Page 2 of Going the Distance

“Leg’s not in great shape, huh?” She saw right through my excuse like I hadn’t even said anything. “Can I check it?”

I nodded, and both of her hands landed on my upper thigh and started to prod the muscle.

This is going to be a problem.

“Any sensitive spots?”

Did she really just ask that? Yeah, I had a sensitive spot that wanted her to touch it. If she kept rubbing my thigh like that, the sensitive spot was going to grow a little longer, and touch her first. “Nope.” I ground the answer out between my teeth. I needed to physically crush my own molars to avoid popping a boner in front of my best friend’s little sister.

“Why are you tensing up then?” She left one hand on my leg as she asked the question.

I should probably play it cool. Nothing could ever happen between us. There was a bro code that said I couldn’t touch my buddy’s sister. Still, I opened my mouth and put my foot in it. “Because a pretty girl has her hand an inch from my dick, Dani. Now, are we training or not?”

She snatched her hand back and turned an interesting shade of raspberry red. “Sorry.” She reached out a hand and helped me to my feet. Once she was convinced that I was steady, she laid into me. “How the fuck did you get a doctor to sign off on you going back to work when your leg is in that condition?” Her hands were planted on her slim hips.

I plastered on what I hoped was a charming smile. “They only had to sign off that the stitches were healed not that I’m a hundred percent better. That is what the fitness test is for. I slipped. My leg is fine. Let’s just train.”

She blinked at me with those all-seeing eyes, and I took a step towards her. “Look, Dani, I need your help on this, okay?”

She crossed her arms over her chest. “You won’t pass a fitness test with a leg like that.”

“I won’t need to; the leg will heal by then. In the meantime, we can work on cardio, upper body, whatever I can do. Please, Dani? I can’t sit around on desk duty anymore; I’m so bored.”

She looked away and huffed out a long breath. I had known this woman most of my life. Granted, there had been long stretches of time when I hadn’t seen her. I had graduated high school two years before her and moved to Vancouver to do my bachelor’s degree. Once I’d joined the RCMP, I’d been stationed in a little town in Northern Ontario for a few years. I’d been back in Kamloops for a year or so, running into her here and there. Now that she was training me, the little flame I’d always carried for her threatened to turn into a forest fire.

Even if I had been in town, nothing would have happened between us. I’d come home to visit quite a few times when I was in University, and I remembered Josh freaking out when a buddy of ours had wanted to ask Dani out. Physically, she was tougher than either Josh or I was. But, being a big brother, he would always see the version of Dani who had been bullied in school. He’d always want to protect her from the world and everyone in it. Apparently, that included the potential for heartbreak.

I knew her well enough to know that she’d help me rehab my leg. “I just want to get a head start on this. I won’t do anything to make my leg worse.”

She searched my face for a moment. “This is a colossally stupid thing to do; you know that, right?”

I shrugged. “With the wrong trainer, it would be. But I happen to know the best one in town.”

She smirked. “Suck up. Fine, but we do this my way, got it?”

I stood up straight and gave her a mock salute. It hurt like hell, but I didn’t tell her that.

Chapter 3

Dani

Iwas officially twelve weeks out from my first amateur MMA fight, and shit was about to get real. I was twenty-eight, which was a lot older than most first-time fighters. My goal wasn’t a fighting career; it was just to cross something off my bucket list. Still, I wanted to do more than show up and get knocked out. I wanted to give my opponent a run for her money. My boss at Malice MMA, Nate, was my coach. I knew he wasn’t going to go easy on me.

Speaking of the devil, Nate walked into the gym with a notepad in one hand and a pen in the other. Organization wasn’t his strong suit, so I knew he meant business. “Alright, let’s do this.”

I licked my lips, the weight of what I was undertaking hitting me when I saw the look in his eyes.

“Twelve weeks out through eight weeks out you’re going to be doing cardio, strength training, and skill training.” He proceeded to lay out a schedule for each activity. Training before work, after work, and ending each day with either an ice bath, a massage, or a meditation session where I visualized myself winning.

“Anything else? Need me to count the grains of sand at the beach while I’m at it? Maybe learn to ride a unicorn?”

He gave me a look. With all the scars on his face from his own fighting career, it should have been menacing, but I knew he was a teddy bear. “Don’t let the wordamateurfool you into thinking this isn’t a fuck-ton of work. You will eat, sleep, and breathe this fight until it’s over. You need to be strong, fast, skilled, healthy, and within your weight class all in twelve weeks. Are you up for it?”

I’d started training to deal with all the bullies when I was in school. I wasn’t a total loner. I had friends. But being made fun of, feeling like an awkward giant in a land of graceful fairies, and drawing attention in every crowd took its toll. I missed out on a lot of my teenage experiences because I didn’t feel like I fit in. I towered over the boys. High school wasn’t crushes, dances, and awkward first times. I didn’t kiss my first boy until I was nineteen—once boys had finally started to catch up height-wise. Not that I could blame the boys entirely. Not the ones who didn’t bully me anyway.

I’d wanted to be invisible. To limit the opportunities for me to be singled out and picked on. I’d dressed in oversized clothes. As if covering my thin limbs might deemphasize how tall I was. It didn’t help that all the cute clothes brands at the mall were meant for girls who were five foot six or less. I’d had to shop in the men’s department or buy things sizes too big just for the cuffs of my jeans to reach my ankles. It gave people more fodder for their jokes. So, I’d hid. I’d sat in the back of the bus, the back of the class. I hadn’t gone to the parties or joined the sports teams. I’d cheated myself out of a lot of life’s experiences with the coping mechanism I’d chosen. Slowly, through my twenties, with the politics of high school gone, I’d started to move past the desire to hide. It helped that I hung out in gyms where tall and athletic was the norm.

The positive of all of that was that I had found MMA. It helped me with my confidence and gave me something I coulddo that was all my own. Size and strength could be an asset in the ring. Long limbs were a positive. It made me appreciate my body in a way I never had before. Besides, it was nice to know that if someone ever wanted to move the bullying from verbal to physical, I could defend myself. Fighting was a perk, but winning was my goal, and I would not let a little hard work stand in the way. “Hell yes, I am.”

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