by Amity Cross
My lips curved slightly knowing that the guy beside me had given them as punishment for making me feel uncomfortable, but not that I’d needed any help. I’d been borderline crippled with anxiety since the previous night.
Tommy raised his head and gave us a small wave. He seemed nice enough at first glance, but who was I to judge? Everyone in here looked as if they moonlighted as thugs for the mafia, and there were no women in sight. Just muscled men training to punch each other until one of them dropped.
A wave of fear pulsed inside me, and I clutched the flyer to my chest. Why did I come in here? This Caleb guy had picked up on my anxiety and was being nice, but the only thing I wanted to do was turn tail and run. Damn, he was so attractive, and I was such a mutant. Great first impression, Jules.
“There’s no pressure,” Caleb went on, watching me closely. “This place is a bit of a Boy’s Club during the day, but we don’t want anyone to feel intimidated. Everyone’s welcome. Anytime.”
He flashed me a dazzling smile, and the emphasis on that last word didn’t escape me. Anytime.
Glancing down at the crumpled flyer, I said, “Thank you. I’ll, uh…think about it.”
“Are you sure?”
I looked up and found him smiling lopsidedly at me, his blue eyes twinkling. I didn’t know how to take him, not having much experience with men, so I just backed away nervously.
I shrugged, managing to hold back the jumble of words I desperately wanted to ramble at him, then I turned and fled. When I got to the end of the street, I leaned my back against the wall of the greengrocer and held the flyer against my beating heart.
Shit, I was such a mutant.
4
Caleb
I watched the woman practically run from the studio and disappear down the street.
She looked to be in her late twenties, freckled cheeks, pale blue eyes, and long black hair. Beautiful in her own way, but there was an unmistakable panic inside of her. It wasn’t lack of confidence, not quite, but something else. She was afraid. Of what, I didn’t know, but I hoped she’d gather the courage to come back. Stepping into this place with twelve hungry men staring at her was gutsy, especially if she was carrying around something fucked up.
I wondered what it was.
“What was that about?” Tommy asked, coming to stand beside me.
A breeze was blowing through the open roller door, the cool change the news had been forecasting finally falling over the city. It was about bloody time. Things were sweltering in more ways than one.
“I’m not sure,” I replied, completely beguiled by the strange woman.
“She looked terrified.”
I nodded, crossing my arms over my chest, my forehead creased with a deep-set frown. The self-defense classes had been a fixture around this place long before I’d taken the helm, and I’d seen my fair share of women come and go, each here for their own reasons. Wanting to feel safer, wanting control, wanting to overcome a fear of some kind, or to gain some confidence, and the boys’ favorite…to perv on their sorry asses. It seemed some women only wanted to salivate over muscles and tattoos rather than actually learn something that could save their lives one day. I’d lost count of how many times I’d had to reprimand the guys for dipping their wicks into the clientele.
“You think she’ll come back?” Tommy asked.
“I don’t know, but I hope so.”
“There goes your bleeding heart again,” he said, slapping me on the shoulder.
“Shut it,” I grumbled, “or I’ll make you drop and give me two hundred.”
“Lucky for you I only work here,” Tommy said with a chuckle. “I train my own sorry ass.”
He left me standing by the notice board alone, my mind mulling over a million and one questions that didn’t have any answers. As an afterthought, I stepped out onto the street, but the woman had already disappeared.
My phone began to ring, vibrating in my pocket, and I stepped back into the shade, my skin never quite adjusting to direct sunlight. I wasn’t exactly a summer loving kind of dude.
Checking who was calling before I picked up, I saw it was Ren and heaved a sigh of relief. When my Dad’s assistant sent through his notes for the improvement of Beat last night, I’d immediately deleted it from my email. It only took the first few action items for me to want to heave my tablet across the room. Where did that man get off wanting to change everything about a business that didn’t belong to him?
“Don’t tell me,” I said, answering the call. “You got a ransom note.”
