Until now, I’ve tossed these threats aside, ignoring them and doing what I’ve always done—focus on the game. After tonight, Ryder made it clear that avoidance is over.
The thudding sound is replaced by a less rhythmic and more muted bumping.
Giving up, I check my phone. It’s close to midnight. I grab the control and turn on the TV, and after ten minutes of flipping and searching, I shut it off.
I swing my legs off the side of the bed and pull on a T-shirt. I have no idea what to expect, leaving the confines of my room and entering the awkwardness of two complete strangers cohabitating. At this point, I don’t give a shit. I can’t handle one more minute of spinning my wheels and getting nowhere.
I grab a bottle of water from the refrigerator and guzzle it. As the noise continues, I climb the stairs, hearing the dull tones of what is unmistakably “Uptown Funk” between the solid beating of the punching bag.
I observe for only a second, watching her. Her shoulders are rounded, fists raised, and loose strands of hair stick to her face. Every punch carries the weight of her entire body, hitting its mark.
Her head snaps up, her focus breaking when she sees me.
She taps her watch with her chin and takes a moment to catch her breath. “Rule number one.” She swipes at the sweat on her forehead with the back of her wrist. “Don’t ever sneak up on me unless you want to have to explain broken bones.”
Her eyes are intense, and there’s still not even a hint of tease in her tone.
“I thought the first rule was to do what you say and not ask questions.” My mouth curls upward but it quickly falls when I see. . .nothing. She stares at me, not even blinking.
Ryder told me earlier that if she sensed I was in danger, I was to do exactly what she said and not ask questions. It was her number one rule. Apparently, there are two.
She doesn’t move.
Well, this is fun.What the hell was I thinking?
“I’m sorry. I. . . ”
Shit. I what? I couldn’t sleep, and I came up here thinking we could. . .chat.
I rub my forehead because I’ve got nothing.
She unwinds the wraps from her hands. Her sweat-soaked tank top reveals her muscular shoulders, arms, and stomach. After seeing what she can do on the bag and knowing she has the power behind it, I’d be hesitant to test her warning about breaking bones.
She turns to grab her phone off the weight rack, and I see—
“Shit!” I move quickly, then stop when she whips back around, her fists up and eyes wide and wild.
Bright red blood is soaked through the back of her white tank from her shoulder to her waist.
I stay perfectly still, my hands raised and open. Her gaze is fierce, but in the next blink, she eases.
“What the hell? Are you ok?” I step forward, reaching to help, but she dodges me, quick as lightning, bumping into the weight rack.
I remain still, knowing there’s a lot to dissect, but it’ll have to wait until she’s not bleeding. “Your back is soaked through with blood.”
She peeks over her shoulder. “Aw, dammit.” She pulls her tank to the side, and in the mirror behind her, I see a wound that looks like her flesh was sliced wide open.
She drops her tank back in place with a huff like it’s a minor annoyance and gathers her things.
“Ryder.” I stop her. “What is that? What happened?”
She busies herself, rolling her hand wraps. “A little boo-boo. I’ll put a Band-Aid on it. It’ll be fine.”
I let out a little laugh in fucking astonishment as she turns to face me. Something tells me she isn’t kidding, but there’s blood all down her back.
She brushes past me.
“Ryder.” I stop her again, wondering if this is how it’s really going to be. The two of us living together, avoiding all conversation as well as anything and everything personal. That idea pinches a tender spot under my rib cage, which I ignore.
