Chapter 5
Five
There was something cathartic about hitting something as hard as physically possible. Feeling the give of whatever surface it was; be it flesh, leather, rubber. The ache and burn of muscles being pushed to their limits. The throbbing in the hands and knuckles with the force of each hit.
Music blasted through the Bluetooth earbuds in his ears, drowning out everything else around him.
The nightmares were back, just like he always knew they wouldn’t stay away.
Not for good, anyway. The only thing that helped was this…
or an illegal, underground cage fight, but he’d given those up a while ago.
Wouldn’t even know where to find one nowadays.
He blamed the time of year, that date on the calendar that he hated with every ounce of his soul. The nightmares always got worse as that date drew nearer. Waking drenched in sweat, bedsheets twisted around his body, reminders of his failure. That he’d been too scared, too weak… too late.
Panting heavily, he let his hands drop to his sides, sweat dripping down his face and neck, slicking his back and shoulders. He’d pushed himself, probably too hard, but he didn’t care. His knuckles ached and would be bruised after this workout, but he’d take it as his penance.
The gym was quiet, only a handful of regulars taking up machines.
Blondie and Red had been in and left already, he’d seen her flash of red curls from across the room.
She had not sought him out, and for that he had been grateful.
He knew his mind was in a dark place. That was why he’d stationed himself in the farthest corner away from others, put on his music, and just prayed that he was left alone.
He had been thankful that the few glances he took toward her, she appeared to be feeling better than the last time he’d seen her, when she’d passed out.
He couldn’t seem to keep his gaze from sweeping toward her though, watching for any signs of a repeat incident.
His jaw clenched every time he caught himself glancing toward her, annoyance at himself tightening his chest.
He didn’t like playing the hero to damsels in distress. Because he would never see himself as a hero, not when he was the monster that lurked in the shadows most of the time.
Walking across the mat to the bench along the far wall, he picked up his water bottle and drank half of it in one pull before capping it. He performed a short routine of stretches and then sank onto the bench as he brought one wrist to his mouth, using his teeth to tear at the tape.
Sneaker clad feet appeared in his line of vision and he reached up to tap at the earbud in his ear, silencing the loud music, but he didn’t look up from what he was doing. He waited, but as usual, Merv didn’t waste time.
“You need a change.”
Travis raised his eyes, cutting away from the tape he was unfurling from around his left hand toward the man that had walked up to him. He shrugged his shoulders, noncommitting. Merv harrumphed something unintelligible as he crossed his arms over his chest.
“You’re unsettled,” he observed gruffly.
“I’m perfectly settled, old man. Maybe you should get your eyes checked, because I’m fine,” Travis grunted crossly.
Merv shifted in stance. “Twenty years, Travis.”
Travis grunted, his only response. If there was anyone that knew about his life before MMA, other than a handful of police officers and lawyers back in Oklahoma, it was Merv.
But they didn’t talk about it, and Merv knew that.
Travis pinned the older man with a stare that would have quelled a lesser man.
Merv wasn’t a lesser man and returned the stare with one of his own.
“I know how long it’s been, Merv,” he muttered on a growl, straightening his spine and resting his elbows on his spread knees. His gaze hardened on the older man. “And I don’t need a babysitter.”
Merv’s graying eyebrows bobbed and he tilted his head in a slight nod, the corners of his lips turning down in thought. “Checking in on a friend isn’t babysitting, Travis. It’s caring about someone.”
Travis shook his head and braced his hands on his knees, pushing himself up to stand.
He bent at the waist and grabbed hold of the strap of his gym bag, hoisting it to his shoulder.
“I don’t need check-ins, either. If I need a check-in, I go to Steve.
Someone licensed and bound by confidentiality clauses. ”
Merv’s hand clamped around Travis’s bicep and halted him as he made to brush past him.
“Travis,” he said quietly, though the slight bite in his tone was what brought Travis’s eyes around.
“Look, I know as men we’re taught to be stoic and suffer in silence…
but it’s okay to talk about things every once in a while. You’re a good kid—”
Travis laughed, though it wasn’t altogether a pleasant sound. Leaning close to the older man, he muttered quietly, “Merv, I stopped being a kid twenty years ago when I went to jail for beating my old man to death. That doesn’t make me a good person. It makes me a monster.”
He moved past Merv, who stepped aside to let him pass. Stalking toward the door, he pulled his phone out of his pocket and swiped through the music app, searching for a playlist. Something loud and angry, he didn’t care. Anything to drown out his thoughts.
Eyes down, he pushed open the door and took two steps out onto the sidewalk when he heard a sharp gasp and his eyes shot up just as he barreled directly into Roxy.
