Right Hook (Gaslight series) COMPLETE

60| Wasted tears

Alyssa ♔
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My mother would say tears are wasted on men, which is why I'm done crying. Instead, I stand taller, straightening my shoulders before slipping into the perfect defensive stance.

I'd had a feeling he'd be here – had planned for it even – but what I hadn't counted on was how much the sight of him would hurt me. Two weeks of no contact, of not waking up to his face every morning, has been downright torture, but I'll be damned if I let him see it.

Instead, I tilt my chin in defiance, focusing on the feel of the canvas as it gives beneath my weight. We've done this before – too many times to count – but this time feels eerily different. In all the times we've sparred in this ring, I've never hated him.

Until now.

With a brief touch of gloves, we circle one another, our eyes locked in a fierce stare-down. He looks handsome as always, much to my annoyance, but there's a ruggedness to his face that I hadn't expected. Dark circles frame his eyes, and old, yellowed bruises shadow newer purple ones, staining his once-perfect skin. Either he's taking on too many delivery shifts or not sleeping well, and I don't know which is worse.

I bite down on my cheek, resisting the urge to reach out and touch him, to run my finger along the bruise on his cheek. He broke your heart, Alyssa. Stomped on it and left you high and dry. The only thing he deserves is pain.

When that doesn't work, I focus on the night he left. The sobs I'd let out, the tightness in my chest as he walked out the door. His words. I love you, he'd said, and nothing you did or do will change that. But either he's stupid or a liar because you don't walk out on the people you love. Not unless you never loved them to begin with.

With newfound fury, I get ready to strike. Max swings first, but I dip my head and let it sail past my shoulder before slipping behind him. With Maddie's help, I've learned I'm particularly fast on my feet, so I'm determined to use it to my advantage.

He whips around to face me, moving with a fluidity that speaks of countless hours of training and dedication, but I'm undeterred. I've watched him enough times to know he favors a right hook, so when it lands, I'm ready. I drop my shoulder, dipping my head as his fist cuts through air and misses entirely.

My jab comes hard and fast in the silence. Max steps back, and the tip of my glove lightly grazes his jaw as he dodges the brunt of my hit. Still, contact is contact, and anger gives way to the tiniest hum of relief. It doesn't last long – he's already surging toward me again and landing a blow to my helmet.

For a moment, as I stumble, all I can think of are the times he made me feel safe. Now every good memory feels tarnished by questions I doubt will ever get answered: how long had he been planning on leaving? Did I somehow miss the signs? Did he ever really love me?

He lands another hit, and this time, the blow feels much like the one he'd delivered the night he walked out. I block my face, able to feel the sting in my eyes as the tears set in, but I fight to blink them back.

Hands raised, I try my best to focus on my footwork, my breathing, on anything but him. Think of all you've achieved these last two weeks. You don't need him, Alyssa. You don't need anyone.

That last part isn't entirely true. If it weren't for Maddie, who'd immediately dropped what she was doing when I called her, I wouldn't have found a place to stay, nor would I have known how to apply for last-minute college loans. And if it weren't for Tiana, who'd spent every day cheering me up, I'd still be crying in that office.