Page 14 of Heimlock

“Take a break.” His tone signals that he won’t be asking again.

I shove the punching bag violently, then step away, letting it swing. Hands on my hips, I try to catch my breath. It feels like a raging inferno wants to escape, shattering through my sternum to burn anything in the way.

I was so mean.

This is why I can never find anyone to stay in a relationship with.

I get in my head and push people away before they get hurt. Or they hurt me.

Even when they ordered me food because they worried about me. That Satyr restaurant was delicious.

Goddess, this guilt is consuming.

“Speak it.” Coach’s voice is low. The fighters around us drift away, sensing a moment they don’t need to be around for.

I shake my head. Sweat smatters the floor, dripping from my limbs. “It’s fine. I did something shitty, and the guilt is eating me up. Nothing a good punching session can’t fix.”

Coach appraises me with milky white eyes. As a regenerator, he’s fairly non-descript, minus the red streak in his black hair. But his presence is something unmistakable. Impossible to confuse with another regenerator.

“A woman?”

“Yes,” I clip. Since Kyrielle trains here, I’m not interested in risking her reputation by over-sharing in the wrong place. “I don’t want to talk about it here.”

Coach bobs his head thoughtfully. “You’re done for the day. Go take a walk. It’s a nice day for it.”

Fresh air does sound appealing. “Thanks, Coach.”

He turns away without another word. I grab my belongings, wiping away sweat with my towel. No one interrupts me on the way out — probably sensing my mood. A soothing breeze caresses my damp skin the moment I shove open the door.

I smile. Coach, as usual, is right.

The walk is short but satisfying. By the time I reach the backdoor again, I’m feeling a little better. Maybe on the way home, I might try to find a nice thermal to coast on. It can always help center me when—

A flash of orange catches my attention, becoming my sole focus. She’s walking toward the gym, laughing with another female boxer. Her hair hangs in a long curly ponytail. Tight gym shorts hug her thick, muscular thighs. Even though she’s short, she’s strong. It was the first thing I noticed when we first met, and the first thing I wanted to sink my fangs into.

The urge never left. Now, as each step bounces her full breasts, I yearn to sink into her body like it's a haven. A place to just exist without a worry in the world. When the past doesn’t matter because all that matters is the present.

When our eyes collide, I swear hers contain actual fire. I cringe when she looks away. The silent message is clear: Go away. Maybe I should leave it alone. Trying to apologize again is more about assuaging my guilt.

But I can’t let this go.

“Kyrielle!” I call out, jogging. “Wait up.”

The few people outside pause at the sound of my voice. She gives me a nasty look, but now that I’ve called her out, she can’t deny me without stirring up rumors. Is it manipulative? Fortuna smite me, but I don’t care.

The female boxer excuses herself when I stop short in front of Kyrielle. Her cheeks flush from anger or embarrassment; I don’t know. When she crosses her arms, it makes her cleavage more prominent. My eyes stay glued to her face.

“What do you want?” she hisses through clenched teeth. She’s trying to look happy, but I know it’s a mask. I do the same, a fake smile pinching my cheeks.

“I want to apologize for how I acted when you came over.”

Her arms tighten a little more around her chest. “It’s fine.”

“No, it’s not. You were trying to be kind, and I was awful. It was uncalled for. I get it if you don’t want to speak to me again; please know that I feel awful about it.”

“Good.” Her mouth thins; her eyes harden. “But you do grasp that in order to apologize to me, you had to manipulate the situation. At the gym.”

“I know, I’m—”