Page 6 of Punchline
One move, and I’d basically ended the life he’d always wanted.
I saw stars. I backed up and let go of Carson, but it wasn’t enough to stave off the impending panic attack. Carson recognized my short breaths and trembling hands for what they were and immediately pointed to the office—not the locker room, which was nice. I didn’t want the students to see me like this.
The round was still going, so I think I made it to the office without catching too much attention. Carson would finish the class, and me? I would sit in here, on this comfortable couch, put my head between my legs, and try to keep my heart from jumping right the fuck out of my chest.
Damn it, damn it, damn it…
I thought I was getting better. I’d been working at the school for a few weeks now, living in Vegas for almost a month. I was used to being around Carson. I’d apologized—not that he ever asked me to, because he possessed a freakishly amazing ability to forgive even the worst shit—and we’d hung out, made plans… fuck, he let me teach classes here. Hetrustedme.
He shouldn’t. If this didn’t prove it, I don’t know what did. I was a piece of shit, I was an awful fighter, I didn’t deserve to teach classes when I couldn’t even keep my own fucking self from nearly killing someone in a competition, I was…
An ice pack touched down on the back of my neck,shocking me out of my spiral of self-loathing. I reached back with a shaking hand to hold it in place, and I heard Carson sigh. He sat down next to me on the couch and nudged my knee with his. “Jake. Dude. I can’t believe I’m going to say this, but you need therapy.”
I managed to open my eyes and look over at him. “I’m getting therapy.”
“Oh.” He seemed surprised. “Really?”
“Yeah. For months now.” Almost since the incident happened, in fact. I was one of those privileged assholes who’d come into the adult world with both a college fundanda trust fund, and I’d put the one to work in the markets while the other put me through school without debt. I got a business degree and made enough in four years to cover therapy for the rest of my life, which was probably about as long as it was going to take for me to get past this.
“That’s good.” Carson nodded encouragingly. “That’s a really good step. What can I do to help?”
This asshole was too nice for his own good. I took the ice pack off and leaned back. “Never ask me to roll with you again.”
“Nope.”Never mind, not nice at all.“Avoidance isn’t the answer, Jake. Besides, no one else is as much of a challenge as you. I miss it.”I miss youwent unsaid, but I knew he had. That was one of the reasons he’d welcomed me so readily back into his life—I’d basically gone AWOL ever since Abu Dhabi, leaving the competition world behind without a word. I’d meant it to be permanent, but my therapist had had alotto say about that, and to be honest… I’d missed it too. I’d spent over a decade working my ass off to get to the highest levels of my sport, and I’d gotten silver in my division at Abu Dhabi—my best finish ever. I was on track to be a powerhouse.
Then I let my impulses get the better of me, and well, here we were.
Not that life was bad for Carson these days. He’d gone through a rough patch, sleeping out of his fuckingcar, even, but now he had a great gym to work at, a reliable business partner, and a pro hockey player boyfriend who he lived with. Carson had his shit together.
Me, not so much.
“I’m fucked up,” I said with a sigh. “And I swear I’m working on it. It’s not like Iwantto be weird on the mat, but look at me.” I held out one of my hands, which was still shaking. “And this is without even threatening a submission. I’d probably black out if I actually had to try and tap you.”
“So we take our time,” Carson said, far too reasonably. “You just need… what’s it called,exposuretherapy. Your body needs to remember how to respond the right way. You’ll get there. But.” He gave me a little glare. “You can’t not work with the smaller students, especially the women. If Beth gets the idea that you’re misogynistic, she’ll kick you out. No, first she’ll kick your ass,thenshe’ll kick you out. She won’t tolerate guys like her brother in here.”
“I’m not misogynistic,” I argued. “It’s just… they’re all so much smaller than me.”
“Most people are,” he pointed out, which was fair. “You still have to work with them. Maybe not always down on the mat, but—wait, I’ve got it!”
“Got what?” A magic wand to take my panic attacks away? That would be nice.
“The perfect next step for you.” He leaned in, eager puppy written all over his face. “There’s this guy on Marek’s team, I think his name is Easton, or—no, it’s Ethan, that’s it. He’s pretty new, but he’s a really good player fromwhat Marek says. Except for one thing. He’s reallybadat fighting.”
“Hockey players fight?” I knew next to nothing about the sport, but I had this vague recollection of a few punches being thrown on the ice.
“Yeah, but the rules are weird. Marek can explain it to you,” Carson said. “Anyway, this guy wants some fight training—stand-up stuff only, and he’s not huge but he’s not small either. I think working with him would be good for you, and Iknowyou can improve his skills.”
Huh. That was… actually not a terrible idea. I wasn’t an expert at stand-up, but you hardly had to be when you were my size. I could definitely help someone with the basics. I’d have to do some research into what a hockey fight was like, but that might even be fun.
“Here, I found his fight.” Carson had his phone out, and he put it down where I could see the screen. The clip started, the players connected, and?—
Oh. Oh, damn. Ohdamn.
“Help him, Obi Wan,” Carson murmured. “You’re his only hope.”
Shit. He might even be right.
CHAPTER 3
