Chapter 17 Koda
SEVENTEEN
KODA
I stand in the center of the training floor, watching my beginner class form a circle around the boxing ring. The fluorescent lights bounce off the polished floor, casting harsh shadows across twenty eager faces.
Nothing gets students’ attention faster than the word “sparring.”
Even the ones who usually drift through class are alert now, their eyes locked on the padded ring where they’ll finally get to test what they’ve learned.
“Remember, this isn’t about hurting each other,” I announce as I scan the room. “It’s about applying technique under pressure. Control your power. Focus on form.”
Some of the bigger guys look disappointed at this reminder. There are always a few who show up thinking boxing is just about hitting hard. They learn quick enough that precision beats power every time.
“I’ll demonstrate first with a volunteer,” I continue, eyes landing on Adrian De Luca at the edge of the group. “Adrian, you’re up.”
A murmur ripples through the class.
Adrian looks surprised, his dark eyebrows shooting up before his face settles into something more controlled.
“You’ve shown the most improvement over the past few weeks,” I explain, gesturing him toward the ring. “Let’s show everyone what consistent training can accomplish.”
The other students nod in agreement, a few clapping Adrian on the back as he moves forward.
He’s been putting in extra work, and it shows.
His lean frame has filled out with new muscle, his movements more purposeful than the awkward rich kid who first showed up to class.
The designer workout gear still looks out of place, but he carries himself differently now.
I climb into the ring after him and shrug off my trainer’s jacket. The students’ eyes track the movement, taking in the tattoos covering my arms and chest. I’m used to the stares. The wolf pack running across my pectoral tends to draw attention.
Adrian watches me with unusual focus. He’s already in his stance, bouncing lightly on the balls of his feet.
“We’ll go fifty percent power,” I tell him, reaching for the headgear hanging on the corner post. “Focus on technique, not knockouts.”
Adrian nods but doesn’t reply. His eyes have a flat, distant quality that sends a whisper of warning through my mind.
I strap on my own headgear and think back to the way Adrian reacted to seeing me and Charlotte together earlier today. I tell myself it’s just awkwardness. But now, watching the intensity in his stance, I wonder if there’s more to it.
Could Charlotte be the girl he mentioned having feelings for?
The pieces certainly fit. His family owns her beauty school. He’d have plenty of opportunities to see her, develop feelings. The thought makes my jaw clench, but I force myself to focus on the lesson.
“Ready?” I ask, raising my gloves.
Adrian nods again, and we touch gloves in the center of the ring. The class falls silent.
We circle each other slowly, testing distance and timing. Adrian’s footwork is solid, his guard tight. I throw a lazy jab to gauge his reaction, and he slips it cleanly. Good. The kid’s been listening.
I up the pace slightly, throwing combinations at quarter speed. Adrian responds well, blocking and countering with controlled precision. This is exactly what I want the class to see—technical boxing, not a brawl.
“See how he maintains his guard even while moving?” I call to the students while Adrian and I continue our measured dance. “Defense first, always.”
Adrian throws a combination that I block easily. His form is clean, and the power is controlled exactly as instructed. For a moment, I think this demonstration will go perfectly.
Then something shifts in his eyes.
The next punch comes harder than it should. Instead of fifty percent, it’s more like eighty. I absorb it on my forearms and frown at the sudden escalation.
“Easy,” I warn him quietly, not wanting to embarrass him in front of the class.
But Adrian’s already throwing again, and this time there’s real heat behind it. A hook whistles past my ear.
“Adrian,” I growl, backing up a step. “Bring it down.”
He doesn’t respond. The awkward rich kid from earlier has vanished, replaced by someone I don’t recognize. He presses forward aggressively, throwing combinations with increasing power.
I’m forced to defend more seriously now, blocking and slipping punches that could genuinely hurt if they landed clean. Murmurs start to ripple through the room as the students sense the change in atmosphere.
Adrian feints high, then goes low with a body shot that forces me to drop my guard. In that split second of adjustment, he pivots and throws a perfect right hook toward my temple.
I see it coming but not fast enough.
The punch connects with a sharp crack that sends lightning through my skull. My knees buckle, and I hit the canvas hard. Stars explode across my vision.
The gym erupts in shocked voices.
Through the ringing in my ears, I hear students calling out, someone asking if I’m okay. I shake my head, trying to clear the fog, and push myself up to sitting.
