When she walked toward the back of the house without sparing a cursory glance as she passed my car, I was prepared to back off. To chalk up our flirting as just that. I’m figuring out life after football and she’s sorting out issues with her dad. We’ve got plenty of problems without taking whatever is between us to the next level.
Kick. Kick. Punch.
Each time I replay the night, I return to the lump lodging in my throat when Jess’s scream reached where I sat in the driveway. I’m reminded of the fear clawing at my back and propelling me into her house. The feelings that sent my heart rate skyrocketing.
“Fuck!”
The beat of my playlist takes a massive turn, the bass kicking in, and I pick up my pace, destroying the bag as I alternate punches and kicks. The force of each impact explodes through my body. My blood flows, my sweat drips, my mind focuses.
Fucking feelings.
Spent, I collapse on the worn floor, my chest rising and falling faster than I can draw air into my lungs.
“Is this a bad time?”
I lift my head, startled by Jess’s voice. There she is, leaning against the door frame of my backyard-shed-turned-workout-space looking angelic and delicious, and it fucking pisses me off. Feelings.
Sitting, I prop my forearms on my bent knees. “How long have you been standing there?” I ask, my breaths continuing in tiny gasps between each word.
She whirls her keychain around her finger as her eyes roam over my bare chest. “Long enough to wonder whose face you were picturing on that bag.”
With a mirthless huff, I push to my feet. Pain radiates through the back of my right knee. Too hard, too soon, the trainers would say. Ignoring the twinge with the grit of my teeth, I snatch my towel off a nearby chair and bury my face in the material, wiping the sweat, and composing my emotions.
“Um, I don’t have your number, so I called the garage. Your sister told me you left for the day.”
How the hell have we not exchanged numbers? Mopping my brow, I study her with narrowed eyes. “How’d you know where I live?” I moved into this little rental last month. The residents of Rossview have loose lips, but I doubt my new address found its way to Jess without assistance.
Her brown eyes stare at the floor. “Chase. She said this is where you’d be.” There’s uncertainty in her voice like she loathes to admit she grilled my sister.
And my sister gave her the information. Fucking Chase. I spin and drop my towel on the chair. Using my teeth to work off aggression, not out of necessity, I rip at the Velcro straps around my wrists and pull off my gloves.
“Is everything okay?” I ask without looking at her. My fingers busy themselves with unwinding the tape binding my hands and knuckles.
She doesn’t answer, and I don’t turn.
“Tonight’s Friday. Shouldn’t you be working?” I prod.
“Are you really not going to look at me?” The floorboards creak.
No, Jess, I’m not gonna look at you. I drop the balled-up fighters’ tape to the floor. I’m irrational and pissed, and looking at you will have me forgetting why I shouldn’t. At least I have the balls to admit the truth to myself.
Mindful of my throbbing knee, I turn because I’m weak when she’s near, and I want to see her, despite what I tell myself. She’s advanced two steps. The keys in her hand continue clattering as she fusses with them, her thumb flicking a leather tassel attached to the ring. Focusing on her trembling hands, I take slow, careful steps across the shed.
“Four days, Jess,” I say, surprised I spoke the words out loud. Her thumb stills, yet my gaze stays focused on the tassel. I stop beside the heavy bag. “I drove you to the hospital. I waited with you. I held you, and the moment the doctors said he’s fine, you told me I could leave.”
“I’m sorry.”
Her apology lifts my gaze. “I would have stayed.”
This time her gaze is the one wandering, unable to meet mine as she scratches her forearm and sighs. “Would you?”
She’s serious. She has no faith in my words. No belief that I would have stuck by her side. I shake my head, unsure if I’m the one she doesn’t trust or if she feels that way about everyone?
“Maybe I shouldn’t have insisted you go, but I was … I don’t know? On autopilot?”