Chapter 4
CASSIDY
Holt walks beside me with his hands shoved into the pockets of his hoodie, scanning the private grounds checking for any sign of danger like he’s still on shift.
“How’s the firehouse?” I ask.
He shrugs. “Same chaos, different day. One of the rookies brought his girlfriend by for a tour of the place, and she tried to pole dance on the fire pole.”
I snort. “Please tell me you recorded that.”
“I’m a professional now. I only record when there’s profit potential.” He chuckles.
I glance at him. “And how’s the other job? The one that turned you into a millionaire fitness cult leader?”
He sports a proud toothy grin. “Hey, I prefer elite personal training empire.” He laughs. “But yeah. Still wild.” Holt shakes his head. Despite his usual cockiness, deep down, I know he’s still completely blown away at his windfall.
We reach the edge of the path where the gym comes into view, lights dimmed behind the glass. He looks at me more carefully now. “And you? How’s the job really?”
I hesitate, then sigh. “Fine. Mostly. There was this arrogant older guy last night though. Thought it was appropriate to—” I make a squeezing motion with my fingers. “Get handsy.”
Holt goes still.
I throw my hands up, hoping to unruffle his feathers. “It’s okay. Gianni was there in two seconds. Him and his security. The guy didn’t get anywhere near me after that.”
Holt exhales through his nose. “Good. Because if he had—”
“I know,” I interrupt. “You’d be burying a body in the Potomac.”
He smirks, but the tension doesn’t fully leave his shoulders. “You know me so well. Still. That’s why we keep training.”
I frown. “You flying in every week to beat me up might be a bit excessive.”
He laughs. “Sis, I built a seven-figure business out of beating people up. You’re not exactly derailing my career.”
I glance at him. “You really did that, you know. After everything.”
He nods, quieter now. “I needed something to do with all that anger. Turns out rich people pay a lot to feel safe.”
“Or to look hot.” I laugh.
He bumps my shoulder with his. “Facts.”
As we approach the gym, Anthony is waiting near the front desk. “Hey, Fire,” he greets, clapping Holt on the shoulder. “Gym’s all yours. You’ve got a solid forty-five before anyone else comes in.”
“Appreciate it, man.”
Once we’re alone, Holt helps me set up the punching bag, adjusting the straps on my gloves like he’s prepping me for a fight instead of a workout. He steps behind me, nudging my elbow up with two fingers.
“Don’t lock your joints. You’ll shatter your knuckles before you ever land a real hit.”
I snicker, wiping my brow. “I’m aiming for maximum damage so I can make a run for it.”
He snorts. “Yeah, well, you need your hands. Angle your wrist like this or you’ll end up with a Boxer’s fracture.”
I tilt my head.
Holt points to the base of my fifth finger. “This bone is easily broken if you don’t use the proper technique.” His hands guide mine, adjusting my stance.
“Power comes from here,” he says, tapping my side. “Not from flailing like you’re swatting a mosquito.”
I throw a punch. The bag barely moves.
He winces. “Wow. Terrifying.”
“Oh, my god, you’re trying to kill me,” I mutter as he makes me reset again.
“Please. This is the same routine I give Sebastian Lee.”
I pause mid-punch. “The hand surgeon you’ve been training? The one who had to retire because of his health?”
“Yep. And he hits harder than you.”
I scowl. “Jeez. Thanks a lot.”
“Don’t feel bad. He’s probably the most disciplined man I’ve ever trained. If mindset were medicine, he’d be cured by now. He’s the one who gave me Gianni’s number. He knew he would keep you safe.”
I nod. “Well, thank him for me. I can safely say, working here was never on my bingo card.” I giggle. “But I feel it’s the safest place for me right now.”
Holt reaches out and tugs gently on a strand of my pink hair. “Not that anyone would figure out it’s you like this.” He laughs. “You were so straight-laced before. And your hair was darker than mine. Hell, I don’t even think Dad would recognize you.”
The air leaves my lungs at the reference to my father. Hot tears quickly fill my lids. When will this get easier?
Holt notices immediately. “Hey. Hey.” He steps closer, his strong hand warm on my shoulder. “You have to stop blaming yourself. What happened wasn’t your fault.”
I press my fingers to my sternum, where the ache never really goes away. Takotsubo cardiomyopathy, they called it. Broken heart syndrome.
His doctors had diagnosed him with a stress-induced cardiac event. A heart already weakened under pressure that finally gave in. He had no blocked arteries. No immediate warning signs we could’ve seen coming. Just a body that couldn’t carry the weight of seeing his daughter fighting for her life.
We primarily work in silence after that.
Just muscle movement, repeating the same exercises I’ve done with him numerous times over the last two years.
Heck, you’d think I’d be better at this by now.
But I zone out when I’m here. My mind going to dark places it shouldn’t.
The fear causes the focus on my technique to slip, and my strength and endurance also take a hit.
Holt occasionally interrupts to give direction, his voice keeping me anchored as he talks me through each drill.
Eventually, he stops me again. “He’d be so proud of you.”
“I’m working in a sex club, Holt,” I scoff, my expression deadpan.
He smirks. “No. You’re getting stronger every day. Despite the odds, you’re building a future. You survived something that would’ve destroyed most people.”
Holt spreads his arms wide. “And look what it did for me.” He winks. He doesn’t even pretend to be humble about how he turned his stress over my situation into a wildly successful business.
I roll my eyes, but my throat burns.
“You’re meant for great things, sis,” he says gently. “You just had to walk through hell to get there.”