Page 23 of Keep Your Guard Up
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I feigned innocence, trying to force it into my face, though my heart was pounding so hard I was sure he could hear it.
Chance let out a laugh that was anything but happy.
“If that’s how you want to play it, Trevino, then so be it.” He stood and the timer beeped loudly.
People around the room scattered apart and started to run along the edges of the mat space.
“I’ll play cat and mouse for a little while longer.”
I waited for that smirk to dance on his lips, for some sort of amusement to flash over his face. It never came. His face as he joined JJ in the running line reflected one thing—death’s grace. This wasn’t Coach Chance on the mats for rounds tonight—it was light heavyweight fighter Chance Riordan.
Chapter 11
Chance
“Get a drink, guys,” I ordered, clicking the series of buttons on the remote to turn the digital timer on. “Sparring rounds in two minutes.”
JJ strode to my side and began talking about … who knows? Something caught my attention. Not something—someone.
Sunny had been quiet during classes today. No witty banter with JJ. No laughing jokes with members.
No fiery remarks with me.
The quiet wasn’t her—but neither was the rock she was currently resembling in my MMA class. Rigid and completely un-Sunny. Not an ember of fire from her, not a single ray of that hot, burning sunshine.
There was no swift but frazzled dash to try and dodge me. She wasn’t on edge, or antsy. She wasn’t itching to be moving. She wasn’t fidgeting every five seconds.
No—this was something new. And I couldn’t work out why there was this stupid twang in my chest over it. It was uncomfortable.
And inconvenient.
Sparring rounds had started exactly twelve minutes ago, and I was over helping a couple of guys with a particular kick they had been trying to work on. My ears had pricked at the sound of JJ’s whistle. It was how we had communicated in bustling areas when we were kids—whistling to each other like dogs. I met his stare and he turned and nodded towards the back corner of the mats.
Mari and that short, bearded guy were sparring. Jason? Jake? Jack? He was the one person who’s name I couldn’t seem to remember. Though, after finding him and Sunny in the kitchen that day, I’d self-referred to him as one thing—rat.
I stepped away from the blokes I had been helping and walked along the edge of the mats slowly, trying not to draw suspicion at my sudden interest in the back corner.
Sunny’s face was pale and yet flushed with rage. She swung at him, hard, lobby punches that were never going to land. That was the problem when you got angry; you got sloppy.
Rat caught onto that too—a grin breaking out on his face that had me wary before he swung back. I was already moving for them when his fist connected with her nose. She slipped, falling backwards onto the floor. Rat followed her down, pouncing on her as he forced his way to mount and began a vicious ground and pound.
“Jayden!” JJ yelled.
Jayden, then.
“What the fuck is this?!” I yelled when I arrived, yanking Rat off Sunny and tossing him behind me. The guy wouldn’t have been bigger than a featherweight.
Jayden pulled a sharp intake of breath to start throwing words instead, but Sunny got there first.
“Nothing,” she said, pushing up from her elbows to stand. “It’s nothing. We were just sparring.”
The blood in my veins cooled, simmering down to an icy frost that felt much worse. I stared at Sunny, waiting for it. Waiting for the truth. Waiting for the fiery remark.
But it didn’t come.
She stood there, hands by her side, face void of emotion. Blood trickled from her nose, the swelling had long since started, and she still didn’t flinch. Those brown eyes weren’t glowing with honey and weren’t that cocoa brown filled with anger. They were a soft hazel, nothing shining or glimmering about them. They were shaded in somethingI couldn’t fucking decipher.
For fuck’s sake!
