Pulse Fitness is almost empty thanks to the late hour. The only sounds are the hum of overhead lights and the rustle of turning pages from the yawning front desk employee. For what feels like the fiftieth time in the last three weeks, I can’t sleep. Worry and regret gnaw at me like rats the second my head hits my pillow.
I yank off my leather jacket as I check out a set of boxing gloves. The employee offers me a set of velcro ones that aren’t half as nice as the ones I left home, but I don’t care. I shove my hands into them as I make my way to the boxing room, tightening the velcro straps.
I could kill Chaz for breaking my mom’s heart. And I will, if this breakup ends up like any of the other ones before Mom committed to staying sober. I still don’t know what happened between them, but I know my mother is gutted.
She won’t talk to me. Won’t talk to Heidi, even. And if I’ve learned anything, it is that isolation goes hand-in-hand with alcoholism. Sheneedsus.
But I can’t make her open up, and it’s like I’m losing her all over again.
I shove open the door to the boxing gym, then stop.
My midnight sanctuary is abandoned, save for one sweaty, veryangrygirl.
Kate rains down punches on one of the smaller free-standing punching bags, but it’s in the middle of the ring. I don’t know why she’s not using the hanging ones or if she hauled the standing bag into the ring herself.
I watch her practiced movements, and I’m surprised by the tenacity in each blow. I see the technique she’s obviously been practicing. Sweat courses over her body, bare stomach slicked between her black sports bra and matching shorts. She swipes an escaped strand from her ponytail and catches sight of me.
Her chest heaves, but the rest of her is frozen in time.
Her mouth finally opens, but I cut her off.
“Not here to talk, Kate,” I say. “Just here to box.”
Her lips draw tight, but she nods. Her eyes are shiny even from here, glistening with an emotional depth I can’t quite read.
“Do you…” She bites her lip. “Need the ring? Want me to leave? Want a partner to spar with?”
Is she serious?
“I’m not here to fight you, Kate,” I hedge. “And you can have the ring.”
She nods and awkwardly turns back to the free-standing punching bag.
I try to ignore the sounds of her small punches behind me as I make my way to the hanging bags.
I time my blows with my breathing, trying to get lost in the movement. But even after a few minutes, my peripheral vision catches sight again of Kate. Her punches have grown sloppy, her shoulders shaking with emotion. The anger festering in my belly subsides a bit.
Sure, she wasn’t in love with me in Marisol Bay, but I can’t force that any more than I can make my mom rely on me instead of alcohol. In the last three weeks, Kate’s made no move to reach out. Granted, neither have I, but losing Kate and being scared over my mom is like reliving a haunting repetition of the past six years. I almost feel stupid for expecting anything else, anythingbetter, in my life. And as much as I wish Kate and I could stay friends, I’m always gonna want more—wanther.
Kate’s shoulders begin to shake harder, and I straighten. Regardlessof everything, I will never not have a soft spot for Kate, and I hate to see her so upset.
I stride over knowing it’s a bad idea, but I’m too tied up in knots to care. I swing myself through the ropes, and she wipes an embarrassed hand beneath her eyes.
I haven’t the faintest clue of what to say.
“Your form is sloppy,” I point out.
Yeah. That definitely wasn’t the right thing to say.
She gives me a look like,Seriously? That’s what’s on your mind right now?
I sigh. “I’ll spar, but you’ve gotta tighten up.”
She hesitates, then nods.
I heave the free-standing bag to the corner of the ring.
She drops into her fighting stance, and I can tell by the way she’s tightening her core that she’s following my advice. I hold my gloves up like I usually do with the pads, but she pushes one down and away from my face.
