Chapter 130
FAYE
The sound of Alexander’s fists slamming into the punching bag echoed through the training room, a steady rhythm of frustration and force. I stood by the entrance, just watching him, letting the moments pass without saying a word. His shoulders moved with each strike, muscles coiled tight, sweat dripping down his back. He wasn’t just working out–he was trying to fight something he couldn’t put into words.
It had been a whole day since he returned from his mother’s place, and not once had he said anything about what they discussed. I didn’t need him to. Irene’s words were still sharp in my memory, and I had a strong feeling of what the truth must have been. Maybe he was still processing it. Maybe he didn’t want to share it yet. Either way, I decided not to press.
He finally slowed, breath heavy, and leaned his forehead against the punching bag. His back rose and fell, but he didn’t move. He didn’t seem to notice I was standing there…it was unlike him to be so unaware. But it was probably because he was lost in thought.
I took a step forward…then another. Carefully, so carefully, as though approaching something fragile.
When I reached him, I slipped my arms around his waist from behind, pressing my cheek against his back. For a moment, his whole body went stiff under my touch, tense as if bracing for something.
But then–slowly–he let out a breath and relaxed into my arms.
ALEXANDER
I had been so lost in the rhythm of my fists against the bag that I couldn’t tell exactly how long she’d been standing there. But at some point, her scent broke through the noise–the unmistakable pull of her presence filling the room before she made a sound.
I knew she was there. And I deliberately chose to ignore her presence.
Not because I didn’t want her–never that. But because she had this effect on me I couldn’t
fight. She brought out everything I was working so damn hard to suppress: the frustration, the doubts, the anger I was trying to drown in sweat. Faye made me feel…she always did. And right now, feeling was the last thing I needed.
Still, I couldn’t keep her out. Even without a word, even without moving closer, she was
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already under my skin. I thought maybe, just maybe, she’d walk away when she saw how focused I was, how intent I looked on tearing the bag apart. But of course, she didn’t.
Claim
I failed. Failed to shut her out. Failed to build the wall I told myself I needed. Because the moment her arms slipped around me, it was like she was telling me without words that she knew–that she could see through me no matter how hard I tried to hide. She pressed her head gently against my back, and for a moment, every muscle in me tensed, fighting the urge to give in.
But I couldn’t fight her. I never could.
So I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding and let myself sink into her touch.
I turned slowly, bracing myself. My lips tugged into something that was supposed to be a smile, but it felt more like a shield. I was ready for her to ask. Ready for the question I had been dreading since I returned from my mother’s yesterday: What did she say?
But instead, Faye’s eyes held mine, a sly curve at her lips, and she smirked.
“You look like you should be throwing punches at someone who can throw back,” she said lightly, “not just a poor bag that doesn’t stand a chance.”
The suspicion must have been written all over my face because I gave her a look before I could stop myself. “Oh really?” I asked, the corners of my mouth twitching despite everything.
Before I could say anything else, she reached down and picked up the extra gloves lying by the bench. She slid her hands into them with a deliberate slowness, tightening the straps around her wrists. Then she looked up at me with that daring little spark in her eyes.
“You need a proper challenge,” she said.
I laughed. It came out low, surprised, the kind of laugh that sneaks up when you don’t see it coming. And it was ridiculous…here I was, barely holding myself together, carrying the weight of truths that still felt like they could crush me…and she was standing there, grinning at me, gloves strapped, ready to fight me like this was the best idea in the world.
And the worst part? I couldn’t resist it.
“Faye,” I said slowly, shaking my head, “you can’t be serious.”
She tilted her head. “Try me.”
The way she said it, half playful, half challenging, reminded me exactly why she always managed to pull me back from the edge. She wasn’t trying to fix me with words. She wasn’t pushing me to open up before I was ready. She was giving me a way to breathe, a way to
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release without drowning.
Claim
I sighed, but I could already feel the smile tugging at my lips. “You realize,” I said as I reached for my own gloves, again,“that I’m not going to go easy on you, right? ”
Her grin widened. “That’s exactly the point.”
I shook my head again, muttering under my breath about how reckless she was. But even as I said it, I was already pulling the gloves on.
By the time I turned back, she was standing in the middle of the room, fists raised, bouncing lightly on her feet like she was actually preparing for this.
I couldn’t help it. I laughed again. “You’re out of your mind.”
“Maybe,” she said, her eyes glittering with mischief. “But at least I’ll keep you from breaking another punching bag.”
I moved into position opposite her, adjusting my stance. “Fine,” I said with a mock seriousness, “but don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
The first time she threw a jab, I almost didn’t block it because I was too distracted by the way she looked–so determined, so fierce, so damn beautiful even with her hair falling slightly into
her face.
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