7. Noah
NOAH
I ’d been halfway through my usual loop around the park when a jolt of energy hit me. It was like static in the air but thicker, pulsing. There wasn’t supposed to be a surge like that, not here, not now. It felt raw, untrained. Had to be a kid.
It had been coming from Roland. I’d encouraged the kid to apologize, and he had.
But when he told his mother he was frightened of ending up like his father, my heart all but broke.
I made a silent promise, not just to him, but to myself.
I was going to help this kid, teach him how to handle his strength, how to grow into it.
Because no one should have to face that power alone.
After we’d left the park, I went straight to the gym and waited for Zoey and Roland.
Time seemed to drag on and on. I glanced at the clock for what felt like the hundredth time, my muscles tensing with each ticking second.
The weight of uncertainty pressed on my chest, until a familiar pull tugged at my gut, a sensation that had grown more insistent since meeting Zoey.
“Come on,” I muttered under my breath, willing her to walk through the door and prove my instincts right.
Then, as if summoned by my plea, the door swung open, and the pull in my gut transformed into a rush of relief. Zoey stepped inside, her gaze sweeping the gym, while Roland trailed behind her.
“Hey there,” I called out, and though my heart galloped like a wild horse, I sounded calm.
“Hi,” Zoey replied cautiously but curiously.
Roland’s attention darted from one corner of the gym to another until it landed on the ring where two teenagers were sparring under Ky’s watchful guidance. They danced around each other, gloves thudding against pads.
The ring seemed to draw Roland like a moth to a flame. “Wow,” he breathed out, eyes wide with awe.
I couldn’t help but smile, remembering my first encounter with the raw energy of a boxing match. “It’s quite something, isn’t it?” I said.
Roland nodded vigorously. Without realizing I’d even been waiting for it, the confirmation I needed clicked into place. I’d made the right choice in offering this to Roland.
Now I just had to get his mother on board. And that might be a tougher challenge than any championship match I’d ever participated in.
“Can I try that?” he asked, pointing to the ring with unabashed excitement.
“Maybe one day, kiddo,” I replied. “Why don’t we start with the basics first?”
As Zoey watched her son, I could see the hesitant hope on her face. I’d felt that hesitant hope myself the first time I stepped into a place like this.
“Why don’t you both come on through to my office?” My wolf screamed at me to close the distance between me and Zoey, but I reminded him that we needed to take things slow.
The gym was a sensory overload, but I saw Zoey peeking out from under her dark hair, watching the boys and men training with curiosity. She walked towards my office, each step tentative and unsure.
“Thank you,” she murmured, ushering Roland through the door ahead of her.
She glanced around my office, taking in the walls adorned with framed photos of fighters and fight posters before settling into the chair I offered.
Roland perched on the edge of his seat. He was tall for his age, but he was so lean that he barely made a dent in the cushion.
“Roland, you’ve got a lot of energy and strength for a kid your age,” I said. “As I told you, I think I can help you learn how to use it.”
“Really?” He was hopeful, a contrast to Zoey’s guarded posture beside him. She watched me, her fingers twisting the hem of her sweater. I wanted nothing more than to ease her anxiety.
“Yeah. Boxing taught me discipline and focus. It could do the same for you.”
“Discipline?” Roland tested the word, as if trying it out.
“Exactly. Boxing isn’t just about throwing punches.
It’s about control, knowing when to act and when to wait.
” My gaze shifted to Zoey. “It’s more than fighting.
It’s an outlet, a way to channel everything inside into something positive.
” I paused for a moment, letting her absorb that.
“For a shifter kid—an alpha like Roland—it will translate to his wolf’s baser instincts.
He’ll learn control. How to keep those emotions from overwhelming him like they did today in the park. ”
Zoey’s hazel eyes met mine. “You think this will help him?”
“I know it will,” I answered without hesitation. “It helped me.”
Zoey’s expression was a mix of uncertainty and fear. Her gaze flicked to Roland, then back to me. “I don’t know about boxing, Noah. He’s only eight.”
“Zoey,” I said gently, leaning forward, resting my forearms on the desk, “I started when I was about his age. It shaped me into who I am today.”
She folded her arms, her lips pressing into a thin line. “And who, exactly, are you?”
It wasn’t defiance, but genuine ignorance. She didn’t see beyond the man in front of her. To the uninitiated, boxing could seem to be a gateway to violence. I could almost see the thoughts swirling in her mind, visualizing her son replicating his father’s aggressive behavior.
