he 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."

y 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.

By the third round, I almost feel bad for this kid. He's bleeding from his eyebrow, stumbling around like he's torn between quitting and wanting to save face. I take the choice off him by landing a strategic punch to his jaw, and he goes down like a stack of dominoes.

The rest of the night is celebratory at the bar next door. The thing about this place is that when you're on top, you're treated like royalty. It doesn't matter that this place is a blip on the radar compared to the real thing. To these people, I might as well be Tyson Fury right now.

Khalil and I sit at the bar and try to fight off the masses. I'm not in the mood for socializing tonight, but every so often, I'll lift my head and scan the bar, wondering if she's here.

"Who you looking for?" Khalil asks.

"Jesus." I haven't told Khalil about Alyssa, mostly because I don't know what I'd say. He'd call me a hypocrite for messing with a girl from Riverly, and he'd be right. I am a hypocrite, and despite this, I can't seem to help myself around her.

"You found him yet?"

"Nah, still looking."

A pretty blonde walks over with a glass of something pink in her hand. She smiles, and Khalil nudges my shoulder like I'm the luckiest guy in the world.

"Buy me a drink?" she asks.

I turn to the bar and down the rest of my shot. "I'm good. He might, though."

Khalil straightens up and pats me on the back. "No might," he says. "What do you want?"

I look at the girl, and she scrunches her nose before leaning in closer. Her full lips part and she positions her mouth near my ear. "Forget the drink, then. Come back to my place."

She pulls back and I look at her. First at her eyes, which are green, then at her lips. "I'm good, but thanks for the offer."

Her smile drops, and she pushes past me and heads back to the dance floor. I indicate to the bartender, who pours me another shot of whiskey and pushes the glass toward me.

"You need your head examined," Khalil says.

I smirk. "You need some self-respect."

"Where," Khalil wants to know, "is that going to get me?"

I shake my head. Khalil has always struggled with girls, even when we were kids. It's not that he's bad looking, but people can smell his desperation a mile off.

"You need to relax," I say. "Don't just blurt out the first thing that enters your head. Be cool."

He frowns. "I thought I was being cool."

I can't help but laugh as I slap him on the back. "Yeah, you're cool, all right."

Khalil narrows his eyes and downs his shot before scanning the club. "Hey, isn't that the guy you fought?"

I turn to find Justin in one of the booths, making out with some girl's neck. "Yeah." My stomach contracts. I scan the bar for Alyssa, but she's nowhere to be found.

I turn back to Pretty Boy. He whispers in the ear of the girl next to him. She giggles, and I watch as he slides his hand up her thigh before he says something that makes her eyes widen.

I turn to my shot glass and stare at the contents. Going over there would be a stupid idea. It's nothing to do with me, even if he's cheating on Alyssa right now. None of that's my business.

The next three seconds involve me downing my shot and getting to my feet. I ignore Khalil asking me where I'm going and head to the bathroom, where I stare at myself in the mirror above the sink. That guy gets under my skin like no one else, and I don't know if it's because he's an asshole or because he's an asshole that's dating Alyssa.

The door swings open, and luck must really be on my side because Justin walks in. I turn to face him and fold my arms, staring him down.

"Don't you have a girlfriend?" I ask.

He steps forward and says, "This stalking Alyssa act is getting real old. I mean, c'mon, man. You have to know that she can do better than you."

I grab him by the front of his t-shirt and pin him against the wall. Even as I do it, I know I'm making a big mistake. I take a deep breath and quickly let go. "When you're ready for that fight, let me know."

He smirks in my face, but instead of reacting, I push past him and make my way out of the club, where I force myself to calm down. As much as I hate him, he's right.

She can do better than me.

❤️