Page 153 of The Monster and the Masochist

He was clearly wondering why I hadn’t left yet.

“One last thing…” I asked, and he raised a dark eyebrow in question.

“Do you know how to set up tracking software on someone’s phone without them knowing?”

Vox’s eyes flashed, and the corner of his mouth quirked up in amusement. He nodded his head once, and the overall impression I got from the movement was a sarcastic ‘obviously.’

“Next time you’re at the range with Theo… you think you could… get something set up for me? She’s disappeared on me a few times, and until I can figure out why she keeps running, I’d feel better if I had a way to track her down… For her own safety, of course,” I added hastily.

Vox’s smile only widened, and he gave me another slow nod, his silver eyes shining.

“Shut up,” I snapped, which caused him to huff out a silent laugh again before shaking his head and dismissing me.

“...Thanks,” I called over my shoulder, but of course, he ignored me as I turned to let myself out of his weirdly cute house to slip back into my Audi.

Now, all I could do was wait.

Alexa Play: Orange Juice by Noah Kahan

It was Sunday, which meant instead of training, Jerry and I were sitting in his office reviewing all the footage he’d filmed of me throughout the week to identify areas for improvement.

Usually, we indulged in shitty junk food as a reward for eating clean all week, which I was especially grateful for, considering I’d been eating mostly vegan since moving in with Cass.

Not that I minded the vegan food. I’d really gotten the hang of cooking without any animal products, and most of what I made tasted pretty fucking awesome if I did say so myself… But nothing beats a dirty burger that came out of the bag looking like it had personally offended the fry cook.

That being said, the last few weeks had been… amazing.

After my conversation with Cass, I’d felt something shift deep inside me. She’d been the first person I’d ever told, and though I’d been intentionally vague about it, just having someone understand in even a small way that there was a reason I was the way I was… felt… like a huge relief.

Samwell’s phantom memory had been strangely quiet, and I hadn’t had the urge to drink in days.

The silver Q-Tip Cass had given me was now a permanent fixture around my neck–except for when I was training, of course–but I hadn’t even really needed to use it.

It felt like I’d turned a huge corner, and I was hopeful for the first time in my life that I might actually be able to cling to this feeling of inner peace for longer than just a few weeks.

Cass’s therapist recommended someone for me to reach out to, and though I’d been wary about it at first, knowing that Cass regularly went to therapy made me feel like maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.

When I’d explained to Cass that I didn’t feel like I would be able to talk to a stranger about what happened to me when I could barely even talk to her about it, she’d given me a completely different perspective I hadn’t considered before.

“You don’t have to tell her your whole life story in the first session. You might not even vibe with this person at all. Treat finding the right therapist the same way you treat dating. You need to get to know them and build a relationship. It takes time, and you don’t need to rush into anything.”

I found it amusing that she’d used the dating comparison, considering I hadn’t dated Cass at all before straight-up marrying her, but considering our marriage was fake, I didn’t bother pointing that out.

The analogy worked, and I felt more comfortable about scheduling my first session for after my upcoming fight with the Russian.

I knew Cass wasn’t thrilled that I was still moving forward with this fight, but she’d kept her feelings on it to herself, for which I was grateful.

As good as things were, I wasn’t willing to back out of it now, especially after how shit the fight with DeLuca had gone.

More than ever, I felt like I needed to prove to the world that I wasn’t a complete fuck up, and I was still the baddest bitch in this fucked up league.

What I hadn’t been expecting was the resistance I’d been feeling from Jerry.

He’d seemed grumpier than usual during training lately, and it was especially clear today when we’d been locked in his office together for hours, and almost all my comments and questions about the following week’s training schedule were met with either grunts or one-word answers.

We’d just finished watching the last clip, and I slung my gym bag over my shoulder as I prepared to head out to the gun range.

“Cool, so we’ll pick up tomorrow with no-load shadowboxing?” I asked, once again trying to engage him in some form of conversation that didn’t result in a grunt or a shrug.