Page 9 of 4th Degree

I’m not surprised that she’s early, given how late she stayed the other day. There’s something about her genuine excitement that has me wanting to make sure she meets every single one of her goals. I wasn’t lying to her when I said that’s the best part of being a coach—and I’m entirely certain that helping Skylar meet hers would be that much more satisfying.

I continue to wonder about her reasons for being here as I roll out my hamstrings. She sets out her gear on one of the chairs in my peripheral, taking a final swig of water before stepping onto the mat. At the last second, she decides to take off her sweatshirt.

As she pulls it over her head, her clothes underneath start to go with it. Whatever she’s wearing rides up her taut stomach, all the way up until the edge of her purple sports bra is visible.

My blood heats from the sight of her exposed skin.

I hurriedly turn away. It’s not that I’m opposed to people training or walking around shirtless—plenty of the traditional gyms have that rule, but I pride myself on making sure my fighters feel comfortable. I’ve heard horror stories about girls being made to fight in their sports bra by their coach, or being forced to strip down almost completely for weigh-ins. Being a girl in this sport is undeniably harder than being a guy. So I’ve always ensured that I’m the respectful old man they can count on, not run away from. It's the same reason I put a shirt on when Skylar came in—even though pulling the fabric over a layer of sweat is making me want to scratch every inch of my skin.

Giving up on my last stretch, I stand from the mat and head into my office. Whether it’s Skylar seeing me shirtless or me seeing her, I need to put some distance between us. She hasn’t even been here two weeks, and I’m already thinking about her more than any of my other students.

I busy myself for the next fifteen minutes. It isn’t until I hear the gym filling with students that I leave my hideaway and venture back into the mat room for the Muay Thai class I’m about to teach.

I look around for Lucy, since she’s the one who helps me with the beginners, and spot her working with Skylar.

Lucy’s lips move with instructions, and Skylar follows them. They’re standing in front of the mirrored wall so Skylar can watch herself as she goes through the motions. The pair seem to be comfortable working together.

“Coach.”

I pull my attention away from the girls and focus on Kane.

“All done?” I ask him.

He nods. “Thanks for giving me some extra work today. And for fitting me in early.”

“Of course. I’m happy to do it. You feel good?”

Another nod, but the look in his eyes is distant. “Yeah, I feel strong.”

I quirk an eyebrow. “That’s not what I asked.”

When he looks directly at me, I watch as the wall over his expression drops.

When Kane first signed up here, that wall was a thousand feet tall and made of steel. It never moved, could never be breached. For the longest time, we had no idea who Kane really was behind it. It was how he kept the whole world out, us included.

Nowadays, he lets us see more on a regular basis.

I see him now. I see that his self-assured front was a partial lie, because there’s fear, and nervousness, and uncertainty in his eyes as he stands before me. He’s got a fight next week, and if having an old, shitty teammate for his opponent wasn’t enough, this is also his first fight since he’s changed his mentality. It used to be kill-or-be-killed, but in the past few months, he’s learned to see the beauty in the sport. It doesn’t surprise me that it’s having an effect on his preparation.

“I feel good,” he confirms, honestly this time. “It just feels weird going in with no injuries and an actual strategy.”

I clap him on the back with a chuckle. “Welcome to being a real fighter.”

Kane lets out a huff, which is as close to laughter as I’ve seen from him.

“Go home,” I tell him. “Go see your girl, take a night off. You’ve earned it.”

That gets me a look of obvious gratitude. And it strikes me that being on the receiving end of a look like that, from a man like Kane, feels just as good as any win I ever had as a fighter.

“Alright, if you’re here for Muay Thai, I want you lined up on the mat,” I call out, clapping my hands together. “Let’s get class started.”

I lead the class through this week’s drills, separating them into pairs within intermediate and advanced groups. Lucy takes the new students into the cage.

I keep my focus on the groups I’m coaching, but occasionally I feel it drifting back to Lucy’s group.

Besides Skylar, there are two young guys in the beginner group, both moving as if they’ve done plenty of sports before. They’re muscular and have not only the strength but the gracefulness of athletes. The punches they’re throwing are perfectly acceptable for first timers.

And yet, their movements are lazy. They’re relying on their athleticism, and not really trying to make the adjustments that Lucy is calling for.

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