But right as he shoved on his shoes and shouldered his gym bag, he noticed someone walk past in the hallway. Someone who, two seconds later, reappeared just as quickly.
“Sean.” Scott’s big body filled the doorway. “Thought that was you. Didn’t realize you worked out here.” His brown eyes oozed concern. “How you doing?”
Sean slowed. “Oh, hey, man. I’m, uh, good.”
Scott looked him over as Sean headed his way. “You sure? You looked pretty upset on Monday.”
Sean shrugged, not even bothering to play shit down. “Yeah, well, Max was in rare asshole form, so I wasn’t exactly in the mood to stick around.”
Scott frowned and crossed his arms. “Do I need to beat him again?”
“Again?” Sean pulled to a stop, jaw dropping. “You did that to his face?”
Scott didn’t look proud. “Unfortunately, yeah.”
“But why?”
Scott sighed. “’Cause he was being a total asshat. Although, I’m sorta starting to suspect he kinda wanted it.”
“Wanted to have his face pummeled?”
“I dunno. Kinda feels like it.”
Sean studied his expression, not quite sure what to make of that, then irritably pursed his lips. “Lucky you. Wish I could’ve gotten in a few shots.”
“Yeah. Max tends to have that effect.”
Sean clenched his jaw. “No shit.”
Scott regarded him for a minute. “You got a few?”
“Um... I guess.” Sean shouldered his bag strap higher.
“Good. Come on.” Scott turned and led the way. “Got something upstairs I think you’ll like.”
Sixty seconds later, they arrived at a large classroom, the entire wall parallel to the hallway made of glass. The wall adjacent to that one, however, was lined with free-standing punching bags, as if they’d been shoved there after a session for safe keeping. Sean followed Scott inside and glanced around.
Scott stopped at a big bin of boxing gloves. “Not sure if Max told you, but I work here part time. Teach kickboxing classes a couple times a week.”
Sean’s brows rose. “Seriously?”
“Yup.” Scott tossed him a pair. “Put those on. I’ll be right back.”
Sean eyed the things curiously, but slid them on, watching as Scott strode toward the punching bags. He stopped at the closest, bent down at the knees, then hefted the thing up and headed back. Sean’s brows shot high again. Those things obviously weren’t light, but Scott made it look like they weighed fifty pounds.
“Ready?” Scott asked, dropping the big beast back down.
Sean coughed a small laugh. “This is what you thought I’d like?”
Scott nodded and got into position, holding the bag from behind. “Yup.” He gave it a smack. Guess he wanted Sean to hit it.
Sean chuckled, somewhat confused. “But why? I don’t get it.”
“You will.” Scott grinned. “Pretend it’s Max.”
Sean blinked in surprise, then eyed the bag again, seeing it in a whole new glorious light. “Alright,” he muttered. “I can definitely do that.” He cocked his arm and nailed it with a jab.
BAP!
Scott nodded. “Good. Again.”
Sean glared at the big, black padded cylinder. Envisioned Max’s apathetic face. Three more angry jabs.
BAP!-BAP!-BAP!
“Nice.” Scott smiled and moved around to join him. “Now add in some other shit, like this.” Demonstrating, Scott threw a couple right-left-right combos, mixing up the order and pace. “See? Jab-jab, then a cross, then a hook. Feels fucking great. Now you try.”
Sean did, and Scott was right. It felt amazing, each hit dumping off some of his anger. But why was Scott showing him this? Sean paused with a frown. “You don’t need to teach me this. Max wouldn’t ever hurt me physically.”
“Yeah. I know. Believe me. I know. His kind of punches hurt way worse.”
Sean’s jaw clenched at Scott’s words, at their painful truth. “Is that why you two got into a fight? He said some fucked up shit to you, too?”
One tight nod. “Yup.”
Sean’s lips pursed. “Why’s he gotta be such a dick?”
“I told you. The man’s got sharp edges.” Scott smacked the bag again. “Now, make him pay.”
Sean glowered at the thing, then tried out that combo.
Jab, jab-cross—jab, jab-cross—jab, jab-cross, angry hook—
“Fuck, yeah. Just like that, Sean. Let it all out.”
So, Sean did. Repeatedly. Until his heart rate hammered. Until adrenaline coursed hot through his veins. Reliving that night, rehearing Max’s words, slamming his fists into that motherfucker’s face. Yes. This was it. This was what Sean had needed. What he’d needed so fucking bad.
A good ten minutes later, he finally stopped, fresh sweat covering his body, breathing labored.
Scott smiled a little. “Feel better?”
Sean nodded, panting. “Yeah.” Or at least he did initially, with all his pent-up anger depleted. Problem was, not long after, all that freed-up space allowed a whole lot more sad to flood in. Sean’s shoulders slumped. Air emptied from his lungs. “I miss him, Scott,” he muttered, rubbing a glove against his forehead. “Really wish I didn’t… but I do.”
Scott didn’t respond at first. Then, “He misses you, too.”
Sean dropped his glove and looked at him. “He does?” He frowned. “He told you that?”