through my armor, and even as I fought against it, I was dying to let him in.

From day one, I've made my stance clear—we can never be more than friends.

No matter how much I want him.

He is the person who knows me better than anyone else in the world, but even he doesn't know why I could never gamble on our relationship.

He doesn't understand why being with me would be nothing more than tying him to my anchor and tossing us out to sea.

We'd drown.

And it would all be my fault.

A furious growl escapes me as I channel every ounce of my energy into my punches, my limbs growing heavier with each strike. Exhausted, I grab the swinging bag, pressing my sweaty forehead against it. My breath stutters in angry, heaving inhales as a shadow falls over my shoulder.

"You alright, man?"

"Fine, Jugs."

"Doesn't look that way to me," he muses, and I release the punching bag and turn to face him. Jugs, who got his nickname because his ridiculously muscular chest almost needs its own support system, has been my trainer for years. "Want to talk about it?"

"Do I ever want to talk about it?" I snap, but he's used to my rough edges.

He shrugs, absentmindedly checking the wraps on my hands to make sure I'm not hurting my skin. "Does this have anything to do with Chad?"

A reluctant laugh blows out of my lips. "You know his name was Trent."

Another shrug, this one accompanied by a sly grin. "He was definitely a Chad, though."

"That he was," I murmur. Jugs is the only person I've ever spoken to about my experience with my ex. Six years ago, I arrived at his doorstep with a black eye and bloody nose, and he welcomed me without hesitation. He taught me how to fight, how to protect myself, so that I could never be helpless again. It took time for my story to emerge, and even now, there are untold chapters I've never shared.

Some things are better off hidden in the dark.

"So?" he asks, grabbing the punching mitts and strapping them on as he walks towards the ring. "Was this a Chad moment?"

"Indirectly," I say after a moment's hesitation.

He waits for me to continue, giving a solid thirty seconds before he lets the sarcasm kick in. "Oh, man, Dante! What a thrilling tale! That clears up so many of the questions I have about why you were assaulting a heavy bag like it insulted your mother."

I grimace as I swing, promptly getting blocked by his mitt. "It's just…" Another loud thump as I strike the mitt again. "Theo."

He lifts his chin, watching me over the mitts even as he blocks my punches. "Oh, right. The man you're mindlessly in love with, that you, for some idiotic reason, refuse to give the time of day."

"It's not an idiotic reason. It's for his own good."

"Such a goddamned martyr," he mutters. His head jerks to the left, barely missing my fist. "I beg to differ. Sounds pretty fucking stupid to me."

"Look at my track record, man. I don't know how to be in a healthy relationship. I would hate myself for making him settle for less than he deserves."

"What about what you deserve, Dante? You going to be celibate the rest of your life because you're too afraid to try?"

"Afraid? I'm not—"

"You're being a fucking coward," he counters, dropping his mitts by a few inches to give me a challenging stare.

A growl crawls from my throat as I swing faster, but I've never been able to get the best of Jugs. My every move is blocked with ease. I don't even think he's sweating. "You saw me, man. You saw how fucking broken I was, how pitiful. I can't drag him down with me."

"Pitiful? Did you think anything I saw in you that day was pitiful?" He shakes his head and points a mitt at me. "You were braver that day than you are right now. Right now, you're being an idiot."

"I stood around and let him treat me like that… actually thought it was okay. For years ! It's fucking pathetic!" He takes a step back as my aggression builds.

He sneers at me over the top of the mitts. "The only thing pathetic about you is that you're too fucking afraid to move on from what happened to— fuck! " In a maneuver that surprises both of us, my uppercut sneaks past his mitts and slams into his chin, the clank of his teeth reminding me he isn't wearing a mouth guard.

"Fuck, Jugs!" I shout, yanking the mitts off his hands and letting them fall to the floor as I step closer, assessing the damage. Blood drips from his lip and coats his teeth as he grins at me. "Damn it, man, I'm sorry."

"Sorry that you finally got one over on me after six years of sparring? I was starting to feel like a failure." I huff out an indignant laugh as he wipes the blood from his mouth, using the towel draped across his shoulder to clean himself. He leads me to the gym benches, grabs two water bottles, and we both collapse, sweaty and worn out.

"At the risk of being punched again, I'm going to say something you won't want to hear."

"Oh, boy." Zero inflection lines my words, and he shakes his head and chuckles.

"You have to let go of some of this control, Dante. What happened to you was shitty, and it's no secret there's more I haven't heard. But the pieces you're keeping to yourself… you need to get it through that thick skull that it wasn't your fault. None of it. You were the victim."

A moment passes in silence as I sip on my water. "I know it wasn't my fault," I finally say. "I know I'm not weak anymore."

"Okay, so what exactly is the problem here?"

My eyes drift off onto a couple of guys sparring across the gym, watching how they move. They're so equally matched it's practically a dance, the back and forth between them fluid and hypnotizing. The same can't be said for Theo and me. I'm bulky and broad, twice his size. "What if I lost control?"

"And what? Hurt him? Give me a break, Dante."

I shake my head, because he doesn't understand. No one does. They weren't there to witness the aftermath when all that precious control slipped away from me.

"Everything I do is under my complete control. Every decision I make throughout the day, down to the steps I take. All of it. Every single fucking thing… except my feelings for Theo. And while I can't control them, I have a choice over how I respond to them."

"By pushing him away."

"All I know about relationships is wrong, Jugs. It's ugly. What happens if I snap? Turn into his Trent? I'd never forgive myself for hurting him."

"You wouldn't," he insists, but I shake my head again.

"You can't be sure of that." He hasn't seen what I'm capable of.

"The day that guy in the band punched you… what did you do?" I huff my annoyance at him, remembering when Eric charged into practice and struck me in the jaw for abandoning Dmitri at the bar. When I don't respond, he continues. "That's right, you did nothing. I bet that motherfucker is clueless that you could've dropped him where he stood. And do you have any idea why?"

He's quiet, telling me he requires a response this time. I make sure he sees the obnoxious roll of my eyes as I finally say, "Why, Jugs? Please enlighten me."

"You are the most disciplined person I have ever met, and I've been working with hardheaded boxers for almost twenty years, so that's saying something. If you didn't retaliate to a very justified knock in the face, what makes you think you'd touch someone you love?"

Memories rush back to me, as fresh as if they occurred just yesterday, despite the passage of years. Jugs only knows part of the story—the part that left bruises in places that could be seen. There are other scars that remain hidden.

"Theo won't be the one I use to figure out what healthy love is supposed to be. He won't be my guinea pig."

"Dante…"

Abruptly, I stand and turn my back on him. "End of discussion."

He falls silent for a moment, but our long history together has taught him when it's time to stop pushing. Finally, a heavy hand lands on my shoulder. "All I'm saying, man, is that you need to give yourself more credit. You are allowed to be happy. Hell, you deserve it… more than anyone else I've ever met."

He spins me to look at him, his normally jovial hazel eyes serious as he squeezes my shoulder. "You're more than your past, Dante… more than he let you believe you were."

"You only say that because I pay you to," I tease, and his smile softens, recognizing the dismissal.

He gives my shoulder a small shake before releasing me and taking a step back. "Ready for round two? Five bucks says you can't land another blow on me."

"Ten bucks and you're on," I respond with a shove to his chest that doesn't even budge his giant body. He chuckles as we glove up, leaving my past in the silence where it belongs.