Page 14 of Triggered By Love
That was another annoying thing about Blade. He talked too much for a man. Oversharing and sticking his nose where it didn’t belong—especially in the realm of feelings.
“Think I’ll go hit the bags,” Jason said, walking out of the training ring.
Blade followed him. “Great idea. It’ll help you work off all that frustration. In fact, it’s therapeutic. Clears your mind and lets you sleep better at night.”
Jason grunted while removing his headgear. He didn’t box to relax or chase out anxiety. He did it to stay in shape and hone his reflexes, although he’d been sluggish today. It hadn’t helped that he’d tossed and turned all night—unable to shut out the images of a blood-soaked Avery Cockburn underneath her firefighter fiancé.
The two men stood underneath separate punching bags. Jason ignored Blade’s quip about picturing a face on the bag and proceeded to wallop the bag with everything he had.
Loud thuds reverberated in the gym, and Jason’s punches were rapid-fire, like a machine gun’s splat as he sent the bag flying backward, pounding it over and over and over.
The same way his father had pounded him over and over and over.
Instead of quelling his fury, Jason drove his fists into the bag harder and faster, daring the bag to clap back at him.
“Whoa there, Burnett.” Blade’s voice distracted him enough for the bag to sock him upside the head. “What’s chewing on you? Need to get laid or something?”
“You seriously want to take it there?”
A whirlwind of fury gusted deep in Jason’s gut, and before he could stop himself, he slammed his shoulder into Blade’s torso.
The two men crashed onto the padded floor. Jason bounced off his partner’s chest and immediately regretted his rash action.
“I didn’t mean to do that,” he muttered. “But sometimes, you need to shut up.”
“Me, shut up?” Blade grunted, sitting up. “You’re the one out of control. I’m just trying to help.”
“Don’t need help.” Jason helped his partner to his feet. “Let’s hit the showers and fuhgeddaboudit.”
“Actually, no.” Blade removed his gloves and wiped his hand over his sweaty forehead. “I’m not going to forget you assaulted me.”
“Sorry,” Jason managed to squeak out and turned toward the locker room.
“Your apology isn’t good enough,” Blade said, dimming his ice-blue eyes. “I could report you to the chief. You have an anger problem.”
Jason couldn’t believe his ears. Blade wasn’t hurt. He was into martial arts and used to getting knocked down.
“Sorry, I bruised your face, but you must have taken worse hits in your fighting days.”
Blade pointed to the swelling on his cheek. “I have an audition for a Broadway show. Think this is going to look good?”
“Wait, what? What are you, getting into acting?”
“Dancing. It’s what keeps my stamina up. You better hope the makeup artist can cover this up.”
“I said I’m sorry,” Jason reiterated. “Besides, I’m sure they aren’t looking in your ugly face for the chorus line.”
“It’s a minor role, but I have a few lines in the spotlight.” Blade turned his face in front of the mirrored wall near the locker room.
“Look, I’ll buy you a drink,” Jason offered. “I’m sure you’ll do well. I didn’t know you’re into dance.”
“Keeps me on my toes.” Blade’s tone turned jocular again. “But you, my friend, aren’t getting off that easy. Since you’re my buddy, I’ll make you a deal.”
Jason would have rolled his eyes if this weren’t serious. Assaulting a police officer was a felony, and if Blade insisted on filing a report—not that anybody other than a wuss would turn in his own partner—it would mean an investigation and possible suspension, if not outright criminal charges.
“Look, it got out of hand, and I apologize,” Jason said, mimicking the touchy-feely dancer talk. What he wouldn’t give for an old-fashioned, no-holds-barred fistfight to settle the score. Not that he was that old at thirty-one, but it was the difference between being born in the free-wheeling eighties and the wussy nineties.
“Hey, I understand.” Blade stepped in front of him, blocking his path. He placed a hand on Jason’s arm in a weirdly intimate fashion. “You’re not sleeping well and you’re worrying about that model lady. I know you’ve been stalking her because you want to catch the guy who ordered the hit. I bet you’re replaying the scene over and over in your mind, wondering what you missed.”