“It reads a lot like one,” came Ren’s unamused voice. “Give me twenty million dollars, or the boy gets it!”
Moving through the studio, I gave the finger to the guys who had already finished their push-ups and were getting back to their sparring and went upstairs to the office. This was one conversation they didn’t need to overhear after the spectacle my father created the day before.
“So this list of demands from your father,” she said as I closed the door and sat at the desk. “We don’t give in to terrorists, just so you know.”
I snorted and leaned back in the chair. Pressing my fist against my forehead, I cursed.
“Dude, he wants to get rid of everything that makes Beat what it is,” she went on. “Scrap the classes? I got my start in those worthless beginner MMA 101s, for your information. I won a Championship!”
“Yeah, at an underground cage-fighting league,” I drawled. “An illegal one.”
“Whatever. Tell your dad to bugger off. He ain’t buying, and we ain’t selling.”
I couldn’t help it when her tongue-in-cheek attitude put a chink in my surly armor. Ren ‘One-Shot’ Miller was one of a kind. A fighter herself, she co-managed Beat as well as the fighter gym her husband, Ash Fuller, owned over in Abbotsford, called Pulse Fitness. When I’d first met her, I instantly wanted to make her mine. She was the complete package as far as I was concerned—dark hair, athletic, strong as hell, ballsy, and didn’t take my smartass crap. Problem was, she’d been well and truly claimed long before I’d come sniffing around.
Later on, we’d become mates, and I avoided getting my head knocked off by her heavyweight champ other half. Six months later, she was happily married, and I was still figuring things out while piss farting about at Beat.
“Isn’t that the story of my life,” I retorted. “You tell him, Ren. You’ve obviously got bigger balls than I do.”
“What’s up your ass, Carmichael?”
What was the best way to describe the encounter downstairs? I wasn’t sure there was one.
“My dad’s been like that my entire life,” I said instead. “A dominating and controlling asshole. He thinks his word is law or some shit. If he had it his way, I’d be back in the ring regardless of the risks. His failure of a son.”
“Don’t say that,” Ren declared. “It isn’t your fault you can’t fight anymore. You can’t blame shit on a freak accident.”
A freak accident right on my spine. Multiple times. There was nothing freak about it, and I could tell she was only trying to be nice. That day, I happened to fight a cheat, and that was that. Irreparable damage was pretty darn final.
“Are you sure everything’s all right?” she asked when I didn’t bother replying.
Picking up the plastic container I’d stashed on the desk that morning, I stared at the load of pills inside. It was like a rainbow of pain meds. Three with breakfast, two with lunch, two at dinner, and one before bed. It wasn’t until I was laid up in the hospital that I understood why some people got hooked on this shit. It was euphoric, giving up control and not giving a stuff. The allure of downing the entire thing was strong with a father like mine.
Anyway, the pain usually didn’t get that bad—I didn’t allow it to—because there was no way I was digging a hole into addiction. I’d deal with it. I’d been dealing with it just fine.
“Yeah, I’m right,” I said, beginning to wonder about my future. The long-term shit no one ever seeme
d to want to face. I looked out there, and it was hazy. Completely fucking hazy.
“Caleb.”
“Give it a rest, Ren,” I snapped. “Leave my father to me. You just ignore him, all right? He’ll get it through his thick skull sooner or later. He never gave a fuck when I was in the hospital, so rest assured, this is a fleeting annoyance. He’ll go back to being too busy, which is his way of punishing me for my circumstance, and everything will go back to normal.”
“Caleb, shit. I didn’t mean—”
“Forget about it, okay? I don’t want to hash it out. Nothing good will come of it.”
“Okay. Got it. Daddy is a sore point.”
“Anything else you wanted to talk about before I hang up on you?”
“There’s the cheeky bastard I know!” she declared, starting to laugh. “Keep up the morale, Carmichael. You’re a champ!”
Rolling my eyes, I disconnected the call and tossed the phone on the desk.
