Page 109 of Knot Happening Again

My jaw clenches at the mention of her name. "I'm giving her space to settle in."

"Space?" Mace raises an eyebrow. "There's space, and then there's the Sahara, Leon. Which one are you aiming for?"

I turn away, pretending to adjust the wraps on my hands. "It's complicated."

"Bullshit." Mace's voice is sharp. "She said she wanted you to stay with the pack. So act like pack, even if you aren't living there."

I spin to face him, frustration bubbling up. "And do what, exactly? Play happy families? Pretend I didn't fuck up her life?"

Mace's expression softens slightly. "No one's asking you to pretend anything. But avoiding her isn't helping either of you."

I run a hand through my sweat-damp hair, sighing. "I know. I just don't know how to face her."

"Start small," Mace says. "Come over for dinner tonight. It's a start."

I hesitate, but the look in Mace's eyes tells me this isn't a request. "Fine. I'll be there."

Mace nods, satisfied. "Good. Now, how about we work off some of that tension? I could use a sparring partner."

A grin tugs at my lips despite myself. "You sure about that, old man? Wouldn't want to wear you out before dinner."

Mace's eyes narrow. "Watch it, kid. I can still kick your ass six ways to Sunday."

We move to the mat, circling each other. Mace throws the first punch, which I dodge easily. We fall into a familiar dance, trading blows and blocks.

"So," Mace says between jabs, "you ready for the big match?"

I duck under his swing, countering with a quick uppercut that he blocks. "As ready as I'll ever be. Jace is tough, but I've got his number."

Mace grunts as he absorbs a body shot. "Don't get cocky. He's been training hard."

"So have I," I retort, narrowly avoiding Mace's right hook.

We continue sparring, our conversation punctuated by the sound of fists meeting flesh and the occasional grunt of exertion.

"You know," Mace says, his breath coming a bit heavier now, "the others have been asking about you."

I falter for a moment, and Mace takes advantage, landing a solid hit to my ribs. I stumble back, wincing.

"Low blow, big guy."

Mace shrugs, not looking the least bit apologetic. "All's fair in love and war. And this? This is both."

I shake my head, falling back into my stance. "It's not that simple."

"It never is," Mace agrees. "But that doesn't mean you stop trying."

We continue our sparring match, but my mind is elsewhere. Images of Ophelia flash through my head—er piercing blue eyes, the way her raven hair falls around her face, the curve of her lips when she smiles. And then, the hurt and anger in her eyes when she saw me again after all these years.

Distracted, I miss blocking Mace's next punch. It connects solidly with my jaw, sending me stumbling backward. I lose my footing and hit the mat hard.

Mace stands over me, concern etched on his face. "You okay?"

I nod, rubbing my jaw. "Yeah, just... lost focus for a second."

He extends a hand, helping me to my feet. "That's what I'm worried about. You can't afford to lose focus like that in the ring, Leon. Not with Jace."

I roll my shoulders, trying to shake off the lingering thoughts of Ophelia. "I know. It won't happen again."

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