Right Hook (Gaslight series) COMPLETE

69| Spend the night

Max ♕
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Torn rotator cuff. That's what the Doc diagnosed me with this morning when we discussed the results of last week's MRI. I had some pain, and when it looked like it wasn't getting better with time, I caved and returned to the hospital.

Now I wish I hadn't. Until now, I had convinced myself that getting back to boxing was possible, but hearing terms like surgery and physiotherapy makes it seem less and less likely. If I do end up needing surgery, that's six months of recovery and another twelve months of rehabilitation before I can even think about stepping in the ring. Any naive notions I'd had of restarting my career are over.

I lift my bag onto my shoulder and stare at the cracked double doors of the gym. At the Doctor's orders, I'd taken a week off training and work to care for Kino. But avoiding the gym wasn't something I could do forever. For someone like me, going without training is like going without air – pretty damn impossible.

With a deep breath, I climb the steps, drop my gym bag in the locker room, and make my way to the weights. It's one of the only nights Alyssa doesn't come to train, which is why I picked it. She'd asked for space, so I've been trying to give her as much space as possible, even if it kills me. If she ever forgives me, and that's a big if, it will be on her terms, not mine. I just have to be patient.

I walk over to the weights section and pick up a pair of dumbbells. As I lift, I feel the strain in my muscles, my biceps tightening with each curl. It hurts like hell, a fiery sensation wrapping around my tendons and tearing into my muscles, the skin ablaze with heat. I figured I'd start small with some lightweight dumbells, but even that's proving a challenge, which means it's official.

I'm screwed.

"The sight of you trying to lift those is pitiful," Hayden says from somewhere behind me. He's right, but separating an O'Connor from his pride isn't easy – just ask my dad. "Put them down, O'Connor. The last thing I need is for you to get an injury on the premise."

"Hayden Walker, ladies and gentlemen. The empath." I turn to face him, noting the hint of amusement in his expression. He's the only one I'd told about the torn rotator cuff, and even though he's being laid-back, his expression holds that protective brotherly concern.

"Hey," he says, leaning against the wall. "I'm empathetic when the situation calls for it. I just can't handle stupidity." He tilts his head, giving me this look I've come to resent. "In case you can't read between the lines: you training with a fucked up arm is stupid."

Jaw clenched, I put down the weights and stretch my arms, feeling the strain. It's not like I have a death wish, but sitting around resting isn't exactly my style. The longer I stay out of that ring, the more it feels like I'll never go back in. Which is funny 'cause it wasn't long ago that I'd contemplated quitting boxing. Now I can't think of anything worse.

"It's temporary, O'Connor," Hayden says, stepping into my eye line. "Boxers tear their cuffs all the time. Another year, maybe less, and you'll be right as rain."

"I don't have a year." I'm looking at my hands as I say it, examining old scars. This gym is like my lifeline, the one thing that's kept me going these past few weeks. Without it, without her, I have nothing. "The fight was already my last chance at salvaging a career. Another year out of the game, and it's over for me, Walker. Then what?"

"Then we adapt," Hayden says. "Like always."

I glance up to see he's serious, those green eyes blazing protectively. Whatever happens next, whether it's surgery or boxing or something else entirely, he'll be standing there right alongside me. "And in the meantime?"