Page 28 of Healed in the Alpha's Embrace
“Then we shouldn’t waste any time,” I told her, my smile genuine as I saw Roland’s anticipation. “Let’s get started.”
“I’ll have to go to the store to get him some shorts.” Zoey gestured to Roland’s jeans.
Roland’s face fell.
“Wait, I have something. Follow me,” I said, taking Roland and Zoey to the reception desk.
From behind the desk, I pulled out the Alexander merchandise we’d taken delivery of that morning. I hunted through the box until I found a pair of athletic shorts and a T-shirt that would fit.
“Ta-da,” I sang. Handing the clothes to Zoey, I waved off her attempts to pay. “It’s on me. This was my idea, after all.”
She gave me a smile that nearly knocked me off my feet, and my wolf howled in victory.
Roland hurried to the changing room, and a few minutes later, he was by my side in the main area of the gym.
“Have at it,” I said, gesturing at the punching bag.
The heavy bag swung wildly on its chain as Roland pounded his fists into it. I watched the kid, his narrow shoulders set as if he were facing down a giant. His black hair clung to his forehead, damp with the effort and something more—a pent-up storm. He was all focus and fury. The kid had some demons.
“Nice power, Roland,” I said, stepping closer to steady the bag for him. “But let’s work on technique. You’ll do more damage with precision than with anger.”
Roland paused, chest heaving, and looked up at me. There was a challenge in his gaze, one I knew well. It was the need to prove himself, to unleash whatever was eating him up inside.
“Show me,” he said.
“All right.” I adjusted my stance. “Keep your feet planted. Twist your hips like this when you punch. It adds force without sacrificing control.”
He mimicked my movements, his first attempt awkward. “Like this?” he asked, eyebrows furrowed in concentration.
“Exactly, but relax your shoulders. Let the strength flow from your core. Here.” I patted my stomach. My words were clipped and straightforward, mirroring how my old coach used to drill the basics into me until they became second nature.
Roland tried again, his fist driving into the bag with a more controlled impact. The sound was less raw, more of a sharp crack. Progress.
“Good,” I encouraged. “Now, breathe. Don’t hold it in. Let it out with each punch.”
He fell into a rhythm with the next series of strikes, and I could see the shift in him. Less wild, more warrior.
I owed a debt of gratitude to fate, destiny, whatever the hell had placed me in the right place at the right time. This kid had the untapped potential to be a remarkable alpha, and I intended to guide him in realizing that.
“Better,” I praised. “You’ve got a lot of power. We’re going to harness it. Use it the right way.”
He nodded, a glint of pride flashing in his eyes before he punched the bag again. Each hit was still fierce, but there was purpose behind it now, not just rage.
“Keep it up,” I told him. “You’re getting it.”
And he did, blow after blow, finding his footing. I stood beside him, guiding, teaching. Because I saw myself in Roland, a young alpha in the making who needed someone to show him the ropes. Someone who wouldn’t walk away.
Roland’s chest rose and fell rapidly, his breaths escaping in short, ragged bursts. His shirt clung to his back, soaked through with perspiration.
“Nice work,” I said, nodding in approval. The tape on his hands were worn and scuffed by the time he dropped them to his sides and rested his head on the heavy leather punch bag.
“Thanks,” he panted, straightening up after catching his breath. The aggression that had been there at the park had subsided, tamed and channeled into something more productive.
I held out my fist. “You’ve got potential, little man. Can’t wait to see what you can really do.”
He bumped his fist against mine. “Yeah?” he said, his excited smile lighting up his whole face. “You think so? Really?”
“Really.”
