Page 5 of Forgotten Comeback

Right jab. Left jab.

“The boss needs to get laid.” Maybe then John would get off my dick.

Right jab. Left jab.

“I’m not interested inanyone’ssex life,” he informs me.

Right jab. Left jab.

“Sounds likeyouneed to get laid.”

“Focus!” Russell barks.

I fall into a zone as we work through combinations with the pads, moving over to bare-knuckles on the wooden dummy, and finishing with some bare-knuckle pushups. My arms quiver in protest as Russell counts, “Ninety-eight, ninety-nine, one hundred.”

My heart thuds wildly as my arms give out, and I pretend that eating the mat was my goal all along.

“Have you been putting in your cardio in the mornings?” my coach asks.

My chest heaves as I peel myself from the mat, resting my hands on my thighs.“Yeah.”

“Bullshit. You’re sucking wind.”

“So I may have missed a few sessions,” I mutter, rising to full height.

He shakes his head. “It’s more than that; I need you committed.”

Committed.

My hand wraps around Russell’s neck as I lift him to his toes. His eyes go wide with fear as I surge forward, slamming his body against the wall.

He frantically claws at my fingers wrapped around his windpipe. “Gavin,” he wheezes.

Coming to my senses, I release my hold and take a step back. Russell crumbles to the mat as I grab my keys and phone, storming out.

He calls after me, but I can’t hear his words over the noise in my head.

I need to smoke a joint. I need to pound someone’s skull. I need…

A reminder on my phone alerts, and I grit my teeth.

Anything other than a lecture from my brother.

I drive to John’s place and use the spare key to enter through the back. He’s not here yet, and I help myself to his shower, replaying the incident with Russell.

But somehow, a curvy redhead invades my mind. I lather up my hands and run them through my hair, recalling the way her big tits jiggled as she threw punches at the bag, and attitude at me…

I’m tempted to move my hand lower, but that line of thinking gets shut down fast; I need to be attracted to a woman like Taylor McKenna as much as I need a haymaker to the head. Which I might receive from my brother when he learns I nearly choked out his gym manager.

My head’s starting to hurt from thinking too damn much; fine, so it’s from the baby hangover I’m nursing. I step out of the shower and dry off, changing into extra clothes I stashed here.

Strolling to the kitchen, I grab a glass of water and down it, checking my phone. John’s fifteen minutes late.

I’m at your place. Where are you?

I walk to the living room and kick back on the sofa, scrolling through my messages.

Aren’t you missing these?