Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
ROMAN
The next day, I slam through the gym doors twenty minutes before Caspian. My veins are electric with leftover adrenaline from Blake's bullshit and that disaster dinner. I tape my knuckles so tight my fingertips throb, then attack the speed bag like it owes me money.
The rhythm builds until the bag's a blur, my fists connecting with machine-gun precision.
I switch to the mannequin, driving my knee into its gut so hard the whole apparatus rocks backward.
Sweat stings my eyes. Every punch carries the weight of my brothers' judgment, every kick fueled by self-loathing over Max.
Fuck. The kid's carried enough on his shoulders—the family implosion after his birth wasn't his goddamn fault.
I land a hook that would've shattered a real jaw, disgusted with myself for adding to his burden.
Caspian arrives at the gym. "You ready?"
I nod and say nothing. I just put up my fists and Caspian smiles.
"Today we're working on your Muay Thai. Your teeps need work."
For the next 45 minutes, we drill until rivulets of sweat cascade down my forehead, stinging my eyes.
My knees slam into his black leather pads with a thunderous crack that echoes through the gym.
My roundhouses connect with his padded ribs, the impact reverberating up my shin bone.
In the clinch, my forearms tremble against his iron grip, muscles burning as if dipped in acid.
I throw elbow strikes with such precision they whistle through the air—strikes that would split a man's temple like ripe fruit if they connected.
Between combinations, Caspian's voice cuts through the haze of my exhaustion, barking "Again!" and I summon what's left of my strength to deliver another blistering flurry of sok, te, kao, and tad until my lungs feel like they're filled with broken glass.
“Okay, I think that’s enough training for today.” Caspian tosses me a towel. “But you’re still letting your emotions drive you instead of your brain. Emotions are vital—you have to dig into your pain and use it—but you also need logic. So what’s really going on?”
I shake my head. How do I explain this without sounding like an even bigger asshole? Then I remember: this is Caspian, my best friend since I was five. If I can’t tell him, who can I tell?
“Remember that psychic I hired for the resort?”
“Yeah— the beautiful woman who’s got you enchanted.”
I nod. Not going to try to deny that she has me enchanted because why? It’s the truth.
“She did a tarot reading the other day and brought up something I’ve always denied: I’ve been blaming my brother Max for things he couldn’t control.”
I admit how I’ve harbored resentment toward Max, even though it makes no sense—if Mom hadn’t died and Dad hadn’t lost it, Max wouldn’t exist. I hate that I’ve ever wished he weren’t born.
Caspian nods thoughtfully. “Good that it came up. It’s like a splinter under your skin, festering until you pull it out. You’re digging it out now. As for overcoming anger toward your brother—and your father—that’s a bigger challenge.”
My chest tightens. Max is innocent; I love him. But Dad made a choice—he walked away when we were kids, left without explanation. I can’t forgive that.
Caspian meets my gaze. “You’ve got scar tissue years in the making. Use your rage, your sorrow, to become the fighter you’re meant to be. You can win this charity tournament. It’s about pride and it’ll be great PR for the resort. I believe in you. Now, let’s get back to sparring.”
We spend the next hour drilling—my knuckles splitting against the heavy bag, sweat dripping into my eyes as Caspian calls out combinations.
My muscles burn through jiu-jitsu sequences, the satisfying thud of my body hitting the mat again and again.
By the time we finish grappling, my rashguard is soaked through and my lungs feel scorched.
I finally tap out, shower off the day's demons, and head back to the resort with my gym bag slung over my aching shoulder.
On the drive home, I feel calmer than I have in ages.
The workout cleared my head, and a thread of reason about my father emerges.
I don’t want to be alone anymore. Even though I’ve felt like an outsider in my own family, I know my brothers have my back—and I have theirs. I just hate feeling marooned.
And, damn it, I’m eager to get back—because Lilith will be there. I don’t want to admit I’m excited to see her, but I can’t stop it. Somehow, this hippie has gotten under my skin—and, surprisingly, I don’t mind.