Page 6 of My Girl to Ruin

The rhythm of the impact echoes through the apartment. Fist to bag. Breath out. Reset. Again.

The worn leather swings back, and I meet it halfway, muscles tightening, knuckles slamming into the surface with controlled force. Sweat slides down my spine and soaks into the waistband of my sweatpants. My tank is damp, sticking to me, but I don’t slow down.

I don’t stop. Pain helps. Focus helps. It’s the only way to shut everything else out. Four years of doing this in a room half the size, and it worked every time. Or at least it used to. My fist connects again, harder this time, the chain above rattling sharply as the bag jerks back. My breathing is steady, but my mind won’t cooperate.

Not today. Not after yesterday.

“Tatum.”

Her name slips out without permission, cutting straight through the rhythm I’ve built. I hit the bag again, faster now, like I can beat the thought out of my head. Doesn’t work. All I see is her standing in my doorway. Smaller than I remembered, but not in the same way. Not fragile. Not breakable.

Stronger. Older.

Those big brown eyes locked on mine like she wasn’t afraid of me anymore. I exhale sharply and step back, dragging a hand over my face.

Focus.

I force myself back into position, lifting my fists again. One. Two. Three. But it’s already gone. The edge. The clarity. She took it with her the moment she walked out that door.

My phone buzzes on the counter. I ignore it at first, rolling my shoulders, trying to shake the tension loose. It buzzes again.

I swear under my breath and cross the room, grabbing it with more force than necessary. “Yeah.”

“Lachlan.” Greg. Of course.

I lean against the counter, jaw tightening. “What?”

There’s a pause on the other end, like he’s choosing his words carefully. “I owe you an apology.”

My eyes narrow slightly.

“Tatum came to see you, didn’t she?” he continues.

I stay silent. That’s all the confirmation he needs.

“She showed up at my office a few days ago,” Greg admits. “Wouldn’t leave. Wouldn’t stop asking. I told her no more than once, but she…” He exhales. “She’s persistent.”

That’s one word for it.

“She wore me down,” he finishes. “I shouldn’t have given her your address, but she made it clear she wasn’t going to stop until she found you.”

I rub a hand over the back of my neck, tension settling deep in my shoulders. Yeah. That sounds like her.

“Doesn’t matter,” I say finally.

“It does,” Greg replies. “I crossed a line. I just wanted you to hear it from me.”

I let the silence sit for a second before answering. “I get it.”

And I do. Because if she wants something, she doesn’t stop.

“Alright,” he says, relief creeping into his tone. “If anything else comes up…”

“It won’t.”

He exhales. Then, “Take care of yourself, Lachlan.” The line goes dead.

I drop the phone back onto the counter and push away from it, pacing once across the apartment before stopping in the middle of the room. My workout’s over. Not because I’m tired. But because it’s pointless now.