Page 73 of Bourbon Truths
“You’re welcome.” Jett smiled brightly. “I’ve got to admit, you’ve changed in the past week. I haven’t spoken to you much, but does this new you have to do with the apology you gave us the other day? Goldie is still dazed by it. She thinks she changed you with her dick talk.”
“Of course she does,” I shook my head. “She’s a piece of work, you know that?”
“Don’t have to tell me that. So what’s with the change?”
I shrugged and stared at the punching bags, wondering if I could get a quick workout in before the center opened.
“Blane said something to me that made sense. I was the one who made the mistake of punching Marshall. I am the one who decided to punish myself. I shouldn’t punish the people around me. You’ve all been accepting of me and my faults. It’s about time I treated you all the way you deserve to be treated.”
“Does that mean you’re going to start kissing me goodbye?” Jett asked with a grin.
“Both cheeks,” I joked, pointing to my face.
“The only way I like it.” Jett paused and put his hands in his pockets and rocked on his feet. “I know you’re dealing with a lot, Kace, but I need to tell you, your friendship over the years has been the best thing in my life. Well, until Goldie.”
“She does have the pussy.”
“Watch it,” Jett smirked. “Seriously though, the guilt you live with on a daily basis might not ever go away, and I understand that, but thank you for keeping my best friend around. I don’t know what I would do without you, Kace. I don’t say it enough, but you’re my fucking brother, and I would do anything for you.”
“I know.”
We exchanged a knowing look that spoke volumes about our friendship. No matter what came our way, we would always have each other’s backs. We might not have been brothers by blood, but we sure as hell were brothers by soul.
“Mind if I get a couple of quick hits in before we open up?”
“Go ahead,” Jett replied while eyeing the punching bags. “Break it in. This is your room now, Kace. Make it worth it.”
With pressed lips, I nodded and shook Jett’s hand. He pulled me into a brief hug then briskly walked away. It wasn’t Jett’s style to show much emotion, not even toward Goldie, but the woman had softened him, and it was a big day. I would take his exchange and hold it close to me. If anything, I would die knowing my past crime wouldn’t deny me a true friendship.
Without taping my hands, I quickly slipped on the boxing gloves I now kept stored in the Haze Room and went to the closest bag. I circled it once and bounced on my toes, looking for the perfect spot to strike. With a quick jab of my right hand, I punched the bag, causing it to swing.
The feel of my fist connecting with the sand bag enthralled me. Excitement coursed through my veins as I circled, stopped, and threw a couple of jabs at it. I bobbed to the left, bobbed to the right, and threw an uppercut straight into the bag, my signature move.
Heavy concentration settled over me as everything around me turned black. Like a couple, I danced with the bag, letting the swing from my punches turn into a rhythmic tango of sweaty athleticism. In a few short minutes, a sheen of sweat skimmed my skin just as my arms started to loosen up, allowing my punches to strike at full force.
Right hook, left hook, uppercut.
Upper cut, upper cut, bob to the left, jab with the right.
Move, Kace, move.
From a distance I heard a crowd roar with every punch I made. My coach called, guiding me from the corner. Blood pounded in my head, and my punches became heavier. I focused and was instantly in the zone.
The smell of my opponent’s sweat came roaring back, the feel of my feet bouncing around the ring attacked my senses, and then and there, I felt the euphoric pleasure of being in the spotlight with my gloves taped to my wrists and a sorry-ass sucker bobbing in front of me.
Right hook, left jab, right uppercut, bob, right uppercut.
Cheers erupted, and clapping echoed in my mind, a clapping that seemed all too real.
“You look good.”
I was mid-jab when I stopped, my vision cleared, and the lights from the room fogged my vision. Even though I had a hard time adjusting, I knew that voice like it was a constant record playing in my head. “What are you doing here, Lyla?”
“Wanted to wish you good luck on the opening,” she answered nonchalantly.
I stepped away so the punching bag was no longer in my way and glanced at the woman who’d burned herself into my soul.
Fuck me, was she gorgeous.
