Chapter Three
A small scream escapes my lips.
The engine of the Porsche revs loudly, reverberating through my body, as Parker steps on the gas, narrowly avoiding the car merging into our lane. You would think we were running late with the miles he keeps racking up on the speedometer. But no. We are actually going to be early to our boxing class for once.
As much as it terrifies me, I can’t even get too mad because Parker maneuvers the car with the finesse of a seasoned Formula 1 driver. He’s probably the safest risky driver I’ve met—a complete contradiction.
The Porsche glides around a sharp corner, and I white-knuckle the bright blue seatbelt across my chest as my body sways to the right.
Just a few more minutes, I tell myself.
I stare down at my workout leggings and begin playing connect the dots with the glossy black stars printed on them to pass the time. The loud bass music playing steadily thrums against my skin, and my heart rate slows to match the beat.
Finally, the car pulls wide, and I look up to see Parker swing into a parking spot right out front of our boxing studio. I release the death grip I have on the seatbelt and flex my hand a few times to relieve the tightness.
“Ready to crush it today?” Parker gives me a lopsided grin before ducking out of the car.
I sigh before cracking the door open and getting out of the car while Parker pops the hood to grab our gloves, his grin still in place.
Maybe I can get him to channel some of this energy into a game later. He is going to have to seriously increase his hours to prepare for the championship.
I spent hours last night booking flights and accommodations for five smaller tournaments over the next twelve weeks so he can get a feel for playing on a stage while also accumulating the three speedrun wins he needs to cement his place at the championship.
As confident as Parker may be in himself, there is a large difference between completing a speedrun alone in the safety of your room versus a high profile, public competition with thousands of people watching you from the stands.
It’s like giving a work presentation virtually versus in person; there is something about the physical aspect that adds an extra layer of pressure. The last thing I want is for him to get performance anxiety.
I snort at the idea of Parker Covington ever having performance anxiety.
“Oi, you coming or not?” Parker calls from the open door to the studio.
My cheeks flush, and I shake off the thought, jogging to catch up to him. He keeps the door propped open, and I slip under his arm and into the cool confines of Jax’s Boxing House.
The smell of fresh sweat, antiseptic wipes, and worn leather envelops me.
I’ve been coming here almost weekly with Parker for a little less than a year now. It all started after a bet gone wrong, which was my own fault. Anyone who knows Parker knows not to bet with him. But I was caught up in the haze of the latest reality show I was watching; my internet had gone out during the finale, and I didn’t have the patience or time to fix it, so I went up to the boys’ apartment.
Parker had just finished a stream and was sprawled out on the couch playing on his Switch.
He wasn’t even paying attention, hadn’t seen an episode in his entire life, and yet he had the audacity to say that my favorite couple was not going to win and that instead the couple that I hated would come out on top. It was ludicrous. Especially since that other couple had broken up four times that season, and my couple had become exclusive just two episodes prior.
So, when Parker offered up a bet, I wasn’t exactly in my most professional mindset. I’d turned off for the day…and I agreed. Suffice it to say, I lost the bet, my couple broke up two weeks after the finale, and I got roped into a month of boxing lessons with Parker.
The only positive was that I didn’t hate it. It was a lot of fun, even though I was miles behind anyone else in the gym. When the month was up and I had my first Sunday free, I found myself out in front of the boxing studio anyway.
“How’s my star pupil doing?” Jax claps me on the shoulder.
I crane my neck up at the buff person before me. I swear, everyone in this gym has a solid five inches on my height. At five foot five, I’m only a little shorter than the average woman, and yet everyone here seems to defy the rules of logic.
“She’s ready to kick butt.” I smile.
“Perfect, because I have a surprise if you do well today.”
The smile slips off my face. I deal with enough surprises with The System; the last thing I want is to deal with them outside of work.
“Don’t look so worried. Let’s warm up first.”
I trail behind Jax as they lead me farther into the gym, toward the back corner where I normally train.
Parker has already slipped off, and my eyes track him as he hops onto a treadmill. His strong calves flex and his arms pump as he gains speed.
I shake myself and grab a jump rope to begin my warmup routine, alternating between sets of thirty and dynamic stretching. Once I’ve worked up a light sweat, I start some rough shadowboxing and lose myself in the repetition.
My brain is always working at a mile a minute; it feels like it never shuts off, except here.
I’ll never admit it to Parker, but losing that bet was one of the best things to happen to me in a long time. I’m well aware that my work has taken over my life, to such an extent that I struggle to ever switch off. I can’t help it. In the silence, my brain just drifts back to the boys, to what they are doing, to what they might be doing.
When I first started working for The System, they had a tendency to end up in the worst possible situations every time they left the house in their masks.
