Page 51 of This Thing of Ours

“To blow off some steam.”

He was out the slider, locking her in, before she had a chance to recover from the complete one-eighty their night had taken.

Chapter Nineteen

Marco felt abead of sweat trail down his spine, passing the small of his back, only stopping when it reached the waistband of his shorts. More of it blurred his vision, coated his face, and wet his hair. His muscles burned, his knuckles felt raw, and his arms were growing heavier and heavier as he landed hit after hit to the punching bag. He knew it was late—two or three in the morning—and he’d been at it for hours.

But his anger still wasn’t appeased.

Rage numbed his good sense, and he pushed himself harder—faster—trying to block the emotions that churned in his stomach and ripped at his heart.

His beautiful girl had been violated.

“Bianchi!”

He distantly heard his name called but ignored it, too busy concentrating on the placement of his fists as the bag swung after each strike. The place was mostly empty with just a few guys hanging out. Every once in a while, Marco would hear the distant clack of weights knocking together and the occasional grunt or shout, reminding him he wasn’t alone.

“Bianchi!”

The voice was louder—closer—and he recognized it as belonging to Bobby, the owner. He wasn’t sure of Bobby’s age, only knew he’d been old when Marco had first started coming, making him that much older ten-years later. Short and thin, the guy didn’t look like much, but that was deceiving. Bobby was a strong motherfucker and could take down guys twice his size and half his age. A fact Marco could attest to, having witnessed the feat more than once.

Marco didn’t stop what he was doing, but he did give Bobby his eyes and an acknowledging grunt when he walked into his field of vision. Bobby planted himself on the opposite side of the bag and hugged his arms around it, holding it in place. And though Marco wasn’t in the mood for company, he did appreciate the help.

Their time together passed in silence. His hands had gone numb at some point he couldn’t remember, his wrists were sore, and he was quickly losing steam. As much as his brain wanted to keep fighting, his body just didn’t have much energy left.

Ever observant, Bobby finally spoke, “You about done, son?”

Breathing hard, Marco gave the bag one last punch, giving it his all, which, let’s face it, at that point wasn’t very much.

A water bottle appeared in front of him, thankfully with the cap already removed because he wasn’t sure he could get his fingers to work. He drank it down in three gulps, panting heavier by the time the bottle was empty.

“Come to the office and let’s get a look at those hands.”

Marco glanced down at his gauze-covered knuckles, noticing the dots of blood showing through. “I’m fine.”

Bobby laughed. “Oh, I seriously doubt that, but we’ll start with cleaning your knuckles.”

He didn’t argue. In all the years he’d know Bobby, Marco had never won an argument, and he was too tired to try to make then the first time.

“So, tell me,” Bobby said after he sat Marco down, removed the gauze, and inspected his torn knuckles. “What’s got you so worked up tonight?”

Marco slouched in his chair as Bobby went to his desk and opened a drawer, taking out a first-aid kit. “Nothin’.”

Bobby set the kit on his desk and looked up, the lines by his eyes and mouth growing more prominent as he scrutinized Marco’s expression. “It’s a girl,” he stated firmly, ducking his head and opening the box.

Marco watched in silence as he riffled through the kit, found what he wanted, and came around the desk tearing a package open with his teeth, spitting the bit of paper on the floor. “Give me your hand, son, and tell me what’s bothering you. It’ll keep your mind off the torture I’m about to put you through.”

For the first time in hours, Marco smiled. A small chuckle even slipped out. “Do your worst, old man.”

They were silent as Bobby dabbed at his cuts with some shit that burned like a motherfucker, but he stayed unflinchingly still.

Until Bobby said, “Well, spit it out. I’m not growing any younger here.”

That’s when Marco gave up and laughed, his whole body shaking in his amusement. He hadn’t thought anything could pull him from his dark mood, but the crazy old fool actually had. “I’ve met a woman.”

Bobby snorted and nodded—gloating—not surprised he’d been right on the money.

“We’ve actually known each other a long time, but we’ve just sort of started things.”

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