Adrian is already climbing out of the ring, ripping off his gloves and headgear. He doesn’t look back, doesn’t check if I’m injured, doesn’t acknowledge the concerned voices of his classmates. He just heads straight for the exit with rigid shoulders and clenched fists.
I accept a hand up from one of my students.
“You okay, Coach?” he asks, studying my face with concern.
I nod even though my temple throbs with each heartbeat.
“Yeah, I’m fine. Class dismissed for today. We’ll pick this up on Thursday.”
The students disperse reluctantly, still buzzing with confused energy about what they just witnessed. I wait until the last one leaves before following Adrian’s path toward the exit. I find him in the side hallway that leads to the parking garage, aggressively shoving his gear into a gym bag.
My voice echoes off the concrete walls. “Adrian, hold up.”
He freezes but doesn’t turn around.
“You want to tell me what the fuck that was about?” I bark at him.
Adrian straightens slowly, his back still to me. When he finally turns, his face is a mask of cold control.
“I don’t know what you mean.” His voice is flat. Then he shrugs. “Things got intense. It happens in boxing.”
“Bullshit.” I cross my arms. “You went from controlled technique to trying to knock me out in about ten seconds. So I’ll ask again. What’s your problem?”
Something flickers in Adrian’s dark eyes.
“There is no problem,” he says. But his hands are clenched into fists at his sides. “Maybe you just can’t handle someone who doesn’t treat you like you’re some kind of god.”
The disrespect in his tone makes my own temper flare.
“Watch your mouth, kid.”
“Or what?” Adrian steps closer, and I’m surprised by the lack of fear in his posture. Most people back down when I use that tone. “You’ll throw me out of your precious class?”
“As a matter of fact, yeah.” I meet his glare with one of my own. “You’re done here. Don’t come back.”
Adrian laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “Fine by me. This place was getting boring anyway.”
He turns to leave, but I’m not finished.
“And Adrian?” I wait until he looks back. “Stay the hell away from Charlotte.”
The mask slips for just a moment, and I see raw fury flash across his features before he gets it under control. But that brief glimpse tells me everything I need to know.
Charlotte is exactly what this is about.
“Charlotte and I are friends,” Adrian says carefully, “You don’t get to control who she spends time with.”
“Watch me.” I take a step forward, using my size advantage. “You come near her, you text her, you so much as look at her wrong, and we’re going to have a problem that makes today look like a love tap.”
“You know, Koda, I don’t think you understand who you’re dealing with.” Adrian’s voice drops. “My family owns half this town. We have connections you can’t even imagine. So maybe you should be the one being careful.”
I snort.
“That supposed to scare me?”
“It should.”
Then Adrian shoulders his bag and disappears out the side door.
I walk back toward the main training floor, my head still ringing from Adrian’s sucker punch. The kid’s threat echoes in my ears, but I push it aside for now. I’ve dealt with spoiled rich kids before.
My phone vibrates in my pocket as I reach the main gym floor. I pull it out, and Charlotte’s name lights up the screen with a photo attachment.
The image loads, and despite everything that just happened, a ridiculous grin spreads across my face.
It’s a photo of Charlotte sitting on our kitchen counter, holding up a kiwi fruit with both hands like it’s a prize. The caption reads:
Baby Wilde is kiwi-sized today! 14 weeks!
She’s been doing this since we found out about the pregnancy. Every Friday, she sends me pictures of fruit that matches the baby’s size that week. Started with a blueberry, then a raspberry, grape, olive. Now we’re up to kiwi.
The grin on my face feels permanent as I stare at the photo.
My chest swells with that overwhelming mix of pride and protectiveness that hits me every time I think about Charlotte carrying my baby.
Our baby.
“Well, well, well.” Dana’s voice cuts through my thoughts. “The mighty Koda Wilde, taken down by a trust fund kid with three months of training.”
I look up to see my sister leaning against the wall with her arms crossed over her tailored blazer. Her CEO badge glints under the hallway lights, the Worthington Sports logo catching the fluorescents. She’s fighting a smile and losing badly.
“Shouldn’t you be in a board meeting or something?” I zip up my bag, deliberately casual. “You know, running the company instead of harassing your employees.”
Dana pushes off the wall and comes closer, squinting at my temple. “That’s going to leave a mark.” She pokes at the tender spot, and I jerk back. “Big bad mountain man gets knocked out by Adrian De Luca. Wait till the other trainers hear about this.”
“I wasn’t knocked out. Just caught off balance.”