Page 67 of No Sweet Goodbyes

“Remember every night you heard me cry in the shower and pretended not to?”

Lilah nods silently, her eyes wide. We’ve never spoken about those nights. She’s never brought it up, and she’s never once made me feel like I didn’t belong. She’s kept my secret for four months, and I just decide to announce it to all of our classmates and the instructors.

“He’s the reason.”

Every single person I’ve spent the last four months with, practicing with, learning with, stands a little bit taller. Competition between us has turned us into friends and even into family. And the men and women who I know will have my back on the streets or in any fight, as a group, turn a hard eye to the man who stands behind me.

“I got this,” I tell them simply.

“Yeah,” Lilah nods. “You really do.”

Steeling my nerves, I take a deep breath and slowly turn back around to face Dom.

I don’t wait for any announcement that we’ve started. I don’t wait for him to prepare. I don’t even wait to put on any type of protective gear.

He wants to spar.

He wants to be the one to step up and show up at the academy on the last day of my training.

He wants to do everything he can to be seen.

Ignoring his calls, ignoring the pain that he caused, ignoring the family that I’ve come to love like my own because of the hurt he caused… all of it boils into this one moment.

Right here.

And I’m so fucking angry.

As I strike out, punching him in the soft space right below his ribs, I put every single ounce of rage into my move.

He’s faster than I am. Bigger. And he won’t take it easy on me the way Eddie had.

My brothers said I fight with rage.

Everyone says that it’s anger that I use when I step into a ring when them, but it’s not.

I’ve never moved into a fight with someone without clear focus. Focus on what needs to happen, on what every muscle in my body needs to do in order to win.

And Dom?

Dom knows my body. He knows the way I move, the way I can maneuver in a fight. After all, isn’t sex just a battle of the wills if it is done right? He’s definitely done it right, too.

He steps to the side, using his size to his advantage, and when he kicks out, sweeping my legs out from under me, there isn’t anything I can do. I go down, twisting as I fall so that I don’t have the breath knocked out of me.

He’s already done better than any of the sparring partners I’ve had at the academy.

Two can play his game, and I know I’ll come out on top.

The seconds tick by as we analyze each other for any sign of weakness.

Dom may not take it easy on me, but I have four months of rage to work out. He’s just been stupid enough to volunteer for every single hit that I throw. That I’m capable of throwing.

We go back and forth, trading hits, for at least three minutes before he gains the upper hand. My head hits the mat and he straddles my waist, pushing down.

Dom grabs me by the back of the neck, pulling me toward him even though I’m flat on my back. His body pins mine to the mat, but I have my forearm pressed against his throat when he leans forward.

“Are you done yet?” His eyes flash and they dart down to my lips and back to my face.

He might not be taking it easy on me, but there’s no denying that he still wants me.

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