Chapter 5
FIVE
KODA
I scan the faces in front of me, and fifteen pairs of eyes stare back with a mix of anticipation and trepidation. The smell of fresh sweat and disinfectant hangs in the air, along with something else.
Fear.
These people don’t know what they’re in for. And judging by the pristine workout gear and unmarked gloves, most of them have never thrown a real punch in their lives.
This is going to be a long fucking hour.
“Morning,” I growl. “Welcome to beginner boxing. My name is Koda Wilde. I’ll be your instructor for this course.”
A murmur ripples through the group.
“For those who don’t know, I’m a former professional boxer. I’ve been training fighters for seven years.” I let that sink in. “This isn’t going to be easy. But if you stick with it, you’ll learn proper technique, build strength, and maybe even have some fun.”
A guy in the back snorts. I lock eyes with him until he looks away.
“Let’s go around and introduce ourselves. Name, experience level, and why you’re here.”
They take turns mumbling their names and variations of “no experience” and “get in shape.” I note a few standouts.
There’s a firefighter with decent form, a middle-aged woman with surprising grip strength, and a scrawny kid who looks like he’d be more at home behind a computer screen than in a boxing ring.
“Adrian DeLuca,” the skinny one says when it’s his turn. His voice is stronger than I expected. “Zero experience unless you count getting punched in high school. I’m here to learn self-defense and, well, get stronger.”
I nod, studying him. He’s pale and thin, with dark hair that falls across his forehead. But his eyes are determined, and he stands straighter than the rest.
Sometimes it’s the unlikely ones who surprise you.
“Good. Everyone grab a spot on the floor. We’ll start with stances.”
I demonstrate the basic boxing stance—feet shoulder-width apart, dominant foot back, knees slightly bent, hands up to protect the face. The class mirrors me with varying degrees of success. I walk around, making corrections. A tap on the elbow here, a nudge to the foot there.
“Protect your chin,” I tell a blonde woman who keeps dropping her guard. “Your face won’t stay that way if you don’t keep these hands up.”
My mind flashes to Charlotte’s face at the diner this morning. The way the early light caught her honey-blonde hair and her pretty smile when she laughed at my joke.
Fuck. Focus.
“Now we’re going to work on the jab. The simplest punch, but the foundation of everything else you’ll learn.”
I demonstrate in slow motion, extending my left arm with a slight rotation of the wrist at impact. The class follows along, punching air with more enthusiasm than skill. Adrian DeLuca’s form is terrible, his elbow dropping with each extension, but he’s focused, his brow furrowed in concentration.
I correct a few more stances and set them up to practice the jab in pairs. As they work, my thoughts drift back to Charlotte.
I spent most of last night staring at my ceiling, hard as steel, stroking my cock like a lovesick teenager while Charlotte’s face floated behind my eyelids. I came with her name trapped behind my teeth, and the shame that followed was worse than any beating I’ve taken in the ring.
She’s Jason’s daughter, for fuck’s sake. Jason, who’s been my brother in all but blood since we were fifteen. Jason, who trusted me around his little girl. Who would put me in the ground if he knew the thoughts I’ve been having.
“Keep your elbows in!” I bark at no one in particular, needing to expel some of the tension building in my chest.
So why can’t I get her out of my head? I’ve been with beautiful women before. Models, actresses, women who knew exactly what they wanted and how to get it. None of them got under my skin like this. None of them made me feel like I was drowning just by existing.
The worst part is, I think she might feel it too. The way she looked at me at last night. How she blushed when our fingers touched over the coffee cups. The electricity in that small point of contact that shot straight through me.
“Mr. Wilde? Am I doing this right?”
Adrian’s voice pulls me back to reality. He’s standing in front of me, his stance still wrong, but determination etched into every line of his body.
“Close.” I move to correct his form. “Keep this elbow in. Rotate from the hip, not just the arm. There you go.”
He tries again, the punch smoother this time.
“Better. Much better.” I nod in approval. “You’re a quick learner.”
A grin splits his face. “Thanks. I’ve been watching some videos online to prepare.”
“It shows.” I mean it. What he lacks in natural ability, he makes up for in effort. “Keep at it.”
I move to the next pair, but I hear a snicker from behind me.
“Adrian’s just trying to impress some chick at his family’s beauty school,” one of the guys says, loud enough for Adrian to hear.
Adrian mutters, cheeks flushing red. “Shut up, Matt.”
“Nothing wrong with wanting to impress a woman,” I say, keeping my voice neutral despite the sudden tightness in my chest. “Just make sure you’re doing it for the right reasons.”
The words taste like ash in my mouth. Who am I to give advice about women when I’m fantasizing about my best friend’s daughter?
“She’s nice to me,” Adrian says quietly. “But I don’t think she sees me that way.”
“Give it time.” I pat his shoulder awkwardly. “Focus on becoming the best version of yourself. The rest will follow.”
Fuck, I’m such a hypocrite. I should be following my own advice. I should stay far away from Charlotte Palmer. I should focus on my work, my fighters. I should remember all the reasons this can never happen.
But even as I think it, I know I’m lying to myself. Every hour that passes only strengthens my resolve to see her again. To hear her laugh.
To find out if her lips taste as sweet as they look.
