by JJ Knight
I hit it once, listening to how it hits the top, how long it takes to bounce and hit the disc again. I can hear the sound of Lani using it earlier, a rhythm of bounces and thuds.
I hit it again.
“Use the back of your fist,” Colt says. He is close. I can feel the heat of his body. His breathing is a little fast, probably from whatever he was doing before he came in the room.
I drop my arms. “Why is this important?”
“I just want to see you do it.”
“Why?”
“I have a hunch.”
He thinks I can do it. I don’t know that I can. I wish now I’d tried it alone at some point. But who would have ever guessed Colt McClure was going to step in and ask me to hit a bag?
I lift my hands. Lani stood square in front, legs apart, so I do the same. I sense Colt nod behind me, just a shadow in the corner of my eye.
I punch the bag once with my right, then my left. The bag goes a little wild, so I stop it. My heart is pounding.
“Make an oval as you hit it.”
Too many instructions. I’m feeling a panic rise up, but I start again. Back of fist, make an oval, feel the rhythm. I hit it with the right. It bounces correctly. I hit it with the left. It’s going fine. My next right makes it go wild.
“Do two hits with each hand instead of one,” Colt says.
I swallow. I make the bag go still, then start again. Right. Right. Left. Left. I’m hearing the pattern now, like it’s a drumbeat, like my heart. Right. Right. Left. Left. It soothes me. I don’t want to stop.
“You’ve got it,” he says.
Right. Right. Left. Left. I feel a little burn in my shoulder but I keep going.
He steps in close and places his hands on my hips, shifting me. I instantly lose my rhythm and my elbow involuntarily rears back to jab into his gut.
He isn’t fazed by the blow but steps back. “I forget how scrappy you are,” he says with a laugh. “I’ve never seen anything like you.”
I turn around. His eyes are on me, so earnest. His admiration washes over me like an ocean wave. I can’t help but to want to splash around in it. I remember before how he told me I was beautiful. Nobody’s ever talked to me like this.
My breathing has sped up and now it matches his. Our chests are rising and falling at the same time. I am flooded with the connection to him. I know I’ll do anything he asks now. This feeling is like nothing I’ve ever known. I want more of it. An endless amount.
He reaches for my shoulders, slowly, his head tilted like it’s a question. I relax and let him touch me. He squeezes with his taped-up fingers along my collarbone. It’s not meant to be gentle. He’s assessing me, and I get that. But still, my body blossoms with heat. He’s so close. His shirt is damp, and I can see each muscle delineated. I remember crushing against his skin when I crashed against him that first day by the front door. I can barely breathe.
When he reaches my elbows, I think he’ll let go. But he doesn’t. He holds on a little longer. My heart is racing now. I don’t know why he’s still there, why he still holds me.
I stare at the center of his chest. As the seconds click by, his hands still on me, I realize he’s waiting for me to look up.
I lift my eyes to his. They’ve darkened in this light, more brown than green. His lips are full and seem like they would be soft. I’m thinking about kissing Colt McClure.
My throat feels tight, and I have trouble swallowing.
“You’re going to do great things,” he says. “People are going to be inspired by you.”
I don’t move. I'm just a gym grunt. A nobody. But I want to believe him. I want it more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my life.
“You don’t think so,” he says. It’s not an accusation. The corners of his eyes crinkle with a smile.
He lets go. “Work out every day that you can. Do as many reps as you can stand.” He steps away, and I want to pull him back. But I just nod.
The trainer comes back in the room. “I’m not seeing punches!” he shouts.
I snatch up the boxes. The trainer glares at me, hands on his hips, like I’m a rat. I can’t get out of the room fast enough.
But when I’ve tossed the boxes in the bin outside, I lean against the brick wall behind the gym. I think about Colt’s hands on my shoulders, how we breathed together. And I know that everything I’ve ever felt about men has totally changed.
