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Quinn usually came to the gym in the morning, but after seeing Joe this afternoon and hearing the bomb his friend dropped, he’d needed to hit something. Preferably not Joe’s face. Though that thought still held appeal. A tiny part of him was also avoiding going home. He didn’t want to run into Alex.
After Joe had left, he and Alex had shared a few moments of awkward small talk. She’d mentioned she had swung by Doc’s clinic and gotten the nurse to help her with the wounds on her back, so she wouldn’t need his help there. Then she’d grabbed the manila folder Joe had left her and hightailed it out of the building. All the ease they’d built the day before, all the friendly comfort, had been obliterated.
“Long day?” Cade glanced at the bag with one brow arched. “I’ll bet. But if you break it, you buy it, fucker.” He nodded toward an MMA cage where a lone man was shadowboxing. “Want to spar?”
“With Alvarez?” he asked, surprised by the suggestion.
Matt Alvarez was an old friend of Cade’s who’d come to Hudson Island to wait out his medical leave from the Seattle PD. Quinn had never sparred with the other man, but he knew the guy was a beast.
“Nah, not with Alvarez. He hasn’t gotten the okay yet,” Cade said as they made their way to an empty boxing ring. “Besides, when he does get cleared, you’re not gonna want to be the first man up. Dude’s got so much pent-up shit, he’ll rip your head clear off.”
“Like you’re not gonna,” he grumbled.
“True.” Cade laughed. “But lucky for you, I don’t have months of rage built up.” He smacked his gloves together. “Let’s go, Sheriff.”
Thirty minutes later, Quinn’s gloved hands were on his knees, and he was bent over, gasping for air, praying he didn’t puke.
“Good job, brother,” Cade said, smacking him on the back. “See, once you let loose and stop thinking, your form gets a shit ton better.”
“Thanks.” He wheezed. “Holy shit. Why do I feel like I’m gonna die?”
“Because you’ve never full-out sparred that long. Congratulations.”
“You’re not even short of breath. I think I fucking hate you.”
“I’m a professional. What can I say?” Cade shrugged, a shit-eating grin on his face. “Can I assume your ‘long day’ has something to do with the mysterious guest at the Buchanan house?”
Quinn straightened, then yanked open the Velcro closure on one of his gloves with his teeth. “How do you know about that?”
Cade scoffed. “Small town, dude. Small town.”
“What have you heard?”
“Beat-up midsize sedan. Tiny female in ill-fitting clothes with long black hair. Name is Alex. Wears giant sunglasses that do a shit job hiding the bruises on her face.”
He shook his head. “Jesus.”
“If it’s any consolation, Roxie was scolding everyone about gossiping.”
He snorted. “Roxie? That girl’s café is gossip central.”
Cade grinned. “I know, right? But in the twenty minutes I was there, it was clear she’s very protective of Alex.”
“Good.” He tugged off his other glove.
“I take it this”—Cade indicated the ring they’d vacated—“is also because of the other nugget of gossip flying around town?”
“And that would be?”
Cade grinned. “Joe’s back.”
He withheld an eye roll. Barely. “Yeah. That fucker swooped in for an hour, stirred up shit, then swooped on out.”
“Last time I checked, that’s what he does.” Cade nodded to a couple guys at the heavy bags. “Me and Alvarez are going to grab a bite at Monty’s Tavern. Come have a beer with us and you can set us straight on all the Hudson gossip.”
A beer and shooting the shit sounded a lot better than going home and wondering about Alex. If she was settling in okay. If she needed anything. If it would be weird if he stopped by.
Fuck.