“Alright, everyone!” I call out, checking my watch. “That’s time for today. Practice your stance and jab at home. Next week we’ll add the cross.”
As the class files out, thanking me and chattering among themselves, Adrian lingers behind.
“Thanks for the advice, Mr. Wilde,” he says, adjusting his gym bag on his shoulder. “I appreciate it.”
I nod, suddenly exhausted. “Good work today, Adrian. See you next week.”
He leaves, and I’m alone with the echo of gloves hitting pads and the ghost of Charlotte’s smile haunting the corners of my mind. Staying away from her is the right thing to do. The honorable thing.
But as I gather my things, I start to think that it’s going to be impossible.
After the beginner boxing class wrapped up this morning, I find reasons to stick around Worthington Sports instead of heading back to the cabin.
Filling out paperwork. Equipment maintenance that could have waited until next week.
Reorganizing the supply closet that was already organized.
Anything to keep my hands busy and my mind off Charlotte.
It doesn't work.
She's there in every quiet moment, every pause between breaths. Her smile. Her laugh. The way she looked at me across the diner counter this morning.
Thunder cracks overhead, rattling the windows of the empty gym.
What started as a steady downpour this morning has turned vicious, the kind of storm that promises to freeze everything solid once the temperature drops. The weather service has been warning about it all day: rain turning to ice by midnight, power outages likely, roads becoming death traps.
Now it's after seven, and I'm one of the last ones here besides the night cleaning crew.
Time to admit defeat and head home. I gather my things and trudge toward the staff lounge to fill my water bottle before the drive. The mountain roads are already treacherous in this downpour, and they'll be impassable once the ice starts forming.
I push open the lounge door and stop short. Dana is there, still dressed in her tailored suit despite the late hour, making tea at the counter.
"You're still here?" I ask, surprised.
She glances over her shoulder. "I had a board meeting that ran late."
I grunt in response and move to the refrigerator, pulling out my water bottle.
"How was the class?" Dana asks, leaning against the counter while her tea steeps. "Any casualties?"
"No one cried, if that's what you're asking."
"High praise indeed." She studies me over the rim of her mug. "You look even more brooding than usual. Something on your mind?"
I shrug, focusing on filling my water bottle. "Just tired."
"Bullshit." Dana sets her mug down. "I know that look. What's eating you?"
I cap my water bottle and sigh. There's no point lying to Dana. She's always been able to read me like a book.
"I had drinks with Jason last night."
"That's nice. How is he?"
"He's good. Mentioned he's dating someone new."
Dana raises an eyebrow. "That's progress. He's been alone since Elaine died, hasn't he?"
I nod, leaning back against the refrigerator. "Yeah. Eight years."
"And?"
"And what?"
"There's more to this story or you wouldn't look like you want to punch something." She tilts her head. "What else happened?"
I run a hand through my hair. "Charlotte was there."
"Charlotte. Jason's daughter Charlotte?"
"Yeah. She moved here for beauty school. Works at The Summit." I push away from the fridge, restless. "She's all grown up now."
Dana watches me carefully, a knowing look crossing her face. "All grown up and beautiful, I'm guessing."
I meet her eyes. "Yeah."
"Ah." She picks up her tea again, a small smile playing at her lips. "Well. That's complicated."
"Fucking tell me about it."
She takes a sip, studying me over the rim. "I’m sure you’ll figure it out."
I grab my jacket from the back of the chair. "You heading home?"
"Yeah. Just need to finish this first." She gestures at her mug.
I nod toward the windows where rain lashes against the glass. “You should probably get going soon. This storm is going to get nasty.”
Dana laughs. "Koda, I live ten minutes away. And I drove in Boston winters for five years. I think I can handle a little mountain storm."
"It's turning to ice."
"Then I'll drive slow." She waves me off. "Go on. Get out of here before the mountain roads get worse. That's a hell of a lot more dangerous than my ten-minute drive."
She's right. I pull on my jacket.
"Be careful anyway," I mutter.
"Always am. You too, big brother."
I head for the exit, walking through the empty gym. The rain sounds even louder out in the main space, hammering against the high windows like it's trying to get in.
By the time I push through the front doors, the temperature has dropped noticeably. The rain is starting to feel more like sleet, stinging against my face as I jog across the parking lot to my truck.
I throw my bag in the back seat and climb behind the wheel, slamming the door against the storm. Water drips from my hair down the back of my neck. I crank the engine and turn the heat on full blast, letting it run for a minute while I catch my breath.
The windshield is already fogging up. I flip on the defrost and pull out my phone to check the weather radar one more time before I head up the mountain.
A text notification lights up the screen.
Charlotte.
My chest tightens. I unlock the phone.
Charlotte: Hi Koda. I'm so sorry to bother you, but my car won't start and I'm stuck at the beauty school. Is there any chance you could give me a ride home? I completely understand if you can't with the storm.
I stare at her message and read it twice.
For a second, I think about what it would be like to have her in my truck. Twenty, maybe thirty minutes with her close enough to touch. Her scent filling the cab. The sound of her breathing. That goddamn way she has of looking at me when she thinks I'm not paying attention.
My fingers fly across my phone screen as I type.
Me: Stay inside where it’s warm. I’m on my way.