Right Hook (Gaslight series) COMPLETE

28| Going rogue

Max ♕
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The force of my punches vibrate my wrists. Each hit holds power, rattling the metal chain that holds up the bag before sending it flying.

I tell myself that I'm not pissed she's still with Justin, that I knew better than to trust a girl in spandex, but it doesn't extinguish the fire in my stomach. If anything, it makes it worse.

The punches get faster, and for the first time in a long time, I feel myself losing my breath. Considering I've tried so hard not to get distracted, I've ended up doing just that. 

The worst part of all is that it's by Alyssa of all people. The girl my brother likes. The girlfriend of the guy I hate. I should hate myself for it, but I don't. 

"Hey," Wiley says, walking up to me. "You got that fight tonight?"

I nod. This was supposed to be a last-minute training session before my fight at the club, but somehow, it's turned into an angry workout session. 

"Shit," he says, watching me. "Feel bad for whichever kid you'll be fighting." 

This brings a smirk to my lips. "You going soft on me, Wiley?"

"Yeah, it's from spending too much time with you and Hayden. Out here thinking you're regular Romeos or something."

I grin because he has a point. My dad used to say that if you want to be a fighter, you have to make a sacrifice–girlfriends, your family, your friends. The only people to step in a ring are you and your opponent; everything else is a distraction. I guess for him, this didn't just apply to boxing, but everything. 

My phone rings, and when I answer it, it's my manager. He'd been recommended by my coach at my last gym, and he's the one who'd set up my upcoming fight. I haven't gotten back to him in what feels like forever, but as the deadline looms closer, I can tell he's getting antsy. 

"Lenny, what's up?"

"Just checking in on you," he says. "I heard you're not with your coach anymore. That true?"

"I needed a break."

"You got a new one?"

"No." 

I can practically hear him rubbing his temples. "What are you doing to me? Forgoing a coach just before your comeback fight?" 

"I don't need a coach right now. I've got it handled." 

"Oh, Jesus. Are you ready for this fight, O'Connor?"

"Yes." 

"Well, at least that's something. Look, keep training, all right? I'll speak to you soon." 

"Okay." 

"And Max?"

"Yeah?"

"Now is not the time to be going rogue. Go speak to your old coach." 

***

My heart pounds faster as I step into the ring. It's the same every time, a dose of excitement mixed with fury, nerves, and adrenaline. 

The ref blows the whistle, and my gloves go up. My opponent circles me–a pale, sturdy guy with bright blue eyes that remind me of Pretty Boy. This is why, when he steps forward to jab, I swing and hit him straight in his jaw. 

He stumbles back but remains on his feet, which only spurs me on. Another jab, this time his eye. His own hits are relatively quick and concise, but I manage to dodge each one.