Aleksander was fighting in clubs, mouthing off to anyone who got close. Jackson would disappear, only to get photographed leaving the houses or apartments of very high-profile women at all hours, requiring copious NDAs. Parker was spraying champagne, dancing on tables, and climbing fences into restricted areas—including the rooftop pool at the Kelton Hotel Vegas, where he threw an extremely illegal party with thirty models.
They were losing sponsorships left, right, and center—not that they needed them with how much their monthly streaming income was. But after Parker wound up on a stripper pole with Aleks throwing money at him, I found that it was just easier to have them stop attending events and promo parties unless it was absolutely necessary. To have them just be Blade, English, and Shield while they were streaming or filming, and then leaving them to be Aleks, Parker, and Jackson in their free time.
It was their bored resentment at events that fueled half the situations they found themselves in, trapped in their masks. I sympathized with them, even though it was a headache.
It solved a lot of issues, and I only had to send security when they went to major award ceremonies. My stress levels decreased by half after that first year, but even now, they are still higher than your average publicist.
I try to decompress during the week when they aren’t streaming by watching reality shows and listening to unsolved crime podcasts, anything that will transport me into the drama of someone else’s life. I even have a standing date every Tuesday with Lee and Deer, two female streamers who are good friends of the guys, to watch the latest episode of this haunted house investigation YouTube channel while we gossip.
However, my reprieve was short-lived because now that The System’s identities are known, I have to keep tabs on them at all times, not just when they are their masked personas. It is five years ago all over again…maybe even worse.
My stress levels are skyrocketing, and I am barely sleeping.
Which is why I need these boxing lessons.
In these last six months, these two hours of kickboxing have given me a small slice of sanity. Jax might work me to the point of my muscles wanting to melt off my bones, but that single-minded focus in making sure my form is correct, that my punch is sharp, that my kick is high enough, is all worth it.
Jax pulls me out of my warm-ups to begin our training. We switch it up every week, sometimes focusing more on kickboxing and other times more traditional boxing. I definitely have a preference toward kickboxing because I always get a bolt of satisfaction when my foot connects with the pad. The instant gratification is addicting.
We go at it for almost an hour and a half before stopping. My lungs feel like they are expanding out of my chest, and I know my cheeks are flushed a bright pink. My quads feel like jelly, but it’s my biceps that are really screaming at me from the countless uppercut combos Jax had me perfect. I swear they pushed me way harder today.
I peel off my gloves, tossing them on a nearby bench before grabbing my towel to dab the back of my neck. A quick peek at the floor-to-ceiling mirrors lining the right side of the gym confirms what I already know. My bangs are slick with sweat and sticking to my forehead at thirteen different angles. I attempt to fix them, rubbing the towel against my hairline vigorously.
I toss the towel back on the bench with a huff before trudging to the fountain to fill up my water bottle.
As I squirt the cold water into my mouth, my eyes drift across the gym to the men battling it out in the main boxing ring.
Parker’s platinum hair flops around as his body bounces back and forth. Pure mischief glints in those icy blues as he grins around his mouthguard.
He lands a quick three-punch combo, clipping his opponent’s jaw with the final jab and sending him staggering back. Sweat glistens across his pale skin, shining like ice. My eyes are drawn to his contracting muscles, and I watch as they flex with each extension of his arm.
Try as I might, I can’t deny that Parker is attractive. It’s just a fact.
My stomach lurches for a moment when Parker’s opponent finds an opening with his right cross, and I watch in slow motion as the glove connects with his abdomen. His blond brows furrow with pain, and his lip curls back ever so slightly before he shakes it off with a curved grin. He says something to the guy. I can’t hear from this far away, but his opponent’s eyes narrow and Parker bounces back a few steps, putting a little distance between them.
It only takes a few more moments until Parker slips past his defenses and clocks him with a left hook just below his ribs. He pulls his opponent close and continues to land punch after punch until a whistle is called.
The two split apart, breathing heavily. Parker claps the guy on his back with a bright smile, and the stocky man gives him a tense grin. He probably has a solid thirty pounds of muscle on Parker, but if there’s anything I’ve learned, it’s that you can’t underestimate Parker.
He’s a pretty boy with a lot of power.
Parker lifts the bottom of his T-shirt with one hand to wipe the sweat from his forehead. My eyes linger for a second on the pale V of his hips, which is a second longer than necessary. He doesn’t have the same defined arms as Aleks or the thickly corded quads Jackson sports. Parker is more model fit, the causal kind that almost comes off effortlessly attractive.
It’s annoying.
He’s annoying.
I reinforce my mental barriers, the very ones that have helped me survive five years working with The System without losing my head.
I spot Jax walking out of their office with a frame in hand.
“Ready for your surprise?”
“Not really.” I press my lips together tightly.
