he second the words leave my mouth, I'm in trouble. Admitting to love is like putting a greenlight on your back. If life has taught me anything, it's that the second you say it, the second it all goes to shit.

Alyssa looks up at me, wide-eyed, and her lips part in surprise. For a moment, there's a tense silence between us, and I wonder if I've said the wrong thing. But then she smiles, a radiant, beautiful smile, and leans in to kiss me.

"I love you," she says.

I wrap my arms around her, enjoying her body pressed against mine. She kisses me softly, teasing what's to come before swiftly pulling back. I groan and pull her in again – she's not getting away that easy - and snake my hands around her waist. Everything about her is delicate and warm, the complete opposite of me, but somehow, we balance each other out.

Her hands are like silk as they glide across my back. Fuck. I'm supposed to be getting myself back under control, focused on my upcoming fight, no distractions, but Alyssa makes it impossible.

The second she looks at me, pink lips pulled into a beautiful smile, I'm lost. Nothing else matters. I couldn't care less if the world goes to shit as long as she's beside me. It's selfish as hell, obviously. What life could I give her except one filled with stress? But right now, I couldn't care less.

My heart races as she kisses my chest. She looks so beautiful in the moonlight, her eyes sparkling and lips curved into a soft smile. I can't resist the urge to reach out, running my thumb across her cheek, and as I do it, she looks up at me with those piercing eyes of hers.

"Did I mention I love you?" she whispers.

I grin and wrap my hands in her hair. "I don't think so. Maybe you should say it again."

She smiles and kisses the waistband of my trousers. "I love you."

"I l–" I start, but she's already dipped beneath the folds of the covers, disappearing from view. My throat tightens, and the outside world fades away as she touches me, exploring every inch of my skin. Eyes closed, I lose myself to the fire of her mouth, ready to burn.

***

sit up in the darkened room, the only light coming from the moon outside. My eyes are fixed on the figure beside me, her skin glowing in the soft light. She's beautiful, with delicate features and long, golden hair cascading over her shoulder. I can't help but reach out and run my fingers through it, the soft strands slipping through my fingers like silk.

She stirs slightly, her eyelashes fluttering against her skin. I can't help but lean in and brush my lips against her cheek, and that's when it hits me, like an arrow through the chest – I have well and truly fallen.

Shit.

With a rough kiss on her forehead, I climb out of bed and slip into the gym, needing to get some training in. After a few basic stretches, I move over to the weights first and pick up a barbell before gripping it tightly, my hands shaking as I lift it off the ground. As I train, my thoughts keep drifting back to her, from how it feels to touch her to the slight uptick in my heart rate whenever she smiles. If I had any sense, I'd still be holding her in my arms right now, but if I want to be better, I've got training to do.

Sweat coats my neck as I complete my reps, the burn in my muscles driving me to push myself harder. Right now, I'm lost in the moment, my worries fading as I focus on the exertion. I move to the treadmill next, feet pounding against the conveyor belt as I increase the speed. My breathing becomes labored, but I don't stop pushing. As the great Bryan O'Connor used to say, Pain is an illusion, don't let it fool you. But right now, as muscles contort from the abuse of fatigue, it feels real as hell.

I finish my circuit with jump rope, the rope slapping against the ground as we move in sync. I can't help but think about her as I train. She's just a room over, probably fast asleep by now, but knowing she's there makes this easier somehow like someone is finally on my side. And hell if I don't love her for it.

As always, I save the heavy bag for last – my old friend, my enemy, but as much as I've hated the bag over the years, it's the reason I got this far. The smell of sweat and rubber fills the air as I pull on my gloves, the leather creaking as I tighten the straps. Then I stand in front of the heavy bag, fists clenched and ready.

With a quick one-two, the real work begins. My veins pulsate as I pummel the bag, the rhythm of my punches becoming more frenzied. I switch up my routine, mixing in jabs, hooks, and uppercuts. The heavy bag swings wildly with the force of my blow, but I keep going, punch after punch, imagining my victory. My hands fly across the bag, each strike hitting with precision. I'm in my own world now, lost in the rhythmic sound of my gloves connecting with the bag. Every punch is a release, a way to let it out, and I do.

Finally, aching and breathless, I take a step back and survey my handiwork. The once pristine bag is now battered and beaten, the perfect reflection of my own inner turmoil. I take off my gloves and hang them on the hook, feeling the satisfying ache in my arms. I'll be back tomorrow, ready to train even harder, but right now, the idea of sleep sounds like heaven.

After downing some water, I sneak back into the office and climb into bed before pulling Alyssa closer. I'm tired as hell, my body like it's just been hit by a forty-tonne truck, but behind the fatigue is satisfaction, and behind that is relief.

By the time I wake up, she's already gone, leaving behind a note on her pillow that reads:

I lean back, hands propped behind my head, and stare at the ceiling. There's a part of me that still thinks this whole thing is insane – her staying in this office, us pretending to be grown-ups – but another part, the selfish part, is glad that I get her to myself.

Still sluggish from the workout, I gather my things and head home for a pit stop. Kino and mom are in the kitchen cooking bacon, but they look up when I walk in. Mom smiles and throws her arms around my neck, breathing me in.

