Page 6 of Falling for the Forbidden Fighter
It’s never been more than a fact of life for me. Most people have parents, families—I didn’t. Foster homes were my reality. Being sad about it won’t help anything.
“It is what it is,” I say, groaning as she finally releases me from the deep stretch.
Catherine pops up and offers me a hand. Our fingers lock together, lingering a bit after she helps me up. Over her head, I spot Don’s other kid, the guy with the mohawk, throwing me a dirty look from one of the rings before he throws a few punches that are too hard for sparring.
This is going to be trouble.
We work through a bunch of mobility exercises, testing my range of motion, searching for hidden pains. I’ve taken plenty of beatings in my life, but I’ve never had any injuries that could keep me down.
Even if I did, I’d still have to fight.
Catherine grabs my arm, stretching it back until I tell her it hurts. She holds it there, almost hugging my shoulder, eyes scanning down my forearm.
“Nice scar,” she says, eying the straight, thick line of tissue near my bicep. “You get that in the military?”
I shake my head. “Knife. I was fifteen.”
Her green eyes flash like light on steel. Is that fear?
I don’t want her to fear me…
“I avoid knives these days.”
“I hope so.” She clears her throat, releasing me. “Go ahead and work the bag for a while. Not quite full-speed.”
The way my blood’s pumping, I could smash that bag right off its chain. I could step outside and run a marathon in the New Mexico heat. Every time she touches me, I feel like I could go blow-for-blow with Ali, Tyson, and Pacquiao all at once.
“Slow down,” she insists as I wreck the bag. “I’m just gauging your movements. I know you can throw a punch.”
Somehow, it takes more effort to hit with less power.
I grunt through a few combos. My body is coiled and ready to explode.
Either I need to get in the ring with someone soon, or…
“All right. All right,” Catherine says. “That’s good for now.”
She’s writing on a little clipboard, hair falling over her eyes. I stand here awkwardly until she clicks her pen and starts putting her bands and medicine balls away. “Pretty sure my dad will want you back here before sunrise tomorrow morning. Let me check with him.”
“That’s it?” I step forward eagerly, grabbing her gym bag for her. “I mean, you don’t need to watch me hit the speed bag or anything? I could jump rope. We could spar or…”
“Easy, champ,” she laughs, killing me with that bright smile. “Today was just an evaluation. I’ll tell him what I think, and he’ll sit in his office all night sucking down shitty coffee and building your training regimen.”
“Will you be here for training?”
Catherine pauses, slips the bag off my shoulder, and shrugs. “Sometimes. Maybe. My dad and Ricky will handle most of it.”
I glance at her brother; he’s leaning back in the corner of the ring, watching me like a hawk.
“Something tells me your brother doesn’t want to train me.”
She looks back and rolls her eyes. “Don’t worry about him. He always acts like this with new guys.”
I step in front of her as she turns toward the office. “And what do you think?”
“What?”
“You said you’d tell Don what you think of me.” I try not to smile. “So?”