Chapter 9
Colt develops a schedule that I get to know like it’s my own. He and his trainer do weights late morning, then move to the addition. When he’s punching bags or skipping rope, the room is open for others to use. But the day the fighting cage is done, everything changes.
An accordion door goes into the gap between the weight room and the addition. The new guy, Brent, starts acting as security. When Colt goes in the cage, Brent stands in front of the door and keeps everybody out except me and Buster.
I feel privileged to go into the addition to straighten the weights while he’s in there.
Colt is inside the mesh cage, gloves on, hitting a pair of pads the trainer holds. I am mesmerized. His feet are bare, making patterns on the floor. He’s holding his hands near his neck, then suddenly—SMACK—he’s thrown a punch.
The trainer’s voice booms, echoing on the walls. I jump every time he barks out a new command.
I come around the side to double-check all the bags. Some of the chains are in knots where people have tried to move them around on their own. I drag a ladder over. Colt is wearing nothing but a pair of spandex shorts. His leg comes up in a high kick, the thigh muscle tight. It’s so graceful and strong that I let loose of the chain. A medium-sized bag drops to the floor with a thud.
Colt looks over. The trainer is pissed, his face screwed up in anger. “Get on out of here!” he shouts.
“I want her here,” Colt says.
The trainer turns back. “I say she goes.”
“I say you’re fucking fired.”
The trainer takes a deep breath. “You are such a goddamned diva.”
“Leave her alone. I want her to learn.”
At that, the trainer assesses me again. I jump off the ladder to lift the bag back into place. It’s heavy, something I could not have moved when I started two weeks ago. I slide the chain back into place and lock it down.
They resume the pattern of punches and kicks. I am relieved to be past the moment and vow not to look anymore if I can’t manage the bags.
Brent opens the accordion about a foot. “Yo, Colt! I got a girl who says you want her in here.”
Colt whirls around. “Nah. I’m not expecting anybody.”
But the door goes wide, and Brittany “The Bombshell” pops her blonde head through. “Now Colt, baby, that’s no way to treat your muse.”
I stiffen on my ladder. I want out of there right now.
Brittany flounces in. She’s got her black athletic bra on again, this time with stretchy shorts. Her legs are bare otherwise. “I hoped you’d be up for a little sparring.” She wraps a ponytail tie around the base of a braid. “I’m all ready.”
I definitely don’t want to be here for this. I try to slip down the ladder and along the wall without attracting attention.
Colt swings open the door to the cage. Brittany climbs the steps. She’s just run her hand across Colt’s abs when I make it to the front of the room.
“Going out?” Brent asks.
I nod and slip through. Whatever is going on back there, I don’t want to know it.
Buster looks up from the front counter. “Good. I just got this. Take it in there to Colt’s trainer.” He passes me a box.
I groan inside. “I think he’s busy.”
Buster looks up. I haven’t challenged him before. “He’s been waiting on it.”
The box is open and filled with rolls of gauze. “He’s already taped up for the day. I don’t think they want to be disturbed.”
Buster leans on the counter. “I take it ‘The Bombshell’ got
through the blockade?”
He’s got me figured out. I shrug. “She came in, yeah.”
He runs a hand over his bald head and watches me. “I’ve seen you hitting the speed bag.”
I clutch the box to my chest. “Only after-hours. Or if someone asks me to show them.”
Buster waves his hand. “I don’t mean that in a bad way. It’s fine. Are you training?”
“Colt wanted me to do it.”
He looks down at the sign-in sheet. “I figure you know what you’re into.”
I don’t. “It’s just bag work.”
His face is tired when he looks at me again. “It’s a tough business. Everyone gets in it for glory. But people will try to tear you down.”
I back away. I don’t know why he’s telling me this. “I’ll put this in the storage closet until they’re done. I’ll make sure the trainer gets it.”
Brent taps me on the shoulder. “They want you in there.” He thumbs back at the addition.
I swallow. What is Colt getting me into now?
When I pass through the accordion, Brittany is in the ring, punching at the trainer with his pads. Colt is outside the cage, leaning on the base, watching. He sees me and turns. “Hey, there you are.”
