Page 5 of Sky Full of Stars

My heart jumps, the text isn’t from Lance. It’s from Adam.

Adam: Do you know how many boxing gyms that train MMA fighters there are in this city?

Why on earth is he asking me that? Oh God, is he going to try to find me? Despite telling myself to forget about the other night, I’m not gonna lie and say I haven’t thought about Adam. A lot. But it would be stupid to dwell on him, not to mention I was swearing off men. They can all go to hell. But I find myself quickly responding. To keep him off my back, obviously.

Me: I didn’t text him

Adam: Seems he wasn’t the only one

Me: I turned off my phone, I’m fine. No need to check up on me

“Who are you texting?” Brooke demands.

“No one,” I say putting it in my back pocket. “Not Lance,” I tell her to stop her questioning me. I told her about being rescued by a guy at the club so I didn’t get thrown out when I punched Lance, but I didn’t go into any greater detail than that or tell her he’d given me his number. “I don’t want to talk about him anymore, Brooke.”

She gives me a sympathetic look, knowing my track record with men isn’t great but this was the worst yet. “Girls night tonight? I’ll need it after court.”

“McAllister’s? Or home?” I ask.

“The bar,” she decides. “When I tell Lou, he’ll lose his shit and next time Lance shows his face, he’ll whack him with his baseball bat.”

“I do not want Lou, or anyone else for that matter, fighting my battles. I am perfectly capable of handling this. I am handling this. Lance is gone, through, finito, he has no further impact on my life.”

Brooke side eyed me, her fork paused halfway from the plate. She must like what she sees because she nods and pushes the food into her mouth. Besides, I could do without Lou getting involved. Brooke isn’t wrong when she says he would hit Lance with a bat. Lou is a retired fire-fighter and was best friends with dad since middle school. When my dad died, Lou took to looking out for me. He own’s the bar where we hang out.

“I have to go,” Brooke says looking at her watch. “You gonna be okay?”

“I’m fine,” I tell her. I’m saying that a lot. “I’m gonna get an hour in at Sam’s then go to work. Everything else is forgotten, I promise.”

She eyes me, then taps my hand. “Eight okay?”

I nod. She hands me cash for breakfast, we’ve stopped arguing with each other about who pays and just alternate now. I say goodbye and watch her leave. So do a few other people, men mostly. I pay the bill and head out to Sam’s. I don’t need to be at the office until ten today because my boss has been out of town. She lets me keep a schedule that fits around hers, rather than a regular nine to five. Especially as a lot of the time we end up working till closer to seven anyway.

Sam greets me as I walk into the gym, it doesn’t take him long to notice my knuckles. I iced them again when I got home, it helped with the swelling but not the bruises and redness.

He grabs it and looks at it, making sure not to squeeze but he knows how I got it.

“I hit Lance,” I tell him and watch his eyes widen, then he grins. He never liked Lance. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Well, can’t say I’m pleased about this, you know better than to go bare knuckle,” he taps my wrist, then he winks. “I hope you did some damage.”

“His nose may be a little bit broken.”

He chuckles, then the angry coach is back. “No hitting the bag today, that needs to heal.”

“I know, Sam. I’m probably just gonna do some conditioning anyway. And yes, I took painkillers.”

He grunts and pats my shoulder. “Bout time you dumped that dick.”

He walks away and climbs up into the biggest of the three rings in the gym to discuss a workout with Joey, one of the pro MMA fighters who trains here with Sam. I head towards the weight room. It is out of Sam’s sight so he won’t notice when I actually ignore his advice. I need to hit something. I tape up my hands and grab my gloves from my duffel. Another lady comes in, she’s new, we don’t really know each other but we say hi anyway. She usually comes to the self-defence classes one of the retired fighters runs so I’m surprised to see her here.

I get to work on the bag, picturing Lance’s face. I may tell everyone he’s forgotten but it’s really not that simple. I was in a committed, or so I thought, happy relationship with a guy who made me laugh and was attentive. I still couldn’t figure out what came over him to make him do that while I was there with him. I had no desire to hear him explain it either, there really was no way to explain that. I go at the bag harder than I should, I can feel my knuckles throbbing but don’t stop. I’m so damn sick of men.

“Looks like you need to let off some steam.”

I wipe my brow with my forearm. I’ve worked up quite a sweat, my hair is clinging to my neck and forehead. The woman is sitting on a bench, having just put some kettle bells away.

“Men,” I grunt, and she gives me a knowing look. I don’t need to explain any more.

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