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CHAPTER 5

MAX

G eorge was surprisingly shocked at how well I handled myself that first night. And by shocked, I mean he grunted something about seeing me again, which makes me think he was happy with how I did.

Another shift came and went the next night, and it was less exciting than the first, probably because I recognized some of the assholes that came in and had their drinks ready before they could say too much to me. Despite my quick service, the side eyes they gave me told me that they still aren’t my biggest fans. Which is fine.

Danner also came back, and she seems determined to be my friend. The only people who didn’t show up again was that group of unnaturally attractive guys who were there my first night. My lip quirks at the memory of giving their table a tray of water. One of them came up to Danner later trying to hit on her which made me laugh. She didn’t go home with him from what I could tell, but he definitely wanted her to.

One of my goals since leaving Texas has been to get a job, and then the second is to do something for myself. Learn who I am and what I like without the influence of others telling me what I should like.

One of my ideas has been wanting to learn how to protect myself. I hope Carson won’t find me, that no one from my previous life will. But if they do, I don’t know the extremes they would go to bring me back. It’s no longer enough to hope.

That may sound dramatic, but I wouldn’t put it past him, or my parents, to hire a PI or bounty hunter to try and drag me—literally—back home.

Home.

Not anymore.

Part of me wants to find a dance studio and get my body moving in that way again. I’ve always felt complete when I would dance. The music carried me in a way that made me feel whole. I just don’t think I could dance again. I used to enjoy it, but just like everything in my life, that’s now ruined.

I did some research, but there’s not much this small town has to offer, until I stumbled upon a gym that piqued my interest. It’s an MMA gym. And after I fell down a rabbit hole of researching MMA, I only got more interested in pushing my body to do what I saw in the videos.

That’s how I end up at Uncaged late this morning, ready to sign up.

I walk into the front door, and don’t see anyone at first, so I’m worried that they aren’t open, despite what their hours say online.

“Hello?” I call out to the large space. There’s a desk right when you walk in that has a single computer and a phone. There’s an enclosed area in the middle of the large space that I’m guessing is the “cage” from what I learned online, that’s where the fights take place, or I’m assuming where they practice.

Behind that, I see punching bags lining the wall. The floor is covered in mats and there’s various other items along other walls including exercise balls, giant tires, medicine balls, bands, and other equipment I’ve never seen or would even know what to call them. For a second, I wonder if I’ve gotten in over my head here, but then another memory assaults me. The pain in my cheek from a slap that feels like it just happened and it brings me back to the reason I’m standing in this gym.

I need this.

I need to do this, for me.

I need to take my power back.

I need to feel safe.

A large man walks out from a side room that I assume is an office. He looks shocked to see me and pulls a headphone out of his ear.

“I’m sorry I didn’t know anyone was here,” he apologizes.

I recognize him, but I’m not sure why, that is until he removes the baseball cap on his head, runs his hand through his black hair before placing the cap back on. Backwards. I want to moan and roll my eyes at the same time at the sight.

That’s when it hits me why I recognize him. He was one of the men that came into the bar with that huge asshole. He wasn’t rude to me, so I guess I don’t have an issue with him, yet. But it’s early and that could always change.

I shake my head before answering, trying to physically shake any of the dirty thoughts I have in regards to how he looks with that backwards hat and tight shirt hugging his body showcasing the divots of muscle that cover his chest. The way I’d like to lick those divots, especially on my way to discover what may be hiding underneath his waistband and— no . What the fuck is wrong with me?

“Yeah, I thought you guys were open. I was hoping to sign up,” I say, trying to sound more confident than I feel.

He looks me up and down with a small smirk that I may have missed if I wasn’t overly focused on his mouth already, even though I shouldn’t be. I place my hands on my hips, ready to prove myself right here if I need to. Because the way he’s looking at me makes me think he’s about to be another person that underestimates me.