“I have your gauze.” I hold out the box.
He takes it and sets it on a bench. “Show me how you’re coming on the speed bag.”
“I’m on the clock,” I say. But really, I don’t want Brittany to see me. I know girls like her. She’ll find something nasty to say.
“Buster isn’t going to mind.”
I back away. “I can’t right now.” My voice has a quiver in it.
His eyebrows draw together. “You okay?”
“I just don’t think it’s good now.” My eyes fly involuntarily to the cage.
Colt looks up. “I see. Brittany’s harmless.”
My face burns. I think Brittany is about as harmless as a tiger. “I’ll just get back to work.” I try to turn away.
Colt reaches out and snares my elbow. “I’ll get rid of her.”
Panic zips through me. I don’t want to make a scene with her. “She won’t like that.”
He laughs. “She doesn’t like anything I do.”
I want out of there. I don’t know why Colt is putting me in this position. This is his girlfriend. She isn’t going to want me around.
I realize the punching sounds have stopped. Brittany leans against the cage, looking down at us. “Who’s this? She looks like she might blow away.”
“She’s Jo,” Colt says, and I want to melt into the floor. “She works here.”
“Huh. A gym rat.” Brittany turns away.
“Lovely girlfriend you’ve got there,” I hiss and stomp back to the door.
Colt catches up to me. “You’ve been reading the gossip rags.”
What is he saying? I stop by the door. Brent is just on the other side. “No, it’s just obvious.” I’m not going to admit I looked him up.
He exhales, and there’s his chest again, naked and right at eye level. His nipples are tight. It’s cold in the addition to just be standing around mostly naked. I’m so glad for my hoodie. I feel concealed.
“I can’t exactly explain our relationship. It’s complicated.”
I snort.
“I can see it’s intimidating to be around her. Most people feel that way.” He runs his glove across his forehead. I try not to stare at how his muscles shift. “Rain check?”
For a moment I don’t realize he’s asked a question. Only when the seconds pass, the sounds of Brittany pounding the pads filling the silence, do I shake myself awake.
“Okay.” I take a look up at him. He’s watching me again, his eyes more green than brown. I could stare into them, learn every pattern that makes up his personal brand of hazel.
I realize how long we’ve been like this only when Brittany clears her throat. She’s out of the cage, on the ground, peeling off her glove.
Maybe she’s threatened. Maybe it’s her style. But she looks coyly at Colt, dropping her gloves and bits of tape as she saunters over.
I want to escape, like now, but Colt is between me and the door. I have no choice really but to watch her come up to him and slip a finger just inside the waistband of his shorts.
“We should get out of here,” she says, her voice a purr. “You know how hot I get after punching things.”
I back away. If I can’t escape to the other room, I can at least go back to my job. I don’t know what happens next, if Colt pushes her away or takes her in. I dash to my sanctuary in the back, kneeling before the rows of kettle bells. I won’t look up again until every one is in exactly the right spot. Maybe by then, Colt and Brittany will be gone.
Chapter 10
When I wake up the next morning, I have a revelation. Like my brain has been working on the Colt and Brittany problem all night.
I want to train.
I want to know what Brittany knows. I want to be strong like her. Stronger.
“It’s not for him,” I say to the mirror, my mouth full of toothpaste. But I look unconvinced.
Still, Colt or no Colt, I know all this has happened for a reason. I like it at Buster’s. It’s the first job I’ve ever had that I don’t dread.
Instead of jeans, I put on a pair of sweatpants. Brent wears sweats every day, so it must be okay. If I want to do some training after I get off, these will work better.
I get drenched on the way to work in a sudden downpour. But it doesn’t matter. My exuberance will not be dampened.
When I arrive at the gym, Colt isn’t around. I imagine all the reasons why. All-nighters. Her blonde hair draped over his face. I try to put it out of my mind. I have a bigger purpose now.
