I don’t know what to say to her about that. I don’t know much about Max or the guys’ past. They don’t talk about it. I justknow they’re all together now running Uncaged and seem happy. Most of the time. I don’t know if Caine has ever been actually happy, but he’s just a miserable fuck.
I push all thoughts of Uncaged from my mind and grab my keys to go to the gym. Physical therapy has been going well, but they take shitsoslow. Too slow for me. Once I’m at the gym I throw out all the “take it easy” shit everyone’s been telling me and train like I used to. Albeit a little less because my muscles aren’t as used to the workouts, but I don’t care. I want to get back to how I was.
My eyes are drawn to the heavy bag that’s taunted me every single time I’ve come here. I grit my teeth, missing the way it feels to let everything out as my fist hits the leather. I could do it a little; I have to get back to it sometime. It’s not like I’m full on sparring or rolling around on the ground risking fucking up my shoulder anymore. I can just use my right arm and take it easy on my left.
Knowing it’s not a good idea, and that anyone would try to stop me if they knew about this, I step up the bag already feeling the familiar buzz that comes from fighting. The outlet I found when everything felt out of control. The one thing I did for myself that I felt I was good at. The thing that brought me out of the darkness my mind sometimes tries to go to.
The one thing I can’t even do anymore because of a fucking injury.
I throw a right hook at the bag, instantly feeling the tension starting to leave my body as soon as my knuckles make contact. I do it again, irritated that I can’t switch arms as seamlessly and can’t put as much power behind the punches with my left. But it’s something, and it feels fucking good.
“You seem to know what you’re doing,” some guy comments, and I turn to glare at whoever it is.
“Yeah, I should,” I retort; the guy steps to the other side of the bag. He looks about my age, he’s wearing a shirt with thename of the gym on it, and I really don’t want someone trying to sell training or something to me right now.
I throw another punch at the bag, hoping the guy just goes away, but he watches me.
“You a boxer?” he asks.
“MMA fighter,” I grunt with another hit, this one harder than the last because I’m about to picture his face on this bag if he doesn’t go away.
“You train around here?”
“Look, man, I’m not interested in training here. I have a gym, I have coaches, got it?”
I expect him to be offended, but he chuckles. “I’m not trying to sell you on anything. I noticed you’re favoring your right side, so let me guess, you’re recovering from an injury?”
I clench my jaw tighter, not liking when anyone can notice something I haven’t told them. Especially this stranger.
“We have an opening for a fighting coach if you would be interested,” he continues, then pats the bag before walking away and leaving without me saying anything.
I wipe my hand under my nose, thinking about the offer. I’ll be back to my full capacity in fighting soon enough, but maybe a temporary coaching position might be a good idea.
Even though I’m still not sure what my life is going to look like even a month from now I may consider the offer. Though it may make me more pissed off watching others do what I can’t right now.
I leave the gym because clearly this hasn’t helped my mind off shit. But I know something that will.
The little temptation and distraction that is Rae. Grayson is gone, she made it known it would just be the two of us. While I would have loved for that to mean neither of us leave her house that entire time we both have lives that have to happen outside the bedroom.
I have my therapy; she has family, friends, and apparently can’t write music when I’m around because she’s kicked me outwith that being her excuse. Which I kind of like, especially when I push back and she’s pushing me out the door, refusing to give into my taunts.
She’s…incredible.
She’s everything I never expected her to be. She’s not entitled, some spoiled stuck-up rich bitch like I expected. She works hard, harder than a lot of other people I’ve met in my life. She’s funny, sweet, especially when she gets nervous. But when she’s confident? She’s unstoppable. She doesn’t always believe in herself and I don’t understand why. But it’s all a part of her charm.
And I can’t stay away.
The new music she’s been working on is amazing. It’s not like the shit on the radio, or anything she’s had before. It’s edgy, haunting, a little dark, but she has a way of making it fun and unique in her own way.
I think it’s because she’s finally discovering herself. Her sound, who she is. She’s justRae.
Once I’m in my car, I pull out my phone to text her because I’m not asking if she’s free, I need to see her.
Asher
Are you home?
Shifting my car in reverse, I start to drive before she even responds. I glance down at the notification quickly.