I arched a brow. “You’ve let yourself go soft, man. Not sure you’re up for that.”
He scowled at me. “Let’s see who’s soft.”
Nash crossed to the gear cabinet and pulled out a set of wrist wraps and gloves. In a matter of minutes, he was ready to go. “Maybe I can knock your piss-poor mood out of you.”
“Whatever.”
We moved to the center of my gym, where I’d taped off a ring. We touched gloves and circled each other. Starting with testing jabs, we reacquainted ourselves with each other—it had been a while since we’d sparred.
“How’s Grae?” Nash asked, bouncing on the balls of his feet.
“Fine. She was still sleeping when I got up.”
A muscle in his cheek ticked. He’d thought I’d left her in my bed. In reality, I’d poked my head into the guest room before heading down to the gym.
Nash threw a hook shot to my ribs. I turned my body to avoid the worst of the blow and sent a jab to his chin but pulled back on my force at the last second.
Nash shoved me with his gloved fists. “Don’t hold back, or you’re not gonna get this out of your system.”
I hit him with an uppercut to the solar plexus.
He grunted and hit me with another hook, this one to my jaw. “That’s more like it.”
The blow stung and set off something in me. We traded blow after blow until my muscles burned and my chest heaved. I blamed my lazy defense on my fatigue when Nash’s fist connected with my cheek, and my head snapped back.
“Shit! Sorry.” Nash halted as I pulled off a glove and felt my face.
That would leave a mark.
I shook my head. “It’s okay. I was getting lazy.”
Nash studied me for a moment. “You gonna tell me what’s got you spiraling? It’s more than the fire.”
I ground my teeth together. Nash didn’t see me quite as clearly as Grae did, but we’d been friends for most of our lives. He saw enough.
“It was a long night, that’s all. A lot of shit has been going down.”
Nash shoved me. “Shit you should’ve told me about.”
“Gigi didn’t want me to. I wasn’t going to betray her. Not even to you.”
He let out a growl. “It’s more than that. You’ve been locking me out. You tell me some of what’s going on but not enough to let me actually be there for you. Something’s been eating you up these past few years, and it hurts like hell that you won’t trust me with it.”
I ripped off my gloves. “It’s not about trust.”
“The hell it’s not. When I was a mess over Maddie, I came to you. Told you shit I’d never confessed to anyone else.”
Raw guilt clawed at my insides. “I know.”
“So, tell me what the hell is going on with you.”
I threw my gloves against the wall, sending a photograph crashing to the floor. “I can’t care about her.”
Nash stilled. “Can’t care about who?”
My gut hollowed out as if I hadn’t eaten in weeks. “You know who.”
Nash’s nostrils flared as he struggled for composure. “But you do care about her.”