The gym is deserted. Nobody wants out in the rain. That’s probably the only reason why Colt isn’t there. But the needle of pain imagining the other options is a comfort. Disappointment is familiar. Status Jo.
“Paycheck time.” Buster waves an envelope at me.
I act nonchalant, but I’m dying. I ran out of peanut butter two days ago, and my hours haven’t made it easy to find Zero at work. I’ve been rationing my Ramen noodles.
I fold the envelope and stick it into my hoodie pocket. I can already see the groceries I’ll buy. And the necklace! I can go retrieve my grandmother’s frog pendant.
Buster hasn’t given me any assignments, and it doesn’t take me long to straighten the weights. I lower a speed bag, but the rhythmic punches don’t help. I want to hit something hard.
I turn to one of the big bags. I punch it and instantly feel the pain in my knuckles. But it’s a good pain, so I hit it again.
“Hey, hey, protect those hands.” Lani hurries up to me. “You can’t just go at this stuff bare fisted.” She holds out her Everlast mitts. “I promise it’s a lot more fun.”
“You’re dedicated to be here today.”
She shrugs. “Nothing else to do.” She takes my arm and slips a glove on my right hand. “I’m just going to lift a while anyway.” She reaches for my other arm and straps on the glove. “You’ve got the rage for this, that’s for sure.”
I punch at the bag again. It’s a completely different experience with the glove on. I can hit hard, real hard.
“Good,” Lani says. “Just turn to the side a little so you can get in a power hit.” She shows me the stance. “Come across your front as you hit and you can really make that bag move.”
I do what she says. The extra force is phenomenal. I feel the jolt from the connection with the bag all the way up into my neck.
“Have at it,” she says and pats my back. “Don’t let the bimbo get you down.”
I whip around. How can she possibly know?
She heads toward the weights. I keep punching, imagining Brittany’s face on the bag. I hit it long past the point that it burns, then hurts, then pain radiates through my arms and back. I finally hug the bag, feeling on the point of collapse. It’s so stupid. Colt can’t help that I have
this foolish crush. And that he has this girlfriend who is hot and famous and a fighter like him.
I hate this. Hate it. I want it gone. I should look for another job. Get away from the whole thing.
I feel hands on my shoulders. I’m about to go full rage when I realize it’s Lani.
“Hey. I get it.” She walks me over to a bench. “Heck, I think half my best training came due to upset.” She tugs at the gloves. “Let’s get these off.”
I tear at the Velcro with the mitt. I have no idea why she’s being so nice to me. I haven’t had a true girlfriend since about seventh grade. I don’t know how to act.
“They’re a little sweaty,” I say as I hand the gloves back.
She laughs. “I’d expect that.”
I want to ask her about the bimbo comment, but I don’t. I’m broiling in my hoodie. It’s just us, so I go ahead and pull it off to reveal the barbell shirt. Lani’s still wearing a lot less than me.
Lani stares up at the cage. “I saw the pictures of Brittany the Bombshell.” She huffs out a little laugh. “She came here to work out. The press follows her everywhere.”
I just sit there. My hands are red and mottled from punching.
“Colt is something, isn’t he?” Lani says. “Anyone would fall under THAT spell.”
I pick at my sweatpants. I wonder if everyone knows everything. Probably half the members here have figured out that the gym rat has a thing for the star fighter.
But I remember what I felt that morning. That determination. My whole life I’ve had these sudden bouts of rage. But waking up, I knew for the first time I could do something with it. It’s what Colt saw that day. He’s made me see it too.
“Do you fight?” I ask Lani.
She smiles. “Not really. I mean, I’ve trained. But it takes a special something to actually get in the ring.”
“Colt, when he is in there,” I point at the cage, “he does more than hit. He kicks. And sometimes they wrestle.”
“Mixed martial arts is exactly like it sounds. Mixed.” Lani stands up. “There’s the boxing.” She throws punches at the air. “And the kickboxing.” Her leg comes up in a clean straight line.
