He caught them quickly, his eyes traveling up to me before he looked back down at them and raised both brows. “Tell me what’s happening here. ‘Cause it just looked like you handed me your gloves and now you’re asking me to wear them.”
“Exactly.”
“Why?”
“Just do it, Sutton.”
To my surprise, he did, and it didn’t take me long to help him tie them up and make sure he was fighting fit. Then I walked behind the bag and held it tight, silently inviting him to take his first hit.
He stared at me with uncertainty shining from his eyes.
“Hit the bag,” I ordered, low and calm.
“My momma was a good Christian woman. She hated evil, hated anything lawless. She hated violence, corruption, and spilling of blood. I wasn’t raised a fighter like you,Tucker.”
“You don’t need to be raised as something to become something,” I told him quietly as I stood there, unmoving. “All you need is a motive.”
“Just because I saved your life, it don’t mean you have to turn me into an animal. I have no desires to have the skull and hounds inked upon my skin any time soon. I’m a man of the law.”
“You’re also just a man,” I reminded him, raising my brows. “So hit the fucking bag.”
Blowing out all the air in his lungs, Sutton stood rigid, unable to gather any momentum in his hips as he threw his first weak-ass punch. The bag barely moved, but I made it sway more than it needed to for effect.
“Good,” I whispered. “Again.”
He repeated his move, sigh included. Sutton’s confusion was written all over his face as he stared at the same spot on the bag and tried not to ask too many questions.
“Tell me,” I started. “How has your morning been?”
Sutton straightened up immediately, his frown deepening as he glared at me. “Fuck off,” he pushed out.
“What?” I smirked.
“How has my morning been?” he repeated, eyes wide. “You’re scaring the shit out of me, Tucker.”
“Just answer the question, Sutton.” I tapped the bag with my hand and raised a brow.
Stepping forward, he braced himself, concentrated on his target spot and threw a hard right. It made the bag move, but not much. I had it gripped tight.
“The morning has been without trauma, events, or loss. I’ve made no arrests, charged no man or woman, chased nocars, but I did have a double espresso that made me buzz a little while.”
“Never had you down as an espresso man,” I muttered as he threw a left.
“Never had you down as a man for small talk.” His eyes met mine as he threw a three-punch combination.
My smirk grew as I watched him. He really was a cowboy—made for horseback and long-range shooting. His punching was fucking awful.
“Touché,” I grunted as he hit the bag again.
“So, how about you tell me why we’re performing this routine and let’s cut out the crap.”
I blew out a breath. “Sometimes things ain’t that easy.”
“No? Why not?”
“Because sometimes life can’t be all black and white. Sometimes there’s a gray area—a patch of gray with a hint of pink in it. That hint of pink you want to protect, keep sacred, keep safe.”
His lips parted as he looked at me while he swung his arm carelessly to the side of the bag. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
