Page 101 of Hits Different

I unlock the door and fling it open. And stop, in stunned surprise.

Parker’s standing in the doorway, with a party hat and carrying a birthday cake.

I’m still holding the phone to my ear, and his voice trickles down the line like a strand of honey caught in the jar.

“Nothing could make it better?” He blows out a party popper. “You’re sure about that?”

Chapter 39

Showing Up

Parker

There’s an atmosphere in the gym. It hits me the second I walk in. Sunday mornings kick my ass at the best of times, but Zara is ruthless today. Double drills. Suicides. Heavy duty sparring.

It’s only when she stalks to the office to yell at someone down the phone that we finally get a break. I collapse on the mat, sucking in air. I close my eyes, letting the pain wash over me. It’s the good kind of pain. The kind that means you’re getting closer to what you really want.

“Fuck sakes!” I open one eye, turning to the far corner of the gym as Jack launches a volley of punches so hard that his knuckles split.

I wince, one eye on Zara’s office. Gyms are about respect. Zara has a lot of rules. First one being nobody can curse but her.

Jack's got an attitude and most of the other guys ignore him, but I can’t just leave him. Hell, I’vebeenhim. “Wait for the bag to settle”, I roll off the mat, wincing as I notice a purple bruise under his left eye. “You’ll jar your wrist if you meet it halfway”.

I’m rewarded with a glare, but he changes his timing. His next three strikes are right on the mark. “You’re welcome”.

“Didn’t ask for your help”.

“The blood on your knuckles did it for you”. I study him. “If you don’t want another black eye to match, you’re gonna need to start training properly. Unless you’re gonna scowl someone to death. Theyarepretty fucking lethal”.

The punches cease long enough for me to catch the glimpse of a hastily hidden smile.

I can tell from the way his eyes are narrowed that he’s imagining someone’s face on that bag. I hold it steady for him, whilst he unloads a volley of kicks. The last one nearly topples him. “Plant your right foot”.

“I know”, he says, but he does. And nearly kicks my head off.

“Better”. We go on like that for another round, before he mumbles something. “What did you say?”

“I didn’t get it in training. The black eye”. Ah, fuck.Please don’t say you got it at home. Home is so much harder to fix.“Fight at school”.

“Did you win?”

“Aren’t grown-ups supposed to tell me I shouldn’t be fighting at school?”

“Grown-ups? Jesus, how old do you think I am?”

“I don’t know. Like thirty?”

I mime being stabbed in the gut. He carries on kicking. “I don’t tell people things they already know. Shift your balance”. Jack repositions uncertainly. “No, like this. Watch”. I take his place, arching my leg and extending it so my foot neatly slaps against the bag. I do it a few more times. “Give it a try”.

I watch as he mimics my move. He gets it the second time. “Like this?”

I nod. “Did it help? Kicking the guy’s ass?” He carries on kicking for a moment, then eventually shakes his head, his fringe flopping in his eyes. “It never does”.

“What would you know about it?”

“How do you think I ended up here?” I aim a punch at his bag, rattling its hinges. “I got into a fight at college. A big one”.

A cheeky grin spreads over his face. “Did you win?”

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