So I drive to the gym instead, the knife in my heart twisting the whole way over.
When I get there, I toss my bag onto a bench and wrap my hands. Luckily, it’s quiet this afternoon. I walk over to the heavy bag and take a deep breath before I let my fists fly. I pound the hell out of it, and twenty minutes later, I don’t feel any better. The heavy bag doesn’t retaliate, and that’s a problem.
I need something to hit me back. I need pain, resistance, something to focus on besides the look on her face when she told me to go home. I clutch the sides of the bag and grit my teeth. The emptiness in her eyes, the way she looked at me like I was nothing… fuck, it shattered me worse than any words she could ever spew.
But I keep going because I need a distraction. If I’m too tired to think, to lament, to wallow, then I’ve accomplished my goal. My knuckles are raw even through the wraps. My shoulders are screaming. Sweat pours down my face, and I haven’t stopped moving since I walked in.
Jab. Cross. Hook. Again and again and again.
She won’t take my calls. She won’t read my letters. She won’t let me within fifty feet of her without security stepping in.
Jab. Cross. Hook. Faster, harder.
I’ve tried everything. I’ve camped outside her building, showed up at her office, sent notes, fucking handwritten letters through her assistant Jayne because it’s the only way to get anything past her security.
My fists numb.
Nothing works. Nothing fucking works.
I hit the bag so hard the chain rattles. Again. And again. My arms shake, but I don’t stop.
“You’re going to tear a rotator cuff if you keep that shit up.”
Cillian’s voice slices through my toxic thoughts.
I don’t turn around. “Go away.”
“Can’t do that, bro.”
I finally stop, chest heaving, and turn to face him. He’s not alone. Wolfe and Gavin are behind him, and?—
Ronan?
“What the fuck is this?” I grab my water bottle, twist off the cap, and guzzle it down. “An intervention?”
“Something like that.” Cillian crosses his arms. “Security at Adriana’s parents’ house called Ronan. Said you made a scene out on the street.” He cocks his head to the side. “Jesus, Loch, have some self-respect.”
I flip him off. “I didn’t make a scene. I tried to talk to my wife.”
“You fought her guards.”
“They grabbed me first.” I give my head a shake. “And I could’ve fucked them up way worse if I wanted to.”
“Yeah, because that would have really impressed your lady love,” Cillian says with a snort.
Ronan steps toward me. He looks different than he did a few weeks ago. The arrogant prick façade is gone. I guess realizing that the person you aspired to be is actually a selfish traitorousbastard will get you thinking that maybe you need a new plan for yourself.
“You can’t keep doing this, Loch. Showing up, making scenes—it’s not going to win her back. It’s going to get you shot.”
“Then what the fuck am I supposed to do?” I hurl the water bottle. It bounces off the wall behind Ronan, spilling across the floor. “Just give up? Walk away? Pretend I don’t love her?”
“No.” Ronan’s voice is calm and steady, the exact opposite of everything I feel. “You’re supposed to be smart about it.”
“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”
He glances at Cillian, then back at me. “I heard from her yesterday.”
I still, my eyes narrowing. “Youwhat?”