"The elusive son returns," she says like I've been missing for months. "Are you staying long enough for breakfast?"

Kino looks up from flipping the bacon. "Sorry, bruh, there's not enough bacon for you."

My eyebrow arches. I move behind him and steal one of the strips from his plate. "That's okay, I'll take yours, bruh."

He rolls his eyes, but things feel normal again like they used to; I just hope it lasts. After heading upstairs to shower and change, I grab my headphones, planning a light run before my next delivery shift.

The doorbell rings as I run downstairs. Slinging my headphones around my neck, I open it, expecting it to be the mailman or the milkman or whoever the hell else knocks on people's doors these days, but instead, standing before me on my old withered porch like some united front, are Alyssa's parents.

The devil himself could have shown up at my door, and I'd have been less surprised. My mouth opens and closes a few times. I don't do well with parental figures on the best of days, let alone when they show up unannounced, so for once in my life, I'm speechless. "Uh, hey."

"Hello," her mother says curtly.

I stare at them both like I've found myself in an episode of The Twilight Zone. When neither makes any more effort to talk, I open the door a little wider. "Did you want to come in or something?"

Her dad is barely able to contain his grimace. "No, that's okay – we won't be staying long."

I ignore his obvious attempt at an insult and say, "So, how'd you know where I live?"

"Through Kino's school records," her mother explains.

Of course they did. Of course Alyssa's parents can click their fingers and pull up any records they want. I continue to stare at her, wondering what the hell to say next. Small talk has never been my strong suit. "What can I do for you?" I ask.

Her mother blinks before stepping forward. She looks like a statue standing beside her husband, arms frozen to her sides like a soldier about to be called into action. "Well," she says, somewhat nervous, "we thought we might be able to talk some sense into one of you."

My walls go up as I lean against the doorframe – I know how this conversation goes. "Look, Mrs. Class–"

"Just hear us out," she says, blocking the door. "Please."

I sigh and run a hand down my jaw but don't say anything. Her eyes soften, and she glances at her husband, who stands there all stoic, before turning back to face me. "Look," she starts, her voice low, "we know you love Alyssa."

I look at her carefully, feeling as though I'm walking into some kind of trap. "I do."

"And," she continues, taking a deep breath, "despite our opinions on it, I know she loves you."

Where the hell is she going with this?

"See, Alyssa has a big heart, Max," she says. "She is the most fiercely caring, fiercely loyal person I have ever encountered, and once she decides you're worth it, she will never let go."

A moment passes. Then another. I don't know whether to agree or stay silent when her father turns to face me. "Which is why you have to," he says.

And there it is, I think. I straighten up, suddenly cold, as my gaze snaps to his. "I can't do that."

Her mom's cheeks redden. I shake my head. The audacity of them showing up here demanding I give up their daughter is insane. "If you love her as much as you say you do," she says, "are you really happy to let her throw her whole life away for you?"

My jaw twitches, but I don't move a muscle. I don't want to give them the satisfaction of letting them know they're right. "You're the one making her throw away her life, not me."

The pair at least have the sense to look guilty. "We never planned on cutting her off for long," her mom says. "Just long enough to show her how different her life would be without money. She's supposed to go to her dream college, Max. She was supposed to Conquer the world."

"She can still do those things," I say, but I don't sound convinced. The truth is, everything they're saying are things I've been thinking myself. "I'm not holding her back."

"Not intentionally," she says, "but you are holding her back. It's only a matter of time before money troubles get on top of you both. You think things are hard now, but what about in three years? Five? With kids? The stress of money will eat into your relationship. There will be resentment on both sides. And this moment now when you're happiest? It'll feel like a dream."

Part of me wants to slip on my headphones just to drown out her words, but I can't. Instead, they eat away at me, crawling into my bloodstream like poison. "You don't know that."

"I do," she says, and her eyes take on this desperate look I'd never expect from her, "because that was me." Her husband tenses beside her. "I met a boy just like you, and even though my parents told me not to, I chose him to my detriment. Luckily–" she glances at her husband and forces a smile, "–I met someone who could give me the life I wanted." She turns back to me now, sighing as though I'm the problem here. "I love my daughter, Max. I'd do anything for her, and I'd do anything to stop her from having that same experience. I know we don't see eye to eye, but you need to believe that we both want the same thing for Alyssa, which is the best. Can you offer the best?"

The lump in my throat damn near chokes me. If this were anyone else, I'd have thrown them off my porch and told them where to stick it, but one day, Alyssa is going to make up with her parents – I don't want bad blood. "I can try."

Her dad shakes his head like he's had enough of this. "We will give you money to leave quietly. As much as you want."

"As much as it takes," her mother adds.

My eyes darken. I fold my arms. "Not a chance."

"If you won't do it for money, then do it for her," her dad says. "You're a sinking ship, and she's tethered herself to you. Are you willing to let her drown?"

I don't say a word, but every word they've spewed so far has buried itself in my head. Then, when it's clear they're not going to get another word out of me, Mrs. Class grabs her husband's arm and leads him toward their car. I wait until they've driven off before slamming the door behind them.

Fuck.

❤️