Page 31 of Dominate

I walk out the glass doors before I do permanent damage to my teammates.

I barely remember the drive. I circle the block twice before pulling into the garage beneath Ironside. The engine ticks as it cools.

Twenty minutes pass. My hands remain locked on the steering wheel.

You look at me like you’re starving. Micah’s voice echoes inside my skull, louder than the engine’s ticking. I know what it costs to stay there.

I’m starving. I’ve been starving since I learned how to throw a punch. Denying myself truth, warmth, reality. Trading it all to uphold an immaculate facade. And for what? For Ironside’s validation? For a dead father who would have looked at me with the same disgust Dan and Reyes showed earlier tonight?

My throat tightens. A sharp, burning ache builds behind my eyes. I drop my forehead against the leather steering wheel.

A tear spills over my lashes, hot and foreign, soaking into my jeans. Then another. I haven’t cried since I was twelve years old, since my father broke my rib during a sparring session and told me to act like a man.

The tears come faster now, ripping through my chest in silent, jagged sobs. The dam bursts entirely.

I sit back, wiping my face with the back of my hand. I pull my phone from my pocket.

Press play.

Thirty-eight.

“When you’re ready to stop running, you know where to find me.”

My hands shake as I open a text thread with Micah’s unsaved number. I tap the keyboard.

I’m not ready.

I stare at the glaring white letters. Hit backspace. Hold it down until the screen is clear.

I type again.

I can’t stop listening to your voicemail.

Delete.

I’m terrified.

My thumb hovers over the send button. A single press, and my entire life blows apart. The legacy. The gym. The image. Everything I know.

I hit the power button. The screen goes black. I can’t do it.

But I can’t stop thinking about him.

At midnight, the glow of my laptop illuminates my living room. I click play on another YouTube clip.

I watch every interview Micah has ever given. I study his fights, not for combinations or weaknesses, but for the way he moves through the world. I watch the way that brilliant smile flashes for the cameras, the way those dark eyes spark with amusement. He owns exactly who he is.

The digital clock on the screen shifts to 3:00 AM.

I shut the laptop. The darkness swallows the room.

I can’t keep living like this. My father’s ghost and the walls of Ironside are suffocating me.

Change has to happen.

10

MICAH