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“You’re scrappy.” TJ bounced back and forth. “You’ve got tenacity. That’s a dangerous thing.”
He swung and missed.
I put my fists up, ready to defend myself against whatever TJ was going to throw at me. No warm-up? Shouldn’t I be taping up first? Maybe a mouth guard?
“You’re quick, too.” He swung again. I blocked it and landed a punch to his rib cage.
TJ smiled, unfazed. “I bet your pretty little girlfriend can hit harder than that.”
This time, I swung at his face. He dodged it effortlessly and rammed into my midsection, sending us crashing onto the floor. He instantly popped back up onto his feet and held his hand out to help me stand.
“And there it is.”
“There what is?” I asked as I stood.
“Your anger. You let it control you, and it makes you weak.”
Weak? “I’m not weak.”
“You are, and that’s okay. You won’t be once I get done with you. Recognizing your weaknesses will help you work on them. Then, they become your strengths.”
I raised my fists again. “I’m not fucking weak.” I wanted to knock the smug smile off his face. He didn’t know a damn thing about me.
“You got drunk every night this week because your dad died. That sounds pretty fucking weak to me.”
I lunged and slammed him onto his back. I threw punch after punch, each one harder than the last.
TJ blocked every single one.
“Are you done yet?” he asked, sounding bored. He pushed me off, spun around, and twisted my arm backwards in the blink of an eye.
It felt like my elbow was going to break in half. I tapped out within seconds, and TJ released me.
“Just because you beat up the punks in high school doesn’t mean you’re tough. All you have are muscles and rage. If you don’t learn how to channel them, you’ve got nothing.”
I wanted to tell this guy to go fuck himself, and then leave the gym.
“I get you’re upset about your father,” he continued. “You’ve been looking for something quick and easy to mask the pain. Instead of confronting your feelings, you ran from them. You looked for an escape. If you decide to train here, with me, you’re going to have to stop running and deal with your shit. You have to feel everything if you want to get over it.”
I hated hearing him out my flaws into the light like that. It made me sound even more pathetic than I felt. “Is that what this is about? We hold hands and sing ‘Kumbaya’?”
“This is about you, Tanner. This is about facing your problems head-on. If you want to keep wallowing in your pathetic bullshit, be my guest. If you want to conceal your fear with snarky remarks, go right ahead. But last night, you put your hands on your girlfriend. You didn’t mean to, but that doesn’t matter. You did. So, if you’re ready to step up and be a man—the kind of man who will make his father proud as he looks down on him—then get the fuck up and let’s fucking go.”
The last thing my father said to me was that he was proud of me. TJ’s words hit home. I got to my feet, and squared my shoulders. “I’m ready.”
* * *
Being without Charlotte had been hell. Each day that passed hurt more than the one before. I needed to talk to her. I had to explain. But what would I say? I was terrified to be with her because I was terrified to be without her. I couldn’t live without her, yet I didn’t know how to live knowing that I could lose her. I was stuck on a torturous merry-go-round of fear, unable to step off and see straight.
Still, the way I’d behaved was unacceptable. She deserved more. So, I bravely clicked on Charlotte’s name on my phone and listened to the ringing, praying she would answer.
“Hello?”
“You answered.”
“Yeah, well … I wanted to make sure you weren’t dying in a ditch somewhere,” she said flatly.
“More like wallowing in guilt.”
