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“I heard you had fun with Dante over the weekend,” Grayson smirks.
“You won't be hearing much from his mouth now,” I laugh.
“You’re a sick fuck, Kel. I heard he exploded the toilet shitting out those bullets.” Tell me something I don’t know. "Are you training today?” he asks.
“Why the fuck else would I be here? We have a big fight coming up in two months. Remember?” my tone mocking.
“Oh fuck off, of course, I do. You just don’t ever grace this place with your presence on a Monday. I’m sure the ladies' boxercise class won’t mind getting an eyeful of you though,” he winks, snickering.
Now, Grayson is a complete ladies man. The lopsided grin and cheesy chat up lines make me fucking cringe when we go out. I’ve not yet actually seen him with the same woman more than once.
He will be lapping up the ladies' attention.
I don’t flirt. I don’t chase, and I certainly don’t engage in small talk while I’m fucking. I imagine Grayson whispers sweet nothings into their ears as he fucks them. I don’t do any of that. That is until her, and I’ve barely tasted her yet.
Her being the reason I’m training on a Monday.
Monday I usually use to deal with all my other shit, like promos, club openings, and Luca’s shit. But my brain can’t concentrate on anything other than her. So instead, I go do what I do best.
Beat the shit out of people to stop myself from feeling.
Do I need a therapist? Fucking probably. But these methods have worked for me so far.
In just two months' time, I can focus on boxing and The End Zone. No more enforcing for Luca, no more watching my back constantly.
Wrapping my hands up and getting the gloves on, I step into the ring. Over on the mats are a bunch of middle-aged moms pretending to punch the air. I forgot my gym became a fucking mom’s club in the day.
Grayson steps into the ring with pads on and a protective helmet. “You scared I’m gonna knock you out, you pussy? Take that fucking helmet off!” I shout across the ring.
“Na, I’ll keep it on. You're in a weird ass mood today and I don’t want any shiners on this pretty face,” he goads.
Jogging up to the center of the ring, I start my first combination of jabs on the pads. Left right left, ducking as Grayson swings the pad at me. We keep going and going until my lungs burn, sweat is dripping over my eyes and my vest is drenched.
Once I get in the zone the whole world is silent. It's perfect.
My mind goes blank and the only thing I see is my opponent, a dangerous headspace to be in.
The power in my punch can kill. If my mind switches off, there is nothing to stop the devil that dances in my veins.
Catching my breath, the room is deadly silent. I look over to the moms’ class and all of them are staring at me open-mouthed, avoiding my gaze. They are petrified. I can smell their fear from here.
Grayson’s voice echoes in the background.
“Keller! Keller, snap the fuck out of it, now!” he bellows next to me.
Fuck.
Ripping off my shirt that’s clinging to the sweat, I use it to dab my forehead, trying to steady my breath. Without acknowledging Grayson, I duck under the ropes and storm to the showers.
If he’s shouting at me, I clearly didn’t kill him. Shit. I could have.
After a cold shower and getting dressed, I hunt down Grayson, who's now throwing his own punches on a bag. I must have pissed him right off.
"Grays!” I shout, getting his attention.
Pushing the bag away, he stalks over to me.
“What in the fuck was that up there, Keller” he demands, pointing to the ring. “You completely clocked out. It’s fucking dangerous. You have to get your head in the game, otherwise, you’ll fucking kill someone,” he spits, rubbing his hands over his face in frustration. “Go home, sort your head out. Christ, go get fucking laid. Now is not the time to lose it, Keller. A boxer is nothing without a strong mind. Remember that.” Turning his back to me, he starts hurling punches into the bag. One guess he’s imagining I’m that fucking bag.
