Midnight Gym is already busy with the morning crowd, the air filled with the familiar sounds of weights clanking and treadmills whirring. I wave to the girl at the front desk, then make my way across the main floor, a massive open space with weight racks along one wall and cardio equipment on the other.
Dominic’s already in the boxing area at the far end, wrapping fresh tape around one of the heavy bags. He’s always here early, probably arrives before dawn for his own training. I wouldn’t be surprised if he actually lived in some hidden room in the gym.
I start warming up, stretching out my shoulders, loosening my wrists, wrapping my hands carefully. The ritual soothes me, focusing my scattered thoughts. Other regulars filter in, greeting each other with nods or brief conversations.
Ted with his perpetually untied shoelaces that Dominic always calls him out for. Karen who could probably knock out a heavyweight with her right hook and never stops talking about her grandkids.
And then there’s Pink Gloves. I knew her name once, two years ago, but now we’re firmly in that awkward “too late to ask without looking like a jerk” territory. I secretly suspect Dominic’s forgotten her name too, since he never says it during class.
“Morning, everyone,” Dominic calls out at exactly 8 AM, his voice cutting through the chatter. He never starts late, never ends early. “Partner up for warm-up drills.”
Pink Gloves immediately makes her way over to me with a smile.
“Hey, Lark!” she says brightly as we tap gloves in greeting. “It’s been forever! How have you been?”
“Good, really good,” I say, smiling back as we fall into the familiar rhythm of jabs and blocks. My mind is desperately trying to recall if her name starts with an A or a J. Amy? Julie? Nothing’s coming. “How about you?”
“Oh, you know, same old,” she replies, throwing a jab that I block easily. “So, you and Jack, huh? I saw your pictures on Instagram. When were you going to tell us you’re dating Dark River’s biggest heartthrob? I mean, what a score.”
Even here I can’t escape him. The very place I came to clear my head. I focus on my footwork, maintaining proper stance.
“It’s, uh, still pretty new,” I say, trying to sound casual even though my face is heating up.
“Well, you two look amazing together,” she continues enthusiastically, her eyes practically sparkling with gossip excitement. “I’ve followed him since his rookie season. I mean, those eyes! That jawline! You’re seriously the luckiest girl right now.”
“Hey!” Dominic’s voice cuts through her celebrity gossip session like a knife, sharp and annoyed. “This is boxing, not social hour. Focus on your form!”
Thank goodness for Dominic’s no-nonsense approach. Saved by the perpetually gruff gym owner. We eventually move to the heavy bags, and Dominic calls out combinations. The rhythm of the workout takes over, and I lose myself in it. Sweat drips down my back, my arms burn with exertion, but I keep pushing.
With each hit against the bag, I work through the confusion in my head. Punch: Jack’s face when he nearly kissed me. Jab: The way he looked at me when I played for him. Cross: How he held me when I got the label email. Hook: The fact that none of it is real.
“Good form, Lark,” Dominic says, holding the bag steady as I throw a particularly vicious combination, his approval rare enough to mean something. “Channel that energy.”
If only you knew where this energy was coming from.
By the end of class, I’m drenched in sweat, my muscles pleasantly exhausted. This is why I come here, why I keep coming back. To find that place where my body takes over andmy mind quiets down, where everything becomes simple for just a little while.
“Good work today,” Dominic says as I gather my things.
Coming from him, it’s high praise. He’s not one for empty compliments.
“Thanks, Dominic. Great class as always,” I say, grabbing my water bottle and gym towel, still catching my breath. “I’ll see you next time.”
He nods, already turning his attention to setting up for the next class.
After a shower and quick breakfast, I head home to change before making my way to The Black Lantern. The morning sun shines bright, Dark River’s small downtown coming alive with activity as I drive through.
It’s still a few hours before we open, but I told Maren I’d help her with some inventory work. The familiar smells of wood polish and beer greet me as I unlock the door. I drop my bag behind the bar, flipping on lights as I call out, “Hello?”
“In the storage room!” Maren calls back.
I find her counting bottles of tequila, clipboard in hand, blonde hair pulled back in a bun. Her face lights up when she sees me, breaking into a wide smile.
“Hey! Well well well if it isn’t my little star!” she says with a grin, setting down her clipboard to give me a quick hug, her excitement palpable.
I’d texted her ridiculously late last night to tell her about the email and Seattle label party, but she’d been up writing anyway so we’d had a full-on freak-out session via text. “I know, right? I can hardly believe it!”
Jayson pokes his head around the corner, arms full of boxes from a delivery. His curly hair is already covered by his favorite bandana, ready for a day in the kitchen.
