Page 75 of Miss Typed

“What are we doing at my apartment?” I’d been expecting sex to be his choice of distraction, but he’d grabbed his car keys instead. I hadn’t known where Aiden was taking me when we’d left his place, but home certainly hadn’t been what I’d expected.

He found a spot in my apartment building’s parking lot and turned off the motor. “Run up and put on your gym clothes. I’ll wait down here for you in the car.”

“The gym?” It was the last place I wanted to go. I’d just found out my mother was taking the money I sent her monthly and turning around to give some of it to my older brother. She hadn’t bothered to deny it. Instead she’d gone into this long speech about how she couldn’t give up on him and how I needed to be more supportive. I’d ended the call in a way I’d never done before: I’d hung up on her. Not the most mature action, but it was all I could manage under the circumstances.

“Do you trust me, Chloe?” He turned to me with a smile which, despite my mood, was contagious.

“Yes. All right. I’ll be down in a few minutes.”

After I returned, we rode in silence to the gym a few miles away. I was grateful he wasn’t peppering me with questions or asking what I would do now. The answer was simple. I’d do nothing. Same way I’d dealt with Tom. Same way I seemed to handle everything. By not speaking up.

Once inside the modern gym, I noticed how big the place was. Aiden stopped at the front desk and spoke to the clerk while I looked around. The facility seemed new. The main area was filled with various machines while some studios against the back wall were probably for classes.

“Come on.” He took my hand to lead me towards the stairs and down one level. Here there was a huge boxing ring and all sorts of equipment.

At this time of the afternoon, the area was fairly empty with only a few other people around. Aiden put his duffle bag on the bench and motioned for me to take a seat beside it.

I watched him take out a roll of tape and gave him my hand without protest. It was fascinating to watch him wrap one hand and then the other as if he’d done it many times before.

“Now, then. When I was really angry after the accident, boxing was like therapy. Especially during recovery when I couldn’t do much yet with my lower body.”

It meant a lot for him to share that. I wondered if he remained angry about the IED. If he wasn’t still grieving over what it had taken from him.

He got up and went into a nearby room, coming out with a set of boxing gloves. Putting those over my wrapped hands and cinching them tight, he declared, “You’re all set.”

“All set for what? I don’t know how to box.”

“It’s okay. The bag won’t mind. Come on.” He led me over to a heavy bag and took a position behind me. “Give me your arm. I’ll show you how to punch.” He went over a few different techniques, from hook to jab to uppercut, before going to the other side of the bag to hold it.

“Hit the bag.”

I gave it a tentative jab.

He raised a brow. “Hit it like you mean it.”

Again, I gave it a go.

He shook his head. “Chloe, you need to get mad.”

My arms dropped to my sides. “I don’t get mad. I don’t even stand up for myself. I may have called Tom a pussy, but it wasn’t even to his face or on purpose. The truth is I’m a pussy. I’m too nice, too accommodating, and obviously way too stupid to figure out my own mother was lying to me.”

He stepped in front of me. “Bullshit. Who’s the girl who told me to go to hell when I kept asking you why you needed the extra money you made at the club? Who was the girl who threatened to pay off Donald if I didn’t fly her out to Toronto? Chloe, you may not be able to hold grudges, and you may give second chances when they’re not always deserved, but you also have a fire inside of you. A feisty side, which is both sexy and impressive to watch. You are brave, smart, and incredibly giving. But you also have a right to be angry with people who have taken advantage of that. Now imagine this bag is Tom’s stupid pussy face and punch it.”

My lips quirked up at his pep talk. So when he moved to hold the bag, I punched again. Then again. Then another. Right hand. Left hand. Hook. Jab. Uppercut. I thought about my mom giving my money away to a brother who didn’t care how his sister was getting it. I thought about Tom threatening my livelihood as if he wasn’t in the wrong for making me apologize to his wife when he was cheating and lying to her. All my frustration poured out as I hit the bag. Aiden called out encouragement along the way until finally I stopped, my arms burning, my breath heavy. I didn’t realize I had tears running down my face until he stepped up and wiped them with his thumbs. His expression was serious and hard to read.

“Let’s go.”

After taking off my gloves and putting them away, he grasped my hand and led me out to his car. I wasn’t sure where his thoughts were, but my emotions were fried. I was mad. I was hurt. But mainly I was tired of internalizing it all. I was sick of being afraid to say what I was really feeling. I’d allowed people to walk over me to the point where they thought it was okay. That stopped today. Aiden was right. I did have a fire inside. I did have a feisty side. And it was time to channel that.

Aiden took us straight to his apartment. As soon as we were inside, he disappeared down the hallway to the bathroom. The sound of running water had me curious enough to follow.

He was filling the tub. “You’ll be sore tomorrow, but soaking will help.”

“Thank you.”

He flashed me a grin. “How do you feel?”

“Better. I just wish—”