“Because where would the fun be in that?” he teased.
I wasn’t sure whether to laugh or be seriously annoyed, so I sighed instead. How was it possible that one person could be both infuriating and almost charming at the same time? I suddenly had the strongest urge to fling myself across the small expanse of pavement between us. Part of me wanted to hug him or something, while the other half of me wanted very much to slap that smug look off his face. It was both amusing and confusing. More proof that I am certifiably insane.
“You’re right,” I blurted out, desperate to keep myself from doing something I would later regret. “I’m not fine.”
Ty nodded. “I know.”
Back up at the main building, the bell rang shrilly, and people began pouring out of the double doors, heading toward the gym and athletic buildings. Panic washed over me as more and more people spilled out into the sunlight. I wasn’t ready to face the gossip storm that was surely in full swing by now. I looked at Ty, trying not to choke on my anxiety.
“You know,” he said, unlocking his car and tossing his books inside, “I think I’ve had enough school for today.” He locked the car again and started walking toward the road.
“You’ve only been to one period!”
Ty turned around, grinning wildly. “Like I said, that’s enough for one day.”
“Well, where are you going?”
Ty gestured to the road. “Think I’ll head into town.”
“What about your car?”
“Eh, I’ll get it later. It’s a nice day for a stroll, don’t you think?”
I stood watching, slightly stunned, as Ty turned back around and started walking toward the parking lot exit.
“You could come with me, you know,” he called over his shoulder.
I bit my lip. Skipping school was a stupid idea. I couldn’t afford to get behind in my classes. Skipping school with a guy I barely knew? An even worse idea. I should probably just go back inside and face the music. That was the logical thing to do, after all.
“Hey!” I called out to Ty’s retreating back. “Wait for me. I’m coming.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
“Are you sure about this?”
I watched uncertainly as Ty wrapped my right hand with a thin cotton band.
“Trust me,” he replied, not bothering to look up. “You’ll thank me for this later.”
I sighed and continued to watch as he meticulously worked the band. The stretchy fabric, wrapped around my wrist and then woven between my fingers, was taut and supportive, but not to the point where it constricted my circulation.
When he was finished, Ty secured the band and reached for my other hand. He gave it the same treatment, and then stepped back to admire his handiwork. He nodded once, satisfied.
“Follow me,” he called over his shoulder as he walked toward the back corner of the room.
When I decided to follow Ty into town, the old gym on Elm Avenue was the last place I expected to end up, but stranger things had happened, and it seemed a moot point to question his confident smile. So, despite how awkward I felt with my hands wrapped up like burritos, I dutifully followed behind him.
Half a dozen cylindrical black bags were suspended from the ceiling by thick metal chains. Ty walked among them, running his hand along the synthetic fabric, until finally selecting a bag toward the end of the row. “Here,” he said, handing me a pair of thick padded gloves. “Put these on.”
“More?”
Ty chuckled. “The goal is to blow off some steam, not break your hands.” He helped me pull the gloves tight and then wrapped the Velcro safety bands securely around my wrists. “All right, you’re good to go.” He stepped away from the bag. “Go ahead. Hit it.”
I eyed the heavy bag. “How’s this supposed to help again?”
“Just try it.”
I huffed but rolled up on the balls of my feet, the way I’d seen boxers do on television, and took a tentative swing at the bag. It was surprisingly satisfying. I took another swing.
“Keep your wrists tight,” Ty instructed over my shoulder. “It’ll give you more control.”
I adjusted. “Like this?”
“Exactly. Now, don’t be afraid of the bag. Really hit it.”
I nodded and took another swing, this one with more force. The resulting smack echoed in my ears. I hit the bag again. And then again.
“Maintain control of the bag. Don’t let it swing back and forth so much.”
I adjusted my stance again, following Ty’s directions, and threw another punch. And another.
Every time my fist made contact with the bag, it was gratifying, like taking a deep breath after being underwater. The tension drained from my body with every swing. Beads of sweat rolled down my spine, and the muscles in my arms were starting to ache, but I didn’t stop. Over and over, I hit the bag. The adrenaline coursed through my veins, forcing every ounce of frustration out of my body with each resounding smack.
I took another swing. Faster this time.
Another swing. Harder than the last.
Everything else faded away. It was just me and the bag.
It wasn’t until I was completely spent that I sank to the floor, my chest heaving, my arms throbbing and achy.
“Lainey?”
I swallowed hard, an ache settling in my throat.
“Are you okay?” Ty knelt next to me, a warm hand on my shoulder, his eyes full of concern.
“I’m fine.” He didn’t look convinced. “Really, I’m okay. It’s just . . . that was amazing.” I rocked back on my heels and looked up at him with a wide smile. “To be able to let go like that, to just take it all out on the bag . . .”
Ty nodded. “It sure beats yelling at guys you barely know in the parking lot, huh?” He winked at me, smiling.
I winced. “I’m really sorry. I don’t usually blow up like that, but things have been crazy lately and . . .”
“You don’t have to explain. I get it.”
“You do?”
“Yeah,” he replied, plainly. “I do.”
He didn’t bother offering anything else in the way of explanation, and I blinked, feeling slightly frustrated as I watched him walk back toward the bags.
For the last hour or so, I’d been trying to figure Ty out, trying to determine what was behind those piercing eyes and crooked smile. But every time I was close to forming some sort of conclusion about him, he would say something that would completely change my mind. I wanted to write him off as just some typical teenage guy with a cocky sense of humor and an affinity for dark-colored t-shirts, but it was becoming very obvious that this guy wasn’t as typical as I thought.
“So,” I asked, eager to keep the conversation going, “do you come here a lot?”
“A couple times a week.” He smiled again. “I help train some of the new guys, and Mike, the owner, lets me work out for free.”
“Oh, so are you like some professional fighter or something?”
“No, nothing like that.” Ty laughed. He got up and walked over to a red Igloo cooler and poured each of us a small paper cup full of water. “It’s just in my blood.” He handed me one of the cups. “My father taught me.”
I took a sip of my water. “And now you can kick butt and take names?”