FIGHT

Chapter 4

I reluctantly follow Holden, but I know that the likelihood of getting a cab at this hour in this part of New York is slim. My feet move slowly, ensuring that Holden stays at least five feet in front of me. He's tense; that much is obvious from the way his back muscles are visibly tightened underneath his shirt.

Holden stops at a fairly large car; a Range Rover. Though I know it's a nice car, it still surprises me. I had him pegged for a motorcycle type of guy. With his huge ego and fear of commitment, not to mention his flashy but dangerous career, he pretty much screams "bad boy." Which is the exact same thing a motorcycle screams.

I climb into the passenger seat and quickly give Holden my address along with basic directions. He nods before peeling out of the parking lot and entering the crazy traffic.

Everybody experiences two types of silence throughout their lifetime. The first: a comfortable silence. The kind that doesn't require random banter because the air isn't filled with any tension. And then there's the other kind of silence. The awkward silence. The kind that makes you want to fill it with unnecessary comments just to make it less uncomfortable.

The silence between Holden and I was unbearably awkward.

I glance at Holden out of the corner of my eye; his jaw is visibly tense and he looks like he's ready to fight someone. He makes absolutely no move to look at me, much less any move to speak to me.

There's only one thing we could get through talking about that wouldn't be worse than this silence.

Boxing.

"When do you want to start my training?" My voice starts quiet, but gains confidence with every word.

"Tomorrow."

"Do you think that's really a good idea?" Images of my cuts pass through my mind and my hand subconsciously moves to my throat. The makeup must be in tact because I have no doubt in my mind that Holden would flip shit if he saw the bruise underneath.

"You wanted serious training. I'm giving you serious training. I don't care what kind of injuries you have; if nothing is broken, we're training. Everyday."

I've never heard his voice like this. Granted, I've only known him for a couple days, but nothing he's said to me has ever been this stern. It reminds me vaguely of parents scolding their children.

"Holden, I don't want anybody else seeing the cuts."

We're stuck in a huge line of traffic and he finally looks at me, the green in his eyes piercing straight through me.

"Be there at five tomorrow morning. That gives us two hours before anybody shows up."

I nod back at him, releasing the pressure built up in my lungs.

We fall back into a lull of silence, but it's definitely not as bad as before. I relax my back against the seat cushion, staring at the other cars through the window. The traffic is crawling slowly, all of the roads backed up with people trying to get home from work.

"Come to my match on Saturday." Holden's voice is unsure, his vulnerability in asking the question surmountable.

I pause, not sure of how to answer. On one hand, I'd love to go to the match. It's important to know how my trainer fights; it's a hint at the techniques he'll teach me in training.

But on the other hand, there's Luke. We don't normally go out on Saturdays, but there's no telling when he'll call to check up on me. Especially if I've not given him a solid excuse of where I'll be during said match.