A lump of nerves forms in my throat, and it takes me a few tries to swallow it.
“This.” Nixon’s hand falls on my shoulder, and I lift my gaze to his. “This is what we’re here for.”
NIXON
Yasmin observes the gloves like they’re going to bite her. Different emotions cross her face, until they settle on one—resignation.
Fuck that.
Closing the distance between us, I put my hand on her shoulder. “This is what we’re here for.”
Those dark eyes lift, meeting mine. There is uncertainty in there, fighting with the storm brewing inside her.
Letting my hand fall down, I take the gloves out of her hand and start untangling the laces. Tucking one under my arm, I open the other and offer it to her.
I’m not sure what happened to get her so on edge, but whatever it is, I’m not letting her give up.
I noticed her the moment she entered the gym. Her face was all hard lines, her gaze set in front of her, not once wavering. People were moving out of her way, and it’s good they did because I’m not sure she’d have been able to stop. She was that lost to the demons that are haunting her.
“I didn’t know you box.” She slips her hand into the glove, and I help secure it, repeating the process with her other hand.
“I don’t.” Her brows furrow in confusion. “Well I did, I took Jade to some classes back when she started high school, but I couldn’t risk getting hurt so I had to stop. These are Maddox’s.”
“Jade boxing?” Of course that would be something to get her attention.
“Kickboxing actually, but she hasn’t gone since…” I run my hand through my hair, stopping before I say the words out loud. “Well, but yeah, she used to love it.”
Understanding dawns on her face. I don’t have to finish for her to know.
Before our mom was diagnosed.
Before the cancer started to steal the life out of her.
Before our family was torn apart.
Before I became a selfish bastard.
Before.
Just before.
Shaking my head, I push those thoughts to the back of my mind, forcing them into a box. This isn’t about me and my demons. This is about Yasmin. It’s about helping her get back some control over her life and taming the storm inside her.
“Let’s see what you’ve got.”
Taking a step back, I go to the bag hanging from the wall in the corner. I stand behind it, placing my hands on either side and holding it close.
Yasmin moves forward slowly. Her lips are pressed in a tight line as she looks contemplatively at the bag.
I wait her out quietly, not wanting to force her if she’s not ready. She needs to be the one to do this in her own time.
When she’s within a hand’s reach, I say, “You should…”
But she’s already holding her hands up and close to her head in a classic fight stance. Yasmin lifts her gaze, her eyes meeting mine. The fire that was gone is blazing once again, only this time, she’s the one owning it. A small, barely discernible smile tips her lips. “I think I know how to throw a punch, hotshot.”
I lift my arms in surrender. “Then go at it.”
And that’s exactly what she does.
The first punch comes faster than I expect it, startling me. The bag sways toward me, and I grab it at the last second, holding it still as she throws a series of punches.
There is no fitness to them, just a pure, raw strength. She’s not fighting her storm, she’s become it. Beautiful in unleashed anger.
Her eyes are glued to the bag as she lands punch after punch. Left, right, right, left, left. Her body moves with every punch. A sheer layer of sweat coats her skin as she speeds up her movements.
One lock of hair slips from her bun and falls into her face, but it’s as if she can’t see it. Her breathing is ragged, the pulse in the crook of her neck beating furiously underneath her skin as she attacks without mercy, landing punch after punch dead center.
“Ugh!” Her gloved fist connects with the bag, the firm slap echoing in the room. The force of the punch is so fierce that she pushes me back, if only an inch.
Yasmin crashes against the bag, her fist pounding the hard surface, but the anger is no longer there, only sadness.
Letting go of the bag, I step around it and pull her into my arms. Yasmin goes willingly, pressing her forehead against my chest as she sniffles softly. Something wet falls on my skin. Tears or sweat? I can’t say for sure, but whatever it is, I pull her closer to me, holding her tighter.
“Are you feeling better?”
Her fingers grip the edge of my shirt. “I just feel empty.”
“Want to talk about it?”
The silence is so long that I think she won’t say anything, but once again she surprises me.
“It’s Tuesday,” she whispers, her warm breath touching my skin. She says the words like that’s supposed to mean something, I’m just not sure what.
“And?” I run my hands over her back in a soothing manner, like I did with Jade when she was little and afraid of something.
“On Tuesdays I have dinner with the coach.”
Oh, fuck.
Coach. Not dad. Not even father. Or sperm donor.
Coach.
She couldn’t have detached herself more from him even if she wanted to.
What the hell happened between the two of them to cause such a rift? I’ve known the guy for two years, and in all this time I’ve never heard him mention a family. Hell, if it weren’t for the rumors about him and Mrs. G, I’d think the dude is gay or some shit like that. But he has a daughter. A kid he never mentions, and I’m sure nobody knows about. So what’s with that?
“How did it go?” I ask carefully, wary of the direction this is going. So far every time we came even close to touching this subject she got closed off in a heartbeat, and I didn’t want that to happen now.
“Fucktastic, per usual.” Yasmin tries to chuckle, but it comes out more of a sniffle.
“You don’t get along.”
“We’d have to talk to get along.”
She pulls back and wipes her nose with the back of her hand. Avoiding my gaze, she goes to her bag and pulls out a towel to wipe her face.
Giving her the space she obviously needs, I go to the fridge we have hooked up down here and pull out two water bottles. I give her one after she tugs the gloves off her hands, and then I take a pull from my own.
Yasmin nibbles at the edge of the bottle, so I sit down on the floor, my back pressed to the bench behind me as I wait. I’m rewarded a few moments later when she shakes her head decisively.
“To be fair, he tries to get me to talk, but I try my best to avoid it while we pretend to eat a happy dinner like a family.” Her tone is lifeless, devoid of any emotion, but I can see the hardness hidden in her eyes. She walks from side to side, unable to keep still as she talks. “That’s how we roll, always pretending that everything is fucking okay, when it’s anything but. However, today he crossed the line. He actually had the audacity to suggest that I should stay here for spring break so we can bond.” She chuckles, but there is no amusement. “Can you believe that?”
She looks away, trying to hide the tears in her eyes.
I work my jaw, only now realizing how tightly I’ve been gritting my teeth. “Why do you keep going?” I ask, hoping that my words sound calm, because I feel anything but. If Coach were here now, I’d punch him in the face for all the hurt he’s caused Yasmin, my spot on the team be damned.