I had to find a way to convince her that boxing went beyond physical combat. It was a means to instill control and discipline, something the young alpha required before it was too late.
“Google me,” I answered.
“Excuse me?”
“Look me up. Noah Alexander, boxer.”
She frowned, then pulled her phone from her purse, her fingers working over the screen. Her eyes widened, just like Roland’s had earlier.
“Wow,” she muttered under her breath.
“Boxing can open doors you never thought possible, not just physically but mentally, too.” I watched her process this new information, hoping it would tip the scales.
“I’m not saying Roland will end up a boxing champ, but he’s got an alpha’s spirit, lots of natural aggression.
Hitting a bag, learning the discipline of the sport, could help him manage that.
Especially now. Those big emotions he spoke of are only going to get bigger. ”
Roland’s body vibrated with excitement, practically pulsating with eagerness. “Please, Mom? Can I try? Just once?”
Zoey’s fingers twitched, and she studied her son with that maternal protectiveness I’d seen from my own mother. The love there was fierce, a silent promise to shield him from the world’s harsh edges. It stirred something in me, a deep pang of longing for the woman who’d given me the same devotion.
“Mom?” Roland prodded again.
Finally, she exhaled a breath she seemed to have been holding forever. “Okay, Ro. Let’s see how it goes.”
The kid beamed, and as I watched their exchange, an ache spread through my chest that had nothing to do with training or boxing. I needed to face my own past. To visit my mother, whose love was all-encompassing and given freely.
By avoiding the alpha house and the pressure of my father’s expectations, I’d been punishing her, but it wouldn’t keep me from her any longer. My mom deserved better than my avoidance. I’d make the time to visit her.
Zoey’s fingers trailed through Ro’s hair, and the gentle motion seemed to soothe them both. Her warm hazel eyes locked with my blues in a moment that felt charged with possibility. “Can you really help him?” she whispered.
I nodded. “I’ll do everything I can.”
She studied me for a heartbeat longer before giving a small, almost imperceptible nod. “Okay.” It wasn’t just an agreement, but trust. The kind of trust that didn’t come easy to somebody like her.
“Then we shouldn’t waste any time,” I told her, my smile genuine as I saw Roland’s anticipation. “Let’s get started.”
“I’ll have to go to the store to get him some shorts.” Zoey gestured to Roland’s jeans.
Roland’s face fell.
“Wait, I have something. Follow me,” I said, taking Roland and Zoey to the reception desk.
From behind the desk, I pulled out the Alexander merchandise we’d taken delivery of that morning. I hunted through the box until I found a pair of athletic shorts and a T-shirt that would fit.
“Ta-da,” I sang. Handing the clothes to Zoey, I waved off her attempts to pay. “It’s on me. This was my idea, after all.”
She gave me a smile that nearly knocked me off my feet, and my wolf howled in victory.
Roland hurried to the changing room, and a few minutes later, he was by my side in the main area of the gym.
“Have at it,” I said, gesturing at the punching bag.
The heavy bag swung wildly on its chain as Roland pounded his fists into it.
I watched the kid, his narrow shoulders set as if he were facing down a giant.
His black hair clung to his forehead, damp with the effort and something more—a pent-up storm.
He was all focus and fury. The kid had some demons.
“Nice power, Roland,” I said, stepping closer to steady the bag for him. “But let’s work on technique. You’ll do more damage with precision than with anger.”
Roland paused, chest heaving, and looked up at me. There was a challenge in his gaze, one I knew well. It was the need to prove himself, to unleash whatever was eating him up inside.
“Show me,” he said.
“All right.” I adjusted my stance. “Keep your feet planted. Twist your hips like this when you punch. It adds force without sacrificing control.”
He mimicked my movements, his first attempt awkward. “Like this?” he asked, eyebrows furrowed in concentration.
“Exactly, but relax your shoulders. Let the strength flow from your core. Here.” I patted my stomach. My words were clipped and straightforward, mirroring how my old coach used to drill the basics into me until they became second nature.
Roland tried again, his fist driving into the bag with a more controlled impact. The sound was less raw, more of a sharp crack. Progress.
“Good,” I encouraged. “Now, breathe. Don’t hold it in. Let it out with each punch.”
He fell into a rhythm with the next series of strikes, and I could see the shift in him. Less wild, more warrior.