I search the immediate area for Gabe, but don’t see him.
Good. The last thing I need is him hearing this shit. He already thinks I’m a huge pushover for her.
“It’s Dani.”
“I should have guessed. Only a woman could make a man look so miserable.”
Ain’t that the truth?
I move into my chair and Rick follows me back to the gymnasium where the heavy and speed bags are ready and waiting. It’s been a while since I’ve used them. They used to be my go-to form of stress-relief. After Dad died, my mom forbade me from fighting professionally. At ten, I never questioned her edict, but I also loved it, and continued to train and spar despite the look of disdain I got from her when she found out.
It was different after the accident, though. I couldn’t get my release on the bag anymore.
Now, it calls to me in the way it used to and the itch to wrap my hands and pummel it is unshakable.
Rick grabs the tape and wraps and begins preparing my hands without me even asking. When he’s done, he points to the heavy bag without a word.
He doesn’t need to coach me. I probably know more about boxing and throwing a good punch than anyone in this gym and he knows it. He also appears smart enough to give me some space to pound it out.
The first crack of my right against the leather of the bag is more satisfying than words can describe. The vibration and slight sting in my hand is like coming home without ever knowing I had been gone.
Home.
When I used to think of home, it was my mother’s house, or my condo. Now, when I think of home, all I see is Dani’s flowing blonde hair, loving blue eyes, and dazzling smile directed at me.
I. AM. SO. COMPLETELY. FUCKED!
The combinations my father drilled into me as a child come back easily. I demolish the bag, pounding it until my arms and shoulders drop helplessly to my sides.
Maybe I should have given this a bit more thought. I still need to actually move in my chair today.
Rick moves from behind the bag and eyes me. “You want to talk about it now?”
“Fuck! Seriously?”
He unwraps my hands and tosses everything to the side. “Yes, seriously. You don’t have the energy to kill the bag again and it looks like it hasn’t done anything to ease your frustration. So, talk.”
Shit.
I run my shaking hands back through my sweat-soaked hair and clench my eyes closed.
“I just feel like I’m failing miserably at the whole relationship thing with her.”
The responding chuckle from Rick only angers me more. “Dude, you excel at everything you do. I’m sure it’s the same with Dani. You are probably overreacting.”
Am I?
He wouldn’t be saying that if he knew everything, but fuck if I’m about to admit my inability to fuck my girlfriend to him, or anyone else for that matter.
“Yeah, maybe.” I don’t know how else to respond. I know he means well, but he’s not going to get anything out of me today.
“If you’re looking for a nice date night for you two, you should come to my sister’s show.”
“What kind of show?” I vaguely recall Rick telling me his younger sister is some kind of artist, but I’ve never been much of an art fan so I didn’t really pay much attention.
I follow him toward the locker room, my arms and shoulders screaming in protest with every move.
“She’s being featured at a gallery next Saturday. Her whole new collection will be displayed. There will be food and wine. It should be a good time.”
An art gallery might not be a bad idea.
“Okay, sounds interesting. I think Dani would enjoy it.”
“Great, I’ll make sure to put you on the list and I’ll text you all the details tonight. Margaret will be thrilled you’re coming. She’s terrified no one will like her work and she’ll be stuck there all night with people giving her dirty looks. A few friendly faces will be greatly appreciated.”
I know the feeling. I sure as hell hope Danika’s face is friendly the next time I see her.
Sitting on the side of the bed, I lean down and slide my shoes on. I sense movement in front of me, and when I sit back up, I find Danika leaning against the doorjamb, watching me. Her four-inch cabernet-red stilettos make her already-mile-long legs look never ending. The shortness of her black sequin dress only adds to the effect.
Her blonde hair cascades in ringlets around her face, stopping just at her shoulders, and as she glides slowly toward me across the hardwood floor, it swings around her. Somehow, she has managed to match her lipstick to her shoes perfectly. How women do that, I will never understand.