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He finally looks into my eyes and nods, moving into his stance.
“Same drills?” I enter my stance as well, assuming we’ll be starting with checking low kicks again.
“No, combos,” Ty says, his eyes dropping to my gloves. “Kick-jab-cross-hook.”
I furrow my brow at him. The same drill we finished with yesterday…
“Come on, let’s go.” He motions for me to get ready to defend against him.
“Ok,” I say with a sigh, raising my gloves.
As expected, he delivers with power and precision. I block each hit, and the whole thing is textbook. His dark eyes are full of heat, and he looks like he is going to snap at any moment and lay into me. He wants to fight, and he wants to prove he can do this. To me, and to himself.
He blocks my kick as I move to attack, and his hands immediately lift to parry my jab. And he does, but it’s a second too late. He scrambles through the rest of the combo, trying to make up for that hesitation. If this was a fight, I could have easily stepped in and taken him to the ground when his guard was down, or come in low and attacked his body. His focus isn’t where it’s supposed to be, and I know he knows this.
I back up a step and lower my gloves.
“What are you doing?” he snaps, keeping his gloves up. “Keep going.”
I cock an eyebrow at him. “You want to–”
“I said keep fucking going.”
I press my lips together to keep from snapping back at him, which is hard as fuck. But I somehow manage to keep my words to myself and lift my gloves, stepping back into position.
Once again, he delivers his attack flawlessly. And once again, he falters in his defense. He parries my jab and cross, and even though it’s with a bit more confidence, it’s obvious he’s still rattled and he loses his footing on the hook.
I sigh and drop my gloves again. “Ty, man. Listen, we–”
“Shut the fuck up and get your gloves up.” He doesn’t look at me, instead keeping his eyes on my lowered hands as he remains in his stance.
“No.” I shake my head. “You need–”
I’m cut off by his shin meeting my upper thigh, then a jab to my chin.
Oh, fuck no.
Immediately, I lift my gloves and block his cross and hook. But I don’t step into him. I don’t retaliate, as much as I would fucking love to. Instead, I drop my gloves again and wait for him to look at me.
And when he finally lifts his eyes to meet mine, it’s with an icy, harsh glare.
“Fuck you,” he practically spits at me, before he turns and leaves the ring.
I watch as he goes straight to the locker room, passing a concerned looking Rosa. She casts me a worried glance and I shake my head, take in a deep breath, and follow him.
And I don’t miss Max leaning against the doorway to his office, arms crossed and observing.
I pull my gloves off and push the door open to the locker room.
“Leave me alone,” Ty mutters with his back to me, as he unwraps his hands at his locker.
“You don’t get to say that to me anymore. You’re not alone.” I cross my arms and glare at his back.
Ty sighs and tosses his wraps in his locker but doesn’t turn around.
“You need to let me in at some point.” I exhale, forcing myself to chill a bit. “Moon and stars, remember?”
He turns to face me, and I’m surprised to see the anger has been replaced with… defeat?
