“More?” she prompted.
His eyes widened. “What?”
“You said there was more.”
“Oh. Yes.” Glancing at his lap, he cleared his throat and gathered his loose hair to secure it behind his neck. “I did some research today.”
“On?”
“How to mend a broken heart, among other things.” He pushed off the floor and brushed imaginary dust off his jeans. “One of the recommendations involved cosmetic procedures. Sorry, but I won’t give you a pedicure.”
The mental image of Aelyx painting her toenails made her laugh, despite the heaviness in her lungs.
“But I know something that’ll help. Get your shoes. We’ll have to hurry to make it back in time for the interview.”
“Where’re we going?”
A small grin curved his lips. “Let’s just say we’re getting your fight back.”
“You’re pulling my leg, right?” Cara craned her neck, narrowing her eyes at the sign hanging askew from high atop the crumbling brick warehouse. In peeling paint, it advertised the Uppercut Boxing Gym. They crouched behind a Dumpster in the back parking lot like muggers waiting to ambush a jogger. “It’s not even open.”
“I know.” Aelyx pulled something from his back pocket that looked like a chrome key fob. “They’re closed for renovations. Come on.” He grabbed her hand and they sprinted to the back door. Why? She had no idea. When Aelyx held the gadget near the dead bolt, it emitted two high-pitched beeps, and the bolt slid out of place with a click. He pulled open the door and shoved her inside before closing and locking it behind them.
“What is that thing?” she asked, taking in her surroundings. The inside of Uppercut didn’t look any more impressive than the outside. A low beam of sunlight cut through the windows, illuminating a few tattered black punching bags patched together with silver duct tape and hanging from the ceiling at awkward angles. A boxing ring stood in the distance, its sagging ropes a testament to all the bodies that had bounced against it over the years. Speaking of bodies, at least twenty years of bitter, reeking sweat seemed to seep through the walls, the floors, the weights. . . good God, it smelled like ass in here.
“An electron-tracker. It serves many purposes.” He bent over an equipment bin, and Cara tried not to ogle his backside.
After a minute, he surfaced, holding two cracked red boxing gloves and a pair of those circular mitts the trainers wore over their hands in the movies.
“Breaking and entering a smelly gym? This is your plan to cheer me up? What’s next, shoplifting used bowling shoes from the Goodwill?”
“Stop complaining and come over here.” It wasn’t a request. When she reluctantly obeyed, joining him near the water fountain, he held a glove open for her. “Go ahead.”
She pushed a hand into one decrepit glove and then the other, trying not to think too hard about how many grimy fingers had curled into their padded depths before hers. Then she rested each glove against his belly while he tied the laces.
“So now what?” She let her heavy hands drop to her sides. “Fight Club: Human versus Alien?”
Aelyx slipped his round mitts on and beckoned her to come closer. “That’s basically it.” He held both hands up in front of his chest. “Hit me.”
“Seriously?”
“Do it.”
She rolled her eyes and gave a halfhearted swing at his hand, making contact with the tip of her glove.
“That was pathetic,” he scolded. “Do it again. Get angry.”
With a sigh, she tapped him again. What was the point? She didn’t want to get angry—it took too much energy.
Aelyx shook his head, circling her like a shark in the water. “Again.”
When she delivered another lackluster tap, he nudged her arm with one of his mitts and shouted, “Quit fashing around.”
Her next attempt didn’t please him, either. He nudged her in the back, harder. “More!”
She wound up and tried to put some force behind the next punch, but instead of praising her, he bumped her shoulder with so much force she fell back several steps. “Get angry!”
“Did you just push me?” Her pulse quickened and her cheeks flushed hot.
“The Cah-ra Sweeney I know”—another little shove—“wouldn’t lie around”—and another, harder—“and hide under a blanket.” His stunning face twisted into a scowl as he shouted, “Hit me!”
Flames licked Cara’s body inside and out, and something in her chest popped like a soap bubble. Pulling her fist back, she tensed every muscle in her body, then delivered a blow with all her weight behind it. Her glove smacked Aelyx’s padded hand with a booming thud that delighted her ears and stung her knuckles.
“Again!” he shouted.
She swung with the other hand, grunting like a savage, losing herself in a thrill of fury as she pummeled his hand. He didn’t have to order her to keep going. With rage exploding from her body like an ignited fuel tanker, she advanced on Aelyx, pounding her fists into his waiting mitts again and again and again. A left jab—Tori abandoned me—a right hook—Eric stole my best friend—an uppercut—the whole school hates me—she only paused long enough to shake back her hair before resuming her attack. She may have even kicked him once or twice; it was hard to tell.
Adrenaline surged through her body, making her feel invincible, and just when she wound up for another punch, Aelyx darted to the side and grabbed her around the waist, settling behind her, molding his body to hers.
“Good.” He guided her to a battered punching bag. “Now don’t stop.”
And she didn’t. It might have lasted thirty minutes or three hours. Time lost all meaning as pent-up hurt and anger spewed out with each frenzied strike of the bag. She pounded it until her breath came in gasps and her heart lodged inside her throat. When she didn’t have the strength to lift her gloves anymore, she crumpled to the floor and pushed her dampened hair away from her face. Her lungs burned, her body ached, and she hadn’t felt this good in weeks. Tori’s betrayal was still fresh, but for the first time, Cara knew it wouldn’t break her.
Aelyx crouched down, tossing his mitts to the floor and smiling so widely it would have stolen her breath if she’d had any to spare. “There’s my Elire.” He pronounced it eh-leer.
“What’s that?” she asked.
“Your L’eihr name. I think I’ll call you that from now on.” He pulled a dry washcloth from the waistband of his jeans and sat beside her on the dirty tile floor, scooting close enough to blot the sweat from her forehead. Then he unlaced her gloves and tugged them off.
“Eh-leer,” she repeated, trying it on while flexing her stiff fingers. “What does it mean?”
“Beautiful warrior.”
She ducked her head, face glowing impossibly hot under his gaze, which had darkened again and dropped to her mouth. He trailed the washcloth down her temple and along her jawline before handing it off.
“Perhaps you should take over from here,” he whispered.
“Thanks.” The air between them crackled with energy so thick it was almost tangible, his face close enough for her to feel his warm breath. Just when she thought he might kiss her, he rolled to his feet and backed away.
“The interview,” he reminded her.
“Oh, right.” She scrambled to push off the floor, but her spaghetti-noodle arms wouldn’t hold her weight. “I might need a little help.”