They just chuckle as they walk past me. I let out a deep breath before following them to the front of the gym.
They stop right by the wall that separates the small lobby from the rest of the gym. My chest tightens as they lift the frame onto the empty nail on the wall.
My own face smiles back at me with the words “Rookie of the Season” painted in gold on the bottom of the frame.
“Really?” My voice comes out with a slight squeak, but I can’t even be embarrassed by it.
“Really.” Jax smiles, the skin around their eyes crinkling with pride. “You’ve improved a lot these last few months, Sydney. You even managed to get that right cross past me last week.”
“Jax is right. Your spinning back kick almost puts mine to shame.” My head whips around at the introduction of Parker’s voice to find him peeling off his gloves. “Soon you’ll be able to spar with me. What a privilege that’ll be for you.” He grins down at me before tossing his arm around my shoulders.
My body heats uncomfortably under its weight.
Sparring with Parker sounds like an awful idea.
“Thank you both.”
“You more than deserve it.” Jax gives me a pat on the shoulder before passing by us. “I’ll see you next week, champ.”
I take another look up at the photo on the wall. Pride warms my chest while the perfectionist within me drinks in the accomplishment.
“Not a bad surprise, right?” Parker gives me a squeeze, and I roll my eyes at him before slipping out of his grip.
“Don’t get any ideas,” I warn him, heading back into the gym so I can stretch.
Parker trails behind me like a lost puppy, chittering away.
“Come on, love. Don’t be so modest.”
I plop onto the floor and spread my legs before leaning forward and stretching out my inner thighs. Relief tingles through my overworked muscles as I go about my cool down routine. Parker flings his blue gloves next to mine on the bench before joining me.
He sits just a fraction too close, his long legs only inches away from my own. I try to scoot away without making it obvious.
If it weren’t for the fact that I’ve seen how precise he is while playing games, driving, or even boxing, I’d think he had depth perception issues. He just seriously lacks any personal boundaries.
Parker starts to mimic my movements, and I feel his eyes acutely on my body.
I press up into a downward dog and begin walking out my calf muscles. I focus on the way they are screaming at me to distract myself from the looming blond in my presence. Parker doesn’t always join me for my final stretches, but when he does, he glues himself to my side.
I hate it.
I hate it because it makes me feel a way I don’t want to feel.
I’m so lost in the repetition of left heel down, right heel down, repeat, that I don’t even register the words until a fraction too late.
“Nice ass, sweetheart. Pop it a bit higher, why don’t you?”
My elbows falter in shock, and I lose my balance. My forearms hit the mat, and milliseconds later, my knees follow suit. Confusion and embarrassment momentarily run through my brain as the words repeat themselves. I’m not even sure if they were meant for me, but the pit in my gut says otherwise.
“You wanna repeat that, mate?”
I pull myself out of the trance and tilt my head up.
Parker is no longer next to me; instead, he is standing inches away from a hulking guy in a muscle tee that barely covers his artificially bronzed chest. There are two similarly dressed, jacked-up men behind him. I’ve never seen them here before.
“Yeah, I said nice ass. It was a compliment,” the main guy sneers.
“Sounded a little more slimy than that,” Parker counters.
I see someone whip out their cellphone and it instantly triggers my publicist persona. I’m on my feet and tugging on Parker’s arm in record time.
“Enough, let’s just go.”
Parker’s eyes blaze like the hottest fires in hell as he looks down at me. I see the fierce determination, and my heart softens for a split second before turning back to ice.
“Cellphone.” I say the word through a gritted smile.
His eyes flick around before landing on the girl by the speed bags, his sharp jaw ticking with annoyance. His chest huffs with a sigh, and I relax as I watch the reluctant resignation pass through him.
Parker swoops down to pick up our gloves before tucking me protectively under his arm and stalking away.
“Pussy.”
The word floats through the air, and I feel Parker freeze. I open my mouth to stop him, but he’s already pushing the gloves into my hands and spinning from me. He doesn’t make a move to walk back to the guy; instead, he smiles, running his tongue over the top of his teeth.
“What’s your name?” His tone is calm, playful even.
The guy looks at him in confusion.
“Your name. You have one, don’t you?” Parker tilts his head and shoves his hands into his pockets.
The guy eyes him warily, eyes bouncing from Parker to me to his friends. “Boyd.” He puffs out his chest, gaining his confidence back. “Boyd Frent.”
Parker purses his lips, nodding his head a few times. Then, without saying another word, he turns around and replaces his arm across my shoulders.
I follow his lead in a trance. My mind is still whirling by the time he pushes the door open and the fall breeze whips around us.
I don’t bother fighting against Parker as he ushers us toward his car. The bright blue Porsche sticks out among the white Teslas. He opens the door for me and doesn’t move until I’m settled safely within.
