Chapter 5
Dante
Slam!
The heavy bag quivers under the impact of my right fist, while the chain groans and clanks its protest above me.
Before it can settle back into place, my left hand drives forward, disrupting its equilibrium once more.
Back and forth, I throw punches, the ache in my wrapped knuckles intensifying with every swing.
Every time my fist meets the bag, I’m picturing his face—the pretentious guy who took off with Theo last night.
“Jesse,” I spit as a powerful right hook sends the bag hurtling away at an angle, imagining his symmetrical, punchable features and sharp cheekbones.
Theo spent the rest of the evening with him, and I couldn’t tear my eyes away as the two of them danced. Jesse’s hands were too bold, too familiar, gliding over Theo’s lithe body with so much intention I wanted to remove them from his arms.
Can’t lay a finger on what’s mine if you’re lacking the necessary appendages, now can you?
Another vision rushes through my mind of Theo giving me a casual wave as he and Jesse made their way out the door. Sweat drips down my forehead as I unleash a flurry of jabs and crosses, knocking the bag into a disoriented dance. My lip twists into a sneer, my fists and arms burning with exertion.
It’s not fair to him.
I know it’s not fair.
Doesn’t make it hurt any less.
The memory of Theo’s piercing blue eyes flashes through my mind. They were bright as the afternoon sky and almost too big for his face as he looked up at me, impossibly hopeful. I can still feel the warmth of his body settled in my lap and the gentle whisper of his breath against my ear.
The more time I spend with him, the harder it becomes, but I can’t stay away.
Can’t stand the distance. Every rejection I force between us is a battle against my own heart.
Each time he insists we could be amazing together, it gets harder to refute.
Because he would be my forever. Of this, I’m certain.
From the moment he crashed into my life, I was hooked. Months of trying to push him away turned into years, but every effort was wasted. There are no limits to his determination, and certainly no off switch. The problem isn’t him getting past my armor—it’s him seeing what’s underneath.
From day one, I’ve made my stance clear. We can never be more than friends, no matter how much I want him.
He knows me better than anyone, but even he doesn’t know those buried parts of me that still ache when they’re touched. He doesn’t understand why I could never gamble on us, or why letting him in would mean exposing scars I’ve spent years hiding.
Intimacy feels like handing someone the map to every place that still makes me flinch.
Theo wouldn’t hurt me.
I know that.
I know it.
But trauma is funny like that, and I’d never weigh him down with that mess. Being with me would mean tying him to my anchor and tossing us both into the sea.
We’d drown. And it would be entirely my fault.
A furious growl tears out of me as I channel every last ounce of energy into my punches, each strike landing heavier than the last until my limbs feel like lead. Exhausted, I grab the swinging bag and press my sweaty forehead against the leather, breath stuttering in angry, heaving inhales.
A shadow falls over my shoulder. “You alright, man?”
“Fine, Jugs.”
“Doesn’t look that way to me,” he muses, and I release the bag, turning to face him. Jugs has been my trainer for years, and is nicknamed for the ridiculously muscular chest that practically needs its own support system. “Want to talk about it?”
“Do I ever want to talk about it?” I snap, but he’s grown immune to my rough edges.
He shrugs, absentmindedly checking the wraps on my hands to make sure the tape hasn’t shifted or chafed my skin. “Does this have anything to do with Chad?”
A reluctant laugh escapes me. “You know his name was Trent.”
Another shrug, this one paired with a sly grin. “He was definitely a Chad, though.”
“That he was,” I murmur.
Five years ago, I showed up on Jugs’ doorstep with a black eye and a bloody nose, and he welcomed me inside without a single question.
He taught me how to fight, how to protect myself so I’d never feel helpless again.
It took months—years, really—for the story to emerge in pieces, and even now there are chapters I’ve kept locked away from him.
Some things are better left hidden.
“So?” he asks, grabbing the punching mitts and strapping them on as he heads toward the ring. “Was this a Chad moment?”
“Indirectly,” I say after a moment’s hesitation.
He waits for me to continue, giving a solid thirty seconds before he lets the sarcasm kick in. “Oh, man, Dante! What a thrilling tale! That clears up so many of my questions about why you were assaulting a heavy bag.”
I grimace as I swing, the punch landing solidly against his mitt with a sharp thump. “It’s just…” Another loud crack as I strike again, harder this time. “Theo.”
He lifts his chin, watching me steadily over the mitts as he blocks the next blow. “Oh, right. The man you’re mindlessly in love with, that you, for some idiotic reason, refuse to give the time of day.”
“It’s not an idiotic reason. It’s for his own good.”
“Such a goddamned martyr,” he mutters under his breath. His head jerks left, dodging my next swing by the barest inch. “I beg to differ. Sounds pretty fucking stupid to me.”
“Look at my track record, man. I don’t know how to be in a healthy relationship. I would hate myself for making him settle for less than he deserves.”
“What about what you deserve, Dante? You planning to stay celibate the rest of your life because you’re too afraid to try?”
“Afraid? I’m not—”
“You’re being a fucking coward,” he counters, dropping the mitts a few inches to fix me with a challenging stare.
A growl crawls up from my throat as I swing faster and harder, pouring everything into each strike, but I’ve never once gotten the best of Jugs. Every move is blocked with effortless precision. He’s not even breathing heavy, while sweat stings my eyes and my lungs burn.