Popping the lid on my next round of meds, I downed the pills and chased them with water. Leaning back in the chair, I closed my eyes, letting the air-conditioning blow directly on my face. My thoughts dismissed my pushy father and settled directly on the woman. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but something about our short conversation had gotten under my skin.
There was no way of finding her, considering she didn’t even tell me her name—or speak more than a handful of words—but I had to do something if I could.
Going downstairs, I found Tommy in the kitchen.
“Hey,” I said, snapping my fingers to get his attention. “If that woman comes back, let me know, okay?”
“Sure.” He raised an eyebrow but didn’t say anything more. He knew the kind of guy I was.
After what I’d been through, I realized actually giving a shit about people was more rewarding than burying your head in the sand. It was easier to give up than it was to fight, and seeing the look in that woman’s eyes… It would be a shame if she gave up.
5
Juliette
Monday morning rolled around, and I finally emerged into the sunlight.
I was way too embarrassed to go back to the gym—I later found out it was called Beat—so I hid at home all weekend until there was no other recourse. I couldn’t stuff up my only chance at getting some semblance of the life I wanted back from the clutches of the monster who took my sister. Where would it leave me then?
I showered, dressed, slathered a ton of concealer under my eyes, and took the tram into the city for the first day of week number two. It would take time to adjust, right? Seeing that crime scene was an unwanted hiccup, but there were going to be some roadblocks along the way. That was what all the self-help books Mum had forced down my throat told me.
My mother had my best interests at heart, and I couldn’t blame her for trying, but all she seemed to do was read one after the other, looking for the answer she wanted to hear. There was no action being taken on any of the advice, no absorption of the ideas and techniques, and especially no manifestation. I loved my mum, I did, but I didn’t want to be like that.
Things sounded simple when I sat down and thought about it—go out, do things, acknowledge the problem, talk about what happened, experience life, etcetera, etcetera—but there was one piece of the puzzle missing. How the hell did I take the first step? And more importantly…where did I put my feet?
Sitting at my desk, I stared at the screen, my to-do list from Jade open to one side, my email program in a minimized tab, and Google open in front of me. I stared at the screen so hard, it almost started to look like the white sheet. A million little pixels shaking their tiny fists of rage at me. Get over yourself, Jules, they were shouting. You can’t even go into a gym without humiliating yourself.
Enough! If this were a book or a movie, the reviews would all go on about how the main character was such a drag. I didn’t want two stars for being a whiny bitch. I slammed my fist down on the surface of my desk, earning me a glance from Hayley.
Staring at the open Google page, I typed in, ‘getting a grip on reality.’ Not getting a decent hit, I changed it to ‘living with fear-based anxiety’ and thumped my finger on the enter key.
All the things I knew I should be doing came up. Avoid avoidance. Promote positivity. Find meaning. Get support. Go for a walk. Add ‘go to self-defense class on Tuesday night’ and I had the semblance of a first step.
Thinking about the guy—what was his name? Caleb—I began to picture him in my mind’s eye. I’d acted like such a freak. How could I go back there without dying of embarrassment? He probably had a good laugh with those beefy boxers who’d gawked at me the moment I’d run away. Oh, God, I’d run away.
He was so nice to me when he realized I was having a complete freak-out. And he was…wow. Totally smoking hot with his blue eyes and his stubble, and his muscles… Oh, fuck. Now I had an instantaneous crush on a stranger. A hot stranger, who I was now picturing kissing and how he’d put his hands on my… Oh, fuck!
“Who is he?”
I glanced up in surprise as Hayley hung over my desk, propping her elbow on a stack of papers and resting her chin in her palm. She fluttered her eyebrows and smiled.
“No one,” I blurted, my cheeks turning red.
“Oh, don’t give me that,” she declared. “You just turned beetroot red, Jules. Dish.”
“What guy?” Dom asked from behind me. “Is he hot? Where did you find him? You’ve been here for a week, and you’ve already got a crush to perv on? No fair! You girls have all the luck.”
