Loving Kinnick (Rewritten 2023)

Chapter One

"My father needs to move on," I mumbled. "If showing up every night to train here helps with that, I'll do it."

His lips parted. Within seconds, I deciphered the look of dissatisfaction morphing on his face. It had been one I'd seen one too many times. Before he could say a word, the door behind me flew open.

"Where the fuck are the disinfectant wipes?"

John's expression quickly faltered as he apologized for the stranger's language. I turned slowly to find the blue-eyed man holding a bloody rag to his knuckles, and I instantly recognized him thanks to the pictures on the wall. My eyebrows furrowed as he adjusted the rag on his hand to reveal his scarred palms. The curiosity filling my body wanted me to question it, but I had similar burn marks, and I hated how people stared at mine.

"I told you to wrap your hands," John hissed. "I'm sorry, Bo. Excuse his language. It is something we are working on - clearly."

His eyes rolled as he launched a container of yellow disinfectant wipes in the blue-eyed boy's direction. "This is Bo, by the way. We were having a great conversation before you came in and ruined it. If you hadn't put two and two together, she was a new member of the gym. Since she is attending the same college as you, and classes begin tomorrow, I figured it would be nice to know a familiar face."

"We met at the door," his raspy voice thickened the surrounding air.

"Oh," John flinched at his revelation. "And you didn't want to run? Kinnick isn't the most welcoming person in the world."

"He wasn't that bad."

Kinnick's eyes fell on me after my revelation, and my direction changed as I stared at the scar below his right eye. The ragged pink skin seemed lighter than his regular tone, but it started at his tear duct to only end below his eyebrow. Something about the damage to his face made him appear more attractive, and had that been wrong of me to say, I would have felt guilty. Yet, the man with dark hair and ocean eyes held me captive, so I failed to worry too much about it.

"I would like you two to work together when I'm busy. Kinnick, I believe you to be the best mentor for Bo. Who knows? You might become friends."

 I knew the blue-eyed man wouldn't be interested in becoming a friend, or at least anything more than what we were right now, but he didn't say a word to John in protest. Yet, I waited as if he would find the words that would kill any chances of us being something more. Then John's phone rang. His sudden goodbye was followed by asking Kinnick to give me a tour of the gym before answering his call.

 "Let's go," he pulled open the glass door.

 My attempts to swallow the lump growing in my throat were almost pathetic. The air only continued to suffocate me as I followed behind the tattooed man. Not every experience was welcoming, but something felt different standing next to a man whose stature towered too many feet above me. Even if I wanted to escape, my body never told me to run, and it did not convince me I would even if it did. I have a thing for freezing up.

 "Why are you here?"

 The multi-colored floor couldn't get my attention for much longer as I looked up at the man beside me. "Excuse me?"

 "What motivates you to walk back through that door when you leave tonight?"

 "Is this a part of the tour?"

 "I don't care why you are here," his shoulders tipped upward. "It's none of my business, and you don't owe me an explanation. The reason I asked is to ensure that you have a reason. When it gets hard, something needs to remind you why you keep fighting."

 "Does everyone need a reason?"

 "You didn't walk through that door on your own."

 "And if I did?"

 "You wouldn't have waited for me to open it."

 "I wasn't waiting for you."

 "No," his head moved back and forth. "You were waiting for the right moment and let me tell you something—it will never be the right moment. Growth is uncomfortable because it is new, but so is staying inside of a box and refusing yourself the opportunity to grow because you are afraid."

 "I am trying not to be afraid."

 "Trying is the best you can do, even if you give a small percentage of effort," he turned to me as we stepped out on the main floor. "Get into your stance."

 "My stance? I don't know what my stance is."

 "Allow me?"

 Without hesitation, I nodded. He positioned himself behind me before grabbing hold of my arms. My breath hitched as his tattooed hands trailed down my skin to encase my fingers with his own. His hand closed over mine to make a fist before positioning them in front of my face.

 "Follow me," his breath fanned across my ear as he mumbled.

 I watched his right foot shift back, so I obliged. "Like that?"

 "Mmm," he crooned. "When extending your dominant hand, we consider it a jab."

 The warmth of his chest against my back created a friction that would soon start a fire, but I continued to stand in his hold as he demonstrated how to throw a jab. My eyes looked over the tattoos on his forearm instead of paying attention to what he was teaching me, but I couldn't help it. Until now, it was foreign to me.

 "Notice as we threw that jab, my dominant foot pivoted," he motioned toward his leg. "Doing this will ensure you have power, making it dangerous for your opponents. Let's try again, okay?"

 Our synchronized movements created an opportunity for me to focus, even though it felt difficult under the conditions I was in.

 "How did you find John's gym?"

 "My dad knows John pretty well." I cleared my throat. "He donated money toward my mom's funeral."

 A draft of cold air hit my back as he stepped away to look at me. "Your mom was Elizabeth Bennett?"

Had it not been for my mother's kind heart, people wouldn't have turned their heads at her death. Everyone knew her from the weekends and holidays she spent volunteering at the food pantry to serve dinner to the less fortunate. She donated vegetables from the garden she created in the backyard of our family home to prepare soups at the local churches.

 The local newspaper wrote a story about her generosity. The picture the photographer snapped of her smiling in the garden is the only photo I have left. Dad packed every memory of her away in plastic totes only to hide them away in storage until he could come to terms with her death. The more he pushed her away, the harder I tried to hold on.

John interrupted before I had the chance to answer Kinnick. "What did I miss?"

The blue-eyed man stared at me with betrayal laced in his features, but I couldn't understand why, and I didn't have the chance to ask as he answered John. "Nothing."