“Let’s get you signed up then,” he says simply, and I raise an eyebrow, but he walks up to the computer and starts typing.

I place my arms on the desk, leaning slightly, waiting for him to ask me things or give me paperwork or something.

“Name?” he finally asks.

“Max.”

He looks up with a raised eyebrow, his green eyes are the color of moss, a darker green than I’ve ever seen before. I’m wondering if it’s a requirement in this town for the guys to have unique eyes, because the dickhead from the other nights shining light blue ones assault my thoughts more than they should for someone I briefly met and definitely shouldn’t think about again.

“That your full name?” he questions.

I roll my lips between my teeth. “Max Barclay.” I hope with every fiber of my being he doesn’t recognize my family’s name. On the East coast, everyone knows who we are, at least who my parents are. I don’t need this somehow getting back to them. Instantly regretting not giving a fake name that hope’s obliterated with his next question anyway, and I know I wouldn’t have been able to get away with that.

“Can I see your ID?”

Pulling out my wallet, I slide it over to him.

That damn amused look crosses his handsome face again, and I’m hoping he lets me have a session right now so I can practice trying to punch it off his face.

“Maxine Claudia Barclay?” His voice dances with humor and I scowl, snatching my ID back.

“Are you going to put out a bulletin about me or something?” I snark.

“Nope, just needed to verify you’re who you say you are,” he replies, almost like he knows I wanted to lie about my identity.

“Yeah, well, it’s just Max so that better be what you call me from now on.”

I catch the tiny smirk he allows, before focusing on typing my information into the computer. After about a minute of silence, the only noise between us the clicking of the keyboard he speaks again. “So, which class are you wanting to sign up for?”

“Um, jiu jitsu?”

He looks at me with a raised eyebrow. “That a question?”

“No,” I correct. “I want to sign up for jiu jitsu.”

He nods, typing and clicking on the computer some more. My mouth twists and I blurt, “Since you know my name, I should at least know yours.”

He says nothing. It reminds me of his friend from the other night. Is there some sort of rule here where they can’t speak more than a few words at a time?

“First name at least, it’s only fair,” I try again when he pauses typing.

“Drew,” he answers.

“Short for Andrew?” I ask.

Drew grunts in response, turning to grab some papers and pushing them toward me. “Sign.”

I sign my new signature on the designated line and hand it back to him.

“Beginner class is today at three, do you think you’ll make it?” he questions.

“Yes,” I tell him confidently.

Drew looks at me skeptically and I don’t like it. I’ve been questioned my entire life, looked down on and thought of as incapable of doing things that I know I can. So, the way he’s looking at me right now, like I can’t make it back here in a couple of hours for some reason triggers something inside me. It might be a slight overreaction, but I don’t care.

“Don’t look at me like that Andrew. You don’t know me; I’ll be back in time for class. Actually, I’ll be early.”

He scowls, “Don’t call me that.”

“Don’t underestimate me,” I counter.

“We’ll see how you handle class.” He dismisses me, and I narrow my eyes at him. Clearly, he’s an asshole just like his buddy and I can’t wait to prove him wrong.

Turning to leave, I storm out and get to my car, slamming the door harder than necessary. The sound jolting me back to a memory.

“Seriously Maxine, I don’t know why you even try?” Carson says immediately once he steps through the door, seeing what I’m doing. Trying to work on my latest project, refurbishing some frames I found.

“What? They are looking good.” I look at the finished ones I’ve polished, and he steps closer, nose scrunched as he looks at them.

“They look like fucking garbage which is where I’m sure you got them from.”

“No, I didn’t,” I responded softly, looking down.

There’s a crash that makes my head snap up to see he’s about to launch another frame into the wall to match the first one.

“What are you doing? Stop!” I reach out trying to stop him, and when the back of his hand makes contact with my cheek the pain blooms ? —

I bring myself back to reality. He’s not here. He can’t hurt me. He won’t find me. None of them will.