The Asylum Fight Club Books 1-3 by Tibby Armstrong & Bianca Sommerland

Author:Tibby Armstrong & Bianca Sommerland
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Tibby Armstrong

Chapter 24

A blur of repeated punches consumed Curtis’s attention, each slapping impact filling the gym. Five-thirty a.m. and he’d already completed his circuit training. The more focused portion of his regimen, he reserved for later when he could involve Reed. His lips lifted and his strikes slowed when he thought of his boy. He’d left him warm and languid in bed, safely ensconced under the goose down duvet. Lips parted, softly snoring, Reed had murmured and turned over when he had brushed his stubbled cheek with a kiss before tiptoeing out of the bedroom.

He checked his watch, leaving the bag swaying. Twenty minutes to shower before breakfast, and then he’d work on some paperwork for the dojo. Business, after his multiple random disappearances, had been suffering, to say the least. Pressing his towel to his face, he hissed at contact with some of his fresher bruises. The fights he’d won over the past few weeks had helped to stem the worst of the financial hemorrhage, but it wasn’t exactly the way he’d envisioned making his living when he’d opened the business of his dreams.

In the locker room, he yanked on the shower and stepped under the spray. He reached for his shampoo and frowned when he realized someone had moved it to a different bay. Lately, he’d been using the downstairs facilities rather than his own bathroom, preferring to leave Ezran the run of the space. Reed’s bedroom had become his second home. Everything about his own apartment felt off, alien, and if he were honest with himself he had trouble leaving Reed long enough to make the necessary repairs that would have made his own space comfortable again. Not that Ezran or Reed complained, but sooner or later he would have to put on his big boy pants and face the task.

Arriving back at The Asylum hadn’t been exactly as he’d envisioned on the two-hour drive home. Matt, Ezran, Garet, and Tracey had been there to greet them. Their expected remonstrations and effusive welcome were everything he would have predicted. One arm around Reed’s waist, he’d searched for Noah with his gaze while everyone seemed to speak at once.

Tracey had cupped his face and brushed a hand over the top of his head. “He needs some time, kiddo.”

Drying off and dressing, he played the moment over again. Most of his dissatisfaction with being home—the feeling of emptiness and ennui he hadn’t quite been able to shake—had to do with Noah’s continued absence.

“What the fuck are you waiting for?” He bit the question off and spat it at the empty locker room before punching his locker door shut. “Fuck.” He swore