Page 38 of Sacrifice
The chains bounce with each hit.
I drive my fists into the heavy bag suspended to the ceiling of my garage from every angle. I rip into it, knuckles kissing the leather, making the bag pop with every strike.
“Ah,” I growl, glancing my elbow across the stiff leather. The sweat from my skin causes my arm to slide across the bag, leaving a glistening trail behind.
I stop, out of breath, and glance at the clock. I’ve been at this for a solid hour.
I heave air into my lungs and feel the lactic acid in my arms and thighs. I need my brain to concentrate on that and not on what Julia had to say.
“It’s not good.”
“Fuck,” I yell, throwing another combination. My anger surges once again and I take it out on the bag. Throwing another jab, cross, hook, I feel a burning sensation at the top of my back.
I stand still, watching the bag spin. My chest feels tight as I try to locate the source of the pain.
I’ve never really felt this before. I’ve pulled every muscle, ripped every muscle, in my body several times. But this isn’t that. It feels eerily reminiscent of my last fight at Minnesota, only much, much,muchless.
“Son of a bitch,” I mutter, grabbing a towel off a chair in the corner. I dry my face and then throw it across my neck. “Son of a fucking bitch.” I try to tell myself that it’s probably a pull on something from work.
That I’ve never had anything hurt like that before, so the odds that it’s nothing serious are good. Maybe something just strained when I hit the bag.
Yeah, that’s probably it.
I head inside to grab a bottle of water. I ran three miles as soon as I got home. But when I was done, I was as pissed as I was when I started, so I decided to hit the bag instead. No matter how many times I threw, I couldn’t diminish any of the anger.
“Knock, knock, motherfucker.” The door swings open and Will waltzes in.
“I need to lock the fucking door.”
He just laughs, but I hear the hesitancy in it. “What’s happening?”
I down the rest of the water and toss the bottle in the trash.
“Well?” he asks, leaning against the wall.
“Well, what?”
“Dude, come on.” He shakes his head and walks into the living room. I follow him and sit on the couch while he takes a seat in the chair he always uses. “How are things with Ever?”
“I don’t wanna talk about it.”
And I don’t. I don’t want to discuss this shit. It seems asinine you’d ever have to discuss this shit. A kid getting cancer. How the fuck does this even happen?
“Fair enough.”
“There’s nothing fair about it.”
He twists his head back and forth, considering my statement. “True. So, moving along, I was going to ask what you were doing tonight, but I’ll skip over that.”
“Smart move.”
He laughs again and I know it’s for my benefit. He’s trying to make me relax and settle down. Gage had words to pacify people; Will has his laugh.
“What are you here for, anyway?” I ask.
The asshole smirk leaves his face and he looks somber. “I was just checking on you.”
I blow out a breath and look to the ceiling.