Parker slips into the driver’s side before reaching over and grabbing the gloves that I am still absentmindedly clutching to my chest. He tosses them into the backseat and then starts the engine.
“You all right?” he asks, his right hand coming down to squeeze my knee briefly. The movement causes electricity to crackle up my thigh.
“I’m fine.” Honestly, I’m more concerned about him. It’s not like I wasn’t catcalled on the street just last week. “Are you okay?”
“Oh, I’m brilliant.” He shoots me a bright smile, bringing his hand back to the steering wheel as he peels out of the parking lot.
“Really? Then what was that whole thing back there?”
“Just a bit of friendly conversation.”
“Sure. And I’m the Queen of England.”
“Sensitive subject, Sydney.” He throws me his hurt puppy dog eyes.
“Just don’t do anything stupid,” I huff.
“Never,” he replies.
The smile tugging across his face tells a different story. There’s a serpentine quality to it.
Against my better judgment, I push the uneasy feeling aside. I pop the glove box and pull our cellphones out. Our one rule is that we never bring them into the gym with us. It’s another one of the reasons why I’m able to decompress there…normally.
Today, I’m not feeling as relaxed as I usually am when I leave the gym.
Both of our phones are littered with notifications, but that’s nothing new.
I place Parker’s phone on the center console before unlocking my own and scanning for any pressing updates. There isn’t anything glaringly obvious, and I silently thank God that the world, once again, didn’t burn down during my boxing lessons.
Parker snatches his phone up immediately and begins typing something. My heart lurches, and I snap it out of his hand.
“Don’t text and drive.” My panic is thinly veiled.
Guilt flashes in his eyes as he regrips the steering wheel with both hands. “Sorry, Syd. Sorry, I forgot.”
I will my heart rate to calm down. Driving safety is my one nonnegotiable. There are enough idiots on the road that you can’t trust, that you can’t control, that you can’t stop. The only thing you can control is how you drive. Even a moment of distraction can end everything—has ended everything.
I let the pain wash over me and follow my old therapist’s advice to tap my fingers against one another rhythmically. It’s practiced at this point and keeps me grounded in the present. Years have passed, but there are still moments that trigger me.
One of the only reasons I reluctantly get in the car with Parker is that, despite his speed limit aversion, he’s an extremely safe driver and has certificates to prove it.
Except right now.
“Syd, I’m really sorry.”
There’s nothing but pure regret in his tone, and I let out a sigh. Even I can’t stay mad at him for long. My heart has a soft spot for him no matter how hard I try to harden it.
“It’s fine. What were you doing anyway?”
His lips thin, and my senses go on high alert. I hold up his phone and key in the code. An unsent text message sits on the screen to a contact name I don’t recognize. The words Parker typed, however, I do recognize.
BOYD FRENT.
“I literally just told you not to do anything stupid.” I click the phone off and toss it back onto the center console.
“Dealing with Boyd is not stupid. In fact, it’s very smart.”
“Oh yeah? And how exactly do you plan to deal with Boyd? Get his body chopped up into tiny pieces and thrown into the bay? Or maybe you’ll feed him to the pigs. They are one of the most effective methods of body disposal.”
“First, you really need to tone down those crime podcasts. Secondly, no. The Covingtons are not in the murder business. However,” he shoots me a quick grin before turning his attention back to the road, “we have a lovely network of blacklisting.”
“Parker, that’s ridiculous. You can’t possibly blacklist him from every gym.”
“What’s ridiculous is someone thinking they can disrespect what’s mine with their filthy words.”
My brows twitch together, and I stare at him out of the corner of my eye. Confusion laces its way through my system until it hits those bubbles sitting in my lower stomach.
“Mine?”
He swallows, and his knuckles tighten on the wheel. “Yeah, you’re my publicist.”
Right…
That’s what I thought.
And yet those little bubbles burst, leaving an empty feeling inside me.
I shake off the feeling, refusing to look at it closer, knowing that it can only bring me trouble.
Parker reaches forward and turns up the volume of the British EDM rap music blasting through the car. I’m a country music girl, but I’ve become well acclimated to the music preferences the guys have. It’s all some variation of heavy bass music.
I let the music thump around me as I stare out the window at the passing ocean. Sunshine glints off the water, and it makes me think of the man next to me.
My life has always been bubbling rivers, rolling hills, and quiet storms. Parker is a crashing wave, a flash of lightning, that first pile of leaves in the autumn you can’t help but stomp in.
He is a golden ray piercing through my cloudy sky.
The sunshine to my ice.
I’ve always been attracted to the sun, but I can’t afford to let it scorch me.
And there is not a doubt in my mind that Parker’s heat would burn me alive.