“You saw me, man—how fucking broken I was. It was pitiful.”
“Pitiful? Do you think anything I saw in you that day was pitiful?” He shakes his head and points a mitt at me. “You were braver that day than you are right now. Right now you’re being an idiot.”
“I stood there,” I snarl, “and let him treat me like that. I let him hit me, let him scream, let him convince me I deserved every fucking second of it. I actually thought it was okay. For years! Years, Jugs. That’s not just pitiful, that’s fucking pathetic. I’m pathetic.”
My aggression surges, voice rising with each word until it’s almost a shout. He takes a measured step back, mitts still raised and eyes steady on me like he’s waiting for the real blow to land.
He sneers over the top of them. “The only thing pathetic about you is that you’re too fucking afraid to move on from what happened to—fuck!”
In a maneuver that surprises us both, my uppercut sneaks past his guard and slams into his chin. The clack of his teeth echoes sharp in the gym and blood blooms instantly on his lip.
“Fuck, Jugs!” I yank the mitts off his hands, letting them thud to the mat as I step closer. Blood drips from the split, coating his teeth as he grins through it, unperturbed. “Where’s your mouth guard?”
“Didn’t think I needed one,” he says as he wipes the blood away with the back of his glove.
“Damn it, man. I’m sorry.”
“Sorry that you finally got one over on me after five years of sparring? I was starting to feel like a failure.” He pulls the towel from his shoulder to clean himself properly, the grin never quite fading.
I huff an indignant laugh as he leads me to the benches. We both collapse onto them, sweaty and worn out, chests heaving in unison. He tosses his gloves aside before he grabs two water bottles from the cooler nearby, hands one to me, and cracks his open with a wince.
“At the risk of being punched again,” he says, wiping his mouth once more, “I’m going to say something you won’t want to hear.”
“Oh, boy.”
“You have to let go of some of this control, Dante. What happened to you was fucking terrible, and I don’t know the half of it. But the pieces you’re keeping to yourself aren’t your fault. They were never your fault, and you need to get that through your thick skull. You were the victim.”
A moment passes in silence as I sip on my water. “I know it wasn’t my fault,” I finally say quietly. “I know I’m not weak anymore.”
“So what exactly is the problem?”
My eyes drift across the gym to a couple of guys sparring in the far ring, their movements so perfectly matched it’s almost hypnotic.
The back-and-forth is so fluid that it looks less like fighting and more like a dance.
The same can’t be said for Theo and me. I’m bulky and broad, twice his size, all hard edges and heavy mass next to his slim, quick grace.
“What if I lost control?”
“And what? Hurt him? Give me a break, Dante.”
“Everything I do is under my complete control,” I say, the words coming out low as I try to explain what doesn’t even make sense to me half the time.
“Every decision I make throughout the day, down to the steps I take. All of it. Every single fucking thing… except my feelings for Theo. I can’t control them, but I have a choice over how I respond to them. ”
“By pushing him away.”
I shake my head. “All I know about relationships is wrong. It’s ugly. What happens if I snap? Turn into his Trent? I’d never forgive myself for hurting him.”
“You wouldn’t,” he insists with that unwavering conviction he’s always had in me.
“You can’t be sure of that.”
“Fucking stubborn,” he mutters before he sits back against the wall. “The day that guy in the band punched you… what did you do?”
I huff my annoyance at the memory of Eric charging into practice, fist connecting with my jaw for abandoning Dmitri at the bar. When I don’t answer, he presses on.
“That’s right, you did nothing. I bet that motherfucker is still clueless that you could’ve dropped him where he stood. And do you have any idea why?”
He stays quiet, waiting for me to fill the silence this time. I make sure he sees the obnoxious roll of my eyes before I finally ask, “Why, Jugs? Please enlighten me.”
“I’ve been working with a bunch of hardheaded boxers for almost twenty years, and you are the most disciplined person I have ever met. If you didn’t retaliate to a very justified knock in the face, what makes you think you’d touch someone you love?”
Memories rush back to me, as fresh as if they happened yesterday despite the years that have passed. Jugs only knows the part of the story that left bruises in places the world could see. There are other scars—deeper, quieter ones—that remain hidden, locked away where no one can reach them.
“Theo won’t be the one I use to figure out what healthy love is supposed to be. He won’t be my guinea pig.”
“Dante—”
I stand and turn my back on him. “End of discussion.”
Our long history has taught him exactly when pushing stops being helpful and starts being cruel, and he falls silent for a moment.
Finally, a heavy hand lands on my shoulder.
“All I’m saying, man, is that you need to give yourself more credit.
You are allowed to be happy. Hell, you deserve it… more than anyone else I’ve ever met.”
He spins me around to face him, and his usual jovial hazel eyes are serious as he squeezes my shoulder once. “You’re more than your past, Dante. More than he ever let you believe you were.”
“You only say that because I pay you to,” I tease, the words a deflection he recognizes instantly.
His smile softens and he gives my shoulder a small shake before releasing me and stepping back. “Ready for round two? Five bucks says you can’t land another blow on me.”
“Ten bucks and you’re on,” I respond, shoving his chest. It doesn’t budge his massive frame at all, and he chuckles easily as we glove up again, leaving my past in the silence where it belongs.