Maybe if I didn’t have so much going on, I would’ve taken the time to wonder about what happened there.
Last night, he called and curtly insisted on a boxing session this morning. It didn’t feelfriendly. Didn’t feel like he wanted to have a sweaty, pre-dawn dance in the ring like we used to.
It felt like a summon.
When I walk into the gym, Torin is already taking shots at a punching bag.
“Buongiorno,” he grunts out.
Lyra was wrong. He’s in a mood.
I return the greeting then cross to the wooden bench along the wall to prep and wrap my hands.
By the time I’m done, he’s in the boxing ring, bouncing on his toes.
Wary, I climb up and dip under the ropes.
“Missed me?” I joke, putting on my gloves. “Reuben’s not as fun, huh?”
He dips his chin and glares at me under his sweaty brows. “You’re in defense mode today. No attacks.”
I bounce on my toes, warming up. “That’s not my style.”
“Today it is.”
I roll my shoulders. “Why?”
He cricks his neck. “Youknowwhy.”
With anyone else, I probablywouldknow. With him? It could be anything.
My brain functions five, ten, fifteen times faster than the average brain. There’sa lotthat goes on in my head in a second, in a minute. My brain’s capability to think twenty steps ahead is what makes me good at most things.
On the outside, it looks like I’m just damn great at multitasking. But really, my brain had already created multiple solutions for a problem long before it became a problem. Inside, my brain is already working on the next problem that’s not even been born yet. It’s never really working on anythingin the moment. Always far ahead. Waiting for me to catch up.
Still, as clever and formidable and foreseeable as my high-functioning brain is, it has never been able tosolve,deconstruct, or outpace Torin Garza.
No, Idon’tknow what he’s in a mood about right now.
That said, he’s the only path to what I’ve been working toward for the last decade, so with a nod, I do what I’ve been doing since I returned to LA and joined Red Cage. I defer.
Without warning, he attacks.
I block, defend. Again and again.
But he’s a better boxer than me—ex-military. Faster, more agile, which means he gets me good a couple of times.
No, this isn’t just another morning of boxing. This is him letting something out.
He wants to beat the shit out of mefor real. That much is clear. Maim me, even.
But he can’t because he needs me.
Realizing that fact, I loosen up on my defense and let him get me where it hurts.
The more blows he gets in, the more he hears me grunt in pain, the more his aggression wanes.
Whatever the fuck he wants to punish me for, I’m certain I deserve it.
