Right Hook (Gaslight series) COMPLETE

59| Out for blood

Max ♕
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Hard, taut leather strikes my lip with a crack. I lose my footing, able to taste the blood on my lip, but I don't feel a thing. These days, I don't feel much of anything.

I spit out the blood, raising my hands until they're tucked beneath my chin before bouncing on my feet. Pain is power, my father would say. You have to get hurt to grow strong. And maybe it's not wise to take advice from a man with no conscience, but right now, it's all I've got.

My gaze locks on Hayden, a worthy adversary, but one that I know I can beat. I circle him slowly, anticipating the moment he lunges again. With my fight around the corner, we've spent near enough every day in this gym, hoping I'll be ready in time, and hell, I just might be.

Sick of waiting for him to strike, I throw a mean jab, but Hayden ducks under it and lands a hard right hook on my ribs. I grunt in pain and retaliate with a flurry of punches, trying to overpower him.

We've been sparring so long that the windows have fogged up with sweat, but a stream of sunlight still manages to peek through and casts a soft glow on the canvas. I step into the light, feeling for a moment the warmth on my face before I swiftly step back.

The next jab comes quick and hard. I block it with the base of my glove, the sound of leather hitting leather echoing throughout the gym. Sweat drips down my face, bleeding into the corner of my eyes and making them sting, but I don't take my eyes off him.

No distractions.

Recoiling my hand, I land another blow to his cheek. My body is taut, coiled like a spring, and ready to unleash all this fury. I hit him with a combo that tests his defenses, then slip away from his counterpunch. My footwork is precise, my movements calculated, and when I land my next blow, even Hayden looks impressed.

I'm ready.

Hayden strikes again, to my jaw this time, and I feel the bones rattle in my face. I ignore the sharp sting and take the opening it leaves, landing an uppercut that leaves Hayden gasping for air.

One minute left, which I'm glad as hell about. The last two minutes have felt like an eternity, though not nearly as long as the last two weeks – those have been torture.

I haven't seen Alyssa since the night I left her crying, and it's killed me. I've been staying away 'cause I'm trying to be selfless, but I didn't think selflessness would hurt this much.

All I could do was throw myself into training, so that's what I did: when I'm not making deliveries, I'm training on a heavy bag or sparring in the ring, determined to stay focused. Controlled. Maddie thinks it's scary how much of a machine I've become, but it's either that or shut down. The second I stop, the second I remember how badly I hurt her; game over.

My breath roughens at the thought of her. When forgetting her doesn't work, I focus on why hurting her was necessary instead, like how she deserved better than some broke-ass boxer, or how being with me while she went to college would only hold her back. How much brighter her future will be without me in it. That, I'm sure of.

It works, and Hayden and I continue to trade blows, each trying to land a decisive hit. Piece by piece, I'm reverting to the old me – the one pre-Alyssa. He's rude and irritable, and cynical as fuck, but he's functioning, which is more than I can say for the other me.

Determined to focus, I slip past Hayden and step into position, about to land a solid blow when Maddie walks in. She pauses at the door, waving at Hayden before heading to a heavy bag, and just like that, I lose focus. I dodge Hayden's jab by what feels like half an inch before calling Maddie over. In less than a second, her eyes find mine, darkening as if she knows exactly what I want.