Grabbing hold of her upper arm with his free hand as they collided roughly, he regained his balance by twisting and pushing her up against the stucco wall that made up the entrance of the rec center, the hand that still held his cell phone pressed against the wall above her shoulder, his bag swinging from his side to thud into the stucco wall near her hip.
His eyes darted across her face, searching for any sign that he’d caused her pain.
He had managed to keep his body away from her as they tripped on each other, but somehow one of his thighs ended up between hers, his knee resting against the stucco wall between her legs.
He could feel the rough texture of the wall against his bare knee, a sharp contrast to the softness of the athletic leggings she wore as her legs straddled his.
Her fingers were fisted tightly in the fabric of his shirt at his sides, the backs of her fingers pressed flush against his ribs as if she’d grabbed hold of him to steady herself.
The coolness of her fingers through his thin t-shirt made his heart trip on itself in his chest. Her fingers were like ice.
Her shocked gasp tore through him, and his gaze dropped to her mouth, parted slightly.
He stared at the jagged white scar that bisected the left side of her full lower lip before raising his eyes to her hazel ones, and again he wondered where it had come from.
She stared up at him, her eyes wide, before she twisted her head to the side, glancing out toward the line of parked cars.
When she brought them back to his, they were filled with fear.
It was sobering, witnessing that fright as it passed over her features.
A reminder of the monster he was, as if that self-preservation instinct in her could sense it in him.
Clearing his throat, he pushed away from the wall, stepping back away from her, giving her space.
Her fingers fell away from his sides, releasing the death grip she’d had on his shirt.
She shoved her hands into the pockets of her jacket, and her tongue darted out to wet her lips.
His eyes tracked every move. Fear and anxiety radiated off of her, making his chest ache.
“I’m sorry,” he said roughly, gesturing to the phone in his hand. “I wasn’t paying attention. I didn’t mean to bowl you over like that.”
“It’s okay,” she said softly, swallowing. “I walked out without my bag, and I wasn’t watching where I was going coming back in. I thought I saw something—”
She glanced over her shoulder again, her breath catching slightly, before she turned back to him. His brows drew together as he watched her.
“Nevermind,” she laughed lightly, shaking her head. “It was nothing. I’ll see you Monday, for the first class.”
He nodded then. “Right. You and Blondie signed up.”
One of her auburn eyebrows shot up. “Blondie?”
“Your friend,” he said. Realization sparked in her hazel eyes, and he sighed, chuckling. “I’m awful with names.”
“So you’ve got Red and Blondie. Anyone else I should know?” she teased lightly.
He laughed out loud then, shifting from one sneaker clad foot to the other as he turned to face the wall of windows.
He pointed to a tall, thin guy in the far corner.
“The guy in the red tank top and black shorts? String Bean.” She laughed out loud and he hated to admit that he loved the husky sound of it.
He gestured to the left and said, “Gray sweats, no shirt guy? Princess.” When she choked on another laugh, he chuckled.
“He’s always posing, taking pictures of himself, rarely does anything that actually gets his body moving.
There—” he said again, pointing to the right, “—guy all in black, blonde hair and those big gold glasses? Dahmer.”
“Oh my god, Travis!” she laughed again, raising her eyes to his. A wide grin pulled her mouth, making the white scar show up brightly against the flesh of her lower lip. “You can’t call people that!”
“Why not? He looks just like him,” he chuckled, shrugging. “Like I said, I’m awful with names. Not that I really get to know anyone that well. If they stick around long enough, then I’ll learn their name. Until then, I just make shit up to entertain myself.”
A car engine roared to life from down the way, and Roxy jumped, her eyes running up and down the sidewalk nervously. She moved closer to the door of the gym and said, “I should probably go grab my bag. See you Monday, Travis.”
And then she slipped inside the door and it swished shut behind her, leaving him out on the sidewalk.
He turned and walked toward his Ford Bronco Badlands, sliding in behind the wheel and pressing the ignition to start.
He’d waited until he’d watched her walk back out of the gym with her bag over her shoulder.
She glanced up and down the sidewalk, striding quickly over to her vehicle, nearly running the last few steps.
She slid inside the driver’s door, slamming it shut.
He watched as she hastily locked the doors.
His knuckles fisted on the steering wheel. The monster reared its head inside him, awakening. Readying for a fight.
Because the fear in Red’s eyes as she stared up at him when he offered to drive her home the other day… the fear in them now as she sat inside her car…he knew that look. Knew the way her eyes darted around, searching for some unnamed threat.
It had been the same look of fear he’d seen in the mirror too many times to count as a child. Seen it on his mother’s face, until it had been too late.
She was scared of something.
No.
She was scared of someone. And he realized then that she hadn’t been scared of him earlier. But someone else.