Page 19 of Quake
He nodded. “Once or twice.”
Ouch. I smiled, liking how easy it was to talk to him now…and all it took was a punch in the face to break the ice.
“So you’re coming back?” he asked.
He looked hopeful, and I wondered if it was more about me than the money. Not wanting to get my hopes up, I shoved away all thoughts of hooking up with the guy and focused on the actual reason I’d come here.
“Yeah,” I said, my walls crumbling just that little bit more. “I’ll come back.”
8
Caleb
After a weekor so of training Juliette—Saturday, Monday, Wednesday, and Saturday again—I began to look forward to our sessions together more than anything.
I was supposed to put my all into training Gaz, Mitch, and Franklin—three pro boxers looking to pick up some fights in the next few months—but I found myself drifting and thinking about the one person I shouldn’t be thinking about.
Juliette.
She’d opened up significantly in those few short days and confiding the fact she felt intimidated by Beat and me had a great deal to do with it. Once that hurdle was jumped, we could then work on the things she needed to address. Her right hook was on point once she managed to gather enough confidence, but the challenge was getting it up there all the time. She was still flighty, nervous and frightened, but something was changing. Something good.
Leaning against the wall, I watched as Gaz slammed his fists into a shoulder bag held by Franklin. Looked to me like the fucker was holding back for some reason. He was a natural puncher, so I didn’t know why.
“You’re not impressing me, Gaz,” I drawled. “You’re hitting like a girl today.”
“I’m hitting just fine,” he shot back between sets.
“The fuck you are.”
“He’s landing pretty heavy, Caleb,” Franklin said, shouldering another lot of blows.
“Not convinced,” I said, pushing off the wall. “Give me the bag.”
He glanced at Gaz, who frowned and rolled his head back and forth.
“Give it to me,” I said again, yanking it from Franklin’s hands.
“You sure?” he asked, looking at me like I was a pansy ass.
“Get the fuck away from me,” I snapped, hooking my arm through the straps. “Don’t hold back,” I said to Gaz. “Give it your all.”
“But…” he began to complain.
I knew he was hesitating because he didn’t want me to overdo it. They all knew about my injury, anyone in the boxing game did, but I didn’t want to be treated differently because I was one bad hit away from a wheelchair. I still knew my shit.
I needed to feel the weight of his punch to make an accurate assessment, not rely on another guy to do it for me.
“Gaz, just fuckin’ punch the bag, okay?” I shouldered it and pressed my weight down firmly on the balls of my feet.
“Okay…”
He took his stance and began another set, this time, putting his all into each blow.Jab. Jab. Left hook. Jab. Jab. Left hook.He increased the power behind each set, causing me to put more strength into bracing, my heel digging into the mat.
He had good form and the power behind his blows was improving. Good.
“That’s much better,” I called out. “Keep up the momentum.”
Jab. Jab. Left hook.