“Stop your pouting,” Hayley fired at him, twirling a lock of blonde hair around her finger. “You’re worse than a teenage girl.” Turning her attention back to me, she asked. “So? Who’s the guy?”
“No one,” I replied sheepishly. “Really.”
“She’s holding out on us,” Dom declared.
“I’m not holding out,” I grumbled. “I saw a guy I thought was handsome, and I made a fool out of myself in front of him. Now I’m stewing in the juices of my own humiliation.”
“Oh, honey,” Dom said, waving his hand at me. “Haven’t we all.”
“Fuck what he thinks,” Hayley said. “Looking like you do, there’ll be another guy right around the corner who won’t give a stuff. Guaranteed.”
I blinked in bewilderment. “Looking like I do?”
“You’re oblivious to your kick-ass package,” Dom said with a sigh. “I’ve got no hope with you around, Jules.”
At that moment, Jade appeared out of her office, and everyone scurried back to their desks, pretending to be hard at work. I just sat there staring into space, wondering what it was that everyone seemed to see in me. Not able to pinpoint it, I felt another spiral into shamesville, population me. It was just another thing on a long list of qualities the man who took Mel’s life stole from me.
I’d tried to move on, go on dates, attempt to get to know some decent guys, but it always ended up the same way. After a few dates, it became apparent I was too much hard work, so once things became too much to handle, they usually bailed, but not before getting their fill of fucking. They would use me to get off, and then I would be shown the door, completely blindsided.
It was always the same, no matter what I did or how hard I tried. I’d become as empty and meaningless as my sex life.
I was so messed up, how could I ever think I had a chance with a guy like Caleb? He’d shown interest, but I was just a customer.
Realizing I was completely into self-torture, I Googled his name, along with the keywords Beat, boxing, and Melbourne, and the result was fired back at me in under a second.
I recognized him immediately from the image results, and I swallowed, my heart beating double time. I caught the words boxer, champion, and his surname, Carmichael, before I panicked and hit the x to close the window, but the mouse slipped, and I missed.
If he was a champion boxer, then the staff there must be good, right? Imagine what their self-defense
class could teach me. Caleb wouldn’t be there, so facing my humiliation wouldn’t be a problem. The first step was the hardest, and it looked like mine would be gathering the courage to walk back through that roller door. If I couldn’t face that, then how could I face everything I’d become in the wake of Mel’s murder?
Staring at Caleb Carmichael’s picture, I knew I had to get my shit together before I drowned in it.
“What are you looking at?”
My heart twisted, and I glanced sheepishly at Jade, who was standing over me.
“I, um… I…” I stammered.
She peered at the screen, a sad look in her eyes, and said, “I knew a fighter once.”
Then she turned and disappeared down the hall.
Tuesday came, and I sucked it up and went back to Beat.
The day before, I’d gone down to the cheap clothing stores on Swanston Street and bought myself a pair of knee-length lycra leggings with a black and white design, a sports bra, and a black Everlast racerback tank. Cue me getting changed in the toilets at work, and then riding the tram all the way to the gym. I wasn’t exactly fashionable, but boy, I was comfortable.
The roller door was open just like it’d been the other day. Glancing at the clock on my phone, I was still ten minutes early, so I hovered outside, pretending to text on my phone as other women turned up. They all went in without hesitation, gathering in the same place Caleb said they would. Peering inside, I saw the instructor setting up a row of padded bags and gloves. Everyone was oblivious to my anxiety. Everyone, that was, except me.
No one was going to hold my hand, so I slunk inside, praying for invisibility until I got my bearings. Setting my bag against the wall, I slipped my shoes off, mirroring what the other women were doing.
No one seemed to have noticed me appear, so I glanced around the studio, taking in the parts I’d missed the other day. Beat was bigger than I thought it would be. Beyond the scary roller door, there was a fully kitted out gym with a boxing ring, weight and cardio rooms, and an upstairs area. Further back were entrances to male and female change rooms and another door that led someplace else.
