Tawny Weber – Call To Engage (страница 15)

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SERIOUSLY?

Elijah slammed his fist into the punching bag later that afternoon, the impact singing up his arm in sharp retort. Five years of visiting Mack, of hanging at his gym, and not a single Ava sighting.

Right cross to the bag. Knife hand strike. Jab. Left, right, jab. Roundhouse kick. Jump kick.

Four years after the divorce was final, he’d gotten his shit together. Living the life he was supposed to live, the one he’d planned to have since he was a kid.

Reverse side kick. Elbow strike. Fist-heel uppercut.

But now, when his world was fucked, his mind a mess and his convictions wavering—that’s when his ex had to show up in his life? To walk into a massage room—what the fuck was Ava doing giving massages anyway?—while he was naked except for a sheet and some scars? Seriously?

Sweat dripped, burning his eyes, sliding down his face as he executed a jump spin kick, slamming the heel of his foot into the top of his target. The heavy bag went flying as the hook ripped from the ceiling, showering drywall dust over the sweat-dotted floor. The bag hit the opposite wall with a loud thud.

Ignoring the stares and muttered remarks, Elijah stood, fists on his hips as he sucked in air. He shook his head. The timing was unbelievable.

“You didn’t mention that you were going to rip my gym apart,” Mack said from the doorway. His words were light, carrying a hint of laughter. But beneath it there was a layer of concern. For him? Or for the equipment? Elijah didn’t actually give much of a damn right now.

Ignoring the bag on the floor, the sand scattered through the drywall dust and the shocked expressions, Elijah crossed the room.

“I tried going for a drive, but it didn’t have the same impact.”

Elijah gave his cousin a long look.

“You didn’t tell me Ava was working here. Or that she’s a massage therapist now. Or that you’d be pulling a stupid stunt like booking me an appointment with her.” Thinking about that sent a red haze of fury through Elijah’s head. He didn’t hesitate. He simply gave in to the anger. It wasn’t until he saw his cousin’s head snap back that he realized he’d given in with his fist.

His hand reverberated all the way to his shoulder, his breath a hiss of rage. Instead of flexing his fingers to shake off the pain, he curled them tight. Held it inside.

That’s where it belonged.

The pain. The guilt. The memories.

“I guess I deserved that,” Mack murmured, wiping the blood off his lip with his knuckles. His words were calm. But he watched Elijah with narrowed eyes. Preparing, most likely, to counter the next swing.

But Elijah simply turned away. He unbound his hands, tossing the wraps in the laundry bin as he passed the hallway toward the showers. People scrambled to get out of his way as he strode through. He didn’t head toward the locker rooms. He slammed both hands into the back door, sending it flying open, and took the outside stairs to the apartment above.

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