Then, it happens.
I slip a wide hook, pivot on my back foot, and raise the mitt for a counter.
Weight on my shoulders, a growl in my ear.Again. Faster. You drop that guard one more time and I’ll put you on the mat myself.The smell of leather and sweat. A neck like a concrete pillar. Ice-blue eyes that never blinked first.
Matteo.
The name surfaces with absolute certainty, and then another flash: the two of us in a ring somewhere, no gloves, going until my knuckles split. He hit like a truck and expected me to hit back harder. My ribs ache just remembering it. He didn’t let up because letting up wasn’t love to him. Pushing me until I broke was.
Then it’s gone. A door slamming shut in my skull.
“Johnny?”
Natalia’s voice pulls me back. I blink, the basement gym dissolving into the bright, sterile light of the Moratoc studio. She’s standing with her gloves lowered, her brow furrowed in concern.
“You okay?” she asks. “You spaced out.”
I force a smirk, tapping the mitts together. “Just admiring your footwork. You’re dropping your left again.”
She rolls her eyes, the tension breaking, and goes back to the drill. I match her rhythm, but my head’s somewhere else.Matteo.The name sits in my chest like something I’ve been missing without knowing it. A guy who gave a shit. A guy who pushed me because he believed I could take it. I want to grab that memory and hold it, but it’s already dissolving at the edges, like always.
An hour later, we’re sitting at a small mosaic table inside a smoothie shop near the gym. The shop is nearly empty, the way most places on the island seem to be this time of year. Half the storefronts on the strip are boarded up for winter, and the heat is cranked high enough to fog the windows.
Natalia is glowing. Her cheeks are flushed, her hair is damp with sweat, and she’s downing her peach smoothie like it’s the best thing she’s ever tasted.
She tips her head back to get the last of it, exposing the long line of her throat, and my grip tightens on my own cup.
Fuck.
All I can think about is the last time my mouth was on her skin there. I clear my throat and look away before I do something stupid in public.
“I feel amazing,” she says, leaning back in her metal chair, oblivious to the turn my thoughts have taken. “But my arms are going to be useless tomorrow.”
“Worth it, though. You did great.”
“So worth it.” She’s practically bouncing. An hour of hitting things lit a fuse in her, and it’s still burning. “I want to come three times a week. I’m putting it on the calendar.”
“Easy there, tiger.” I grin at her eagerness.
She kicks me under the table, but she’s smiling. Her foot stays against my calf a beat longer than it needs to, and the contact hums through me like a low current.
Blenders buzz in the background, and somewhere outside a truck door slams. Natalia’s smile fades into something quieter, more thoughtful.
“It’s weird.” She’s spinning her empty cup between her palms. “I’ve never done anything like that before.”
“Boxing?”
“Any kind of workout class.” She shrugs. “My dad doesn’t like me going out and about too much. ‘Unnecessarily’, as he’d put it. So we have a home gym.” She picks at the edge of her cup. “There’s a lot of stuff I wanted to try that just... weren’t possible.”
She frowns but catches herself. “Sorry. Not trying to bring the vibe down.”
“Don’t apologize for that.”
Her lips tug up in a half-smile, but it’s a little resigned.
And I fucking hate that.
“What else?” I ask.
