38 JULIAN
I wrap my hands methodically, the familiar rhythm doing nothing to settle the unease in my gut. Coach Martinez's words echo in my head as I land another combination on the heavy bag.
"Listen to your instincts, kid. They'll save your life one day."
Sweat drips down my back as I dance around the bag, my muscles burning with each precise strike. The basement gym smells of leather and metal, the fluorescent lights casting harsh shadows.
"Fuck," I mutter, stepping back to catch my breath. My reflection in the mirror shows the tension in my shoulders, the tightness around my eyes.
The door creaks open and soft footsteps pad down the stairs.
Rhea appears, wearing one of my old shirts she must have snagged from the laundry.
"You're up early," she says, leaning against the wall.
I throw another combination, harder this time. "Couldn't sleep."
"Julian." Her voice carries a note of concern that makes my chest tight. "Maybe we should?—"
"I have to do this," I cut her off, grabbing the bag to still its swinging. "These people, they're not going to stop. Not until we end this."
"By getting yourself killed?" She crosses her arms. "Real smart plan there, tough guy."
I wipe my face with a towel, buying time before meeting her eyes. "Better me than you. Or Corey. Or anyone else I—" I catch myself before finishing that thought.
"That's not how this works," she says softly. "We're all in this mess together now."
The heavy bag creaks on its chain as I rest my forehead against it.
Every instinct screams that this fight is wrong, that something's coming I won't be able to punch my way out of. But walking away means leaving them vulnerable. Leaving her vulnerable.
"I know," I say finally. "That's exactly why I have to do it."
Rhea pushes off the wall and walks toward the mats. "Let me help you train."
I pause mid-strike. "Not happening."
"Why not?" She stretches her arms overhead, the movement lifting my shirt to reveal a strip of skin above her leggings. "Plus, you taught me some moves already."
"That was different." My jaw clenches at the memory of our last "training session" and how it ended.
"Come on, tough guy." She bounces on her toes, hands up in an admittedly decent fighting stance. "I promise not to hurt you too badly."
A laugh escapes before I can stop it. "That's what you're worried about?"
"Well, your ego is pretty fragile." She throws a playful jab that I easily dodge. "See? I'm a natural."
"Alright, hotshot." I step onto the mat, keeping my movements loose and casual. "Show me what you've got."
She circles me slowly, green eyes focused and calculating. When she strikes, it's faster than I expect - a quick combination that forces me to actually block rather than just evade.
"Not bad," I admit, countering with a slow sweep she manages to jump over. "But you're telegraphing your moves."
"Like this?" She feints left before driving her knee toward my ribs
- a move I definitely didn't teach her.
I catch her leg and use her momentum to take her down, but she hooks her ankle behind my knee and suddenly we're both hitting the mat. She lands on top, straddling my waist with a triumphant grin.
"Still think I need protecting?"
The position is dangerous in more ways than one. "Where'd you learn that?"
"YouTube." She leans forward, bracing her hands on my chest.
"Plus, I might have been paying extra attention during your fights."
My hands find her hips without conscious thought. "That so?"
I grin up at Rhea, my hands still gripping her hips. "You’ve been paying attention, huh? Dangerous habit."
She smirks, that wild glint in her green eyes that always sends a thrill through me. "Maybe I just like watching you work."
I chuckle, rolling her off me and onto the mat. "Careful, Spry.
That almost sounds like a compliment."
She scrambles to her feet, bouncing lightly on her toes. "Don’t let it go to your head. Now, come on. Show me something real. Stop going easy on me."
I raise an eyebrow, tilting my head. "Easy’s all I ever want to be with you, unless it involves fucking your brains out."
Her laughter is sharp, unfiltered. "Wow, smooth, Poteat. Real romantic."
I step closer, tossing the mitts onto the floor behind me.
"Romance is overrated. But this?" I grab her by the waist, spinning her around and pinning her against the wall. "This I can do."
Her breath hitches, but her eyes don’t leave mine. "Big talk for a guy who’s been pulling his punches."
"I’m done pulling punches." My voice drops low, my hands sliding up her sides. "Unless you’re ready to tap out."
She arches an eyebrow, that challenge I can’t resist lighting up her face. "You wish."
I lean in, my lips brushing her ear. "Careful what you wish for, Rhea."
Her hands find my chest, pushing me back just enough to meet my gaze. "Stop talking and show me what you’ve got."
I don’t need to be told twice. My mouth crashes into hers, hungry and unrestrained. She’s all fire, her hands tangling in my hair, pulling me closer like she can’t get enough. My body presses hers into the wall, the heat between us unbearable.
"Jesus," I mutter against her lips, my hands sliding under my shirt she’s wearing. "You’re going to be the death of me."
She laughs, breathless. "Thought you could handle it."
"I can." I growl, nipping at her neck. "But I’m not sure you can."
Her fingers dig into my shoulders as I lift her, her legs wrapping around my waist. "Prove it."
I don’t hesitate, I attack, her mouth hot on my skin. The rest of the world falls away, and for once, I’m not thinking about the fight, the danger, or anything else. Just her.