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Malcolm turned his shoulder to take it, aiming lower to throw his partner off. “Not a chance.”
His mind no longer wandered. Instead, he gained the intense focus that he’d been looking for, the one where he saw the line of sweat developing on his friend’s face; the eye twitch that warned of an uppercut; even the sound of his own breathing, which had finally sped up to more of a pant when they called a draw.
Reggie slapped his shoulder with his glove. “Figured you’d come. How’s Itty-Bitty? She good?”
“I’m not sure. Trenton is with her.” Malcolm pulled free the Velcro on his gloves.
Reggie nodded. He wasn’t one to say a lot, but that he’d shown up at the gym meant a lot. Especially since it was nearing midnight.
Malcolm sat at the edge of the ring, putting his gloves beside him and letting his arms rest on the ropes. “Hey, you got any cousins left that Blake didn’t screw?”
Reggie grunted as he lowered himself beside him. “I’ll ask. For waitressing?”
“Maybe.” Celia liked to remain busy, so it all depended on what the doctor said. “Might not be right away, but with Katie pregnant…” Malcolm shrugged. He was still surprised he’d be an uncle in less than six months. He’d never expected it of Blake, but his friend and his sister seemed happy.
The dim lighting of the boxing gym flickered, casting the rows of bags into shadow. When Celia had first moved away, he’d found the place. Back then, he’d done some actual fighting. He’d been pretty good; earned enough to buy the tavern anyway.
It had been after one of his early wins that he’d helped a woman besides Celia for the first time. He’d come across his opponent taking out the loss on his girlfriend. Malcolm had knocked the guy flat again, this time out cold, unlike in the ring. Then he’d offered to help her get free from the prick. She’d taken him up on it for a while, but had been disappointed when she realized Malcolm didn’t expect any type of payment, especially not any that would be made with her body. She’d been the first that had gone right back to her abuser.
He wondered whether he’d still find Jami at his house in the morning.
Reggie’s tattoos flexed as he pushed his bulk to his feet. “I’m due for some sleep.”
“See you tomorrow,” Malcolm called. After the door banged shut behind his friend, the gym fell quiet again.
Malcolm still wasn’t ready to crash. He secured his gloves again, slipping down to the floor. Perhaps time at the bags would slow the rest of his thoughts. The clink of the chain after the first punch created a rhythm in his head that he settled into, grateful to forget everything for a while.
Chapter 7
Jamiwokeupwitha pounding head and a thirst so deep her lips felt cracked. She sat up, the weight of the cast pulling her legs to the floor. Pressing a hand to her head did nothing. Malcolm had insisted that they fill her prescription before leaving the hospital, and she glared at the little bottle of pills, snatching them up in her other hand as she shuffled toward the kitchen she’d seen the night before.
She left the lights off on the way, certain any light would only add to her pain. Malcolm’s kitchen was spotless, even though there was no way he could have anticipated company. He must have been the type that put things away as he used them, which would normally speak to her soul. She hated messes. Only, there were no cups in sight on the counters, and she was of a size that needed a stepstool to reach the tall cabinets comfortably.
Sighing, she limped forward. The leg in the cast dragged a bit, too heavy to do the full step thing. Her body was telling her enough was enough.
The first cabinet held plates. It wasn’t until the fourth she checked that she found the glasses. He had chosen the cabinet nearest to the sink instead of the fridge, but that worked too. Only coffee cups were on the bottom shelf. She leaned into the edge of the counter, reaching for a glass. Her fingers brushed the surface of it. Grunting, Jami stretched farther, and her shoulder protested. She must have bumped it as well during her fall yesterday.
Everything hurt, and her eyes got damp. Her fingers managed to nudge the glass forward, sending it tumbling out, but her body didn’t obey her enough to catch it.
A large hand snatched it from the air.
“Sorry. I should have set out a glass,” Malcolm said. His heat from behind her was already absent when she turned to find him crossing to the fridge to fill the glass from the door. A somehow familiar scent lingered, and she wondered where she could have encountered it. She’d switched her father to scentless products toward the end, since his skin had grown so sensitive, and the smell was nothing like Andrew’s expensive cologne. No, it was almost like cinnamon or caramel, only not.
Jami glanced at the curtain covering the window above the sink. Light danced at the edges. She gripped the counter to prevent herself from swaying. “I thought you said you’d text?”
“I did, Jami.” Malcolm returned to her side, holding out the glass.
Thirst won out. She grabbed it from him, draining the water inside.
Malcolm silently held his hand out for the glass. Jami held on to it at first, but the trembling in her hand told her that shuffling to the fridge wasn’t worth the effort, so she passed the glass to him to fill again. After he handed her the full glass back, he lifted her pill bottle and shook out one, pinching it between his fingers.
Jami’s hands tightened around the glass as she stared at the damn thing, but then she leaned forward and took the pill with her mouth, swallowing enough water to get it down.
Malcolm blinked at her and stared down at his fingers before his hand dropped to his side.
Jami couldn’t believe she’d done that. She should have reached for the pill with her hands, not her lips. She lowered her gaze as she sucked down more water. Apologizing would just underline the action. For some reason, that lingering aroma of his had reduced her to the impulsivity she used to have as a teenager.
Malcolm didn’t ask her anything inane, like how she was feeling. Her shaking attempt to gain water, and the squint she couldn’t fully focus because of the headache, must have been obvious enough. The silence should have been uncomfortable. It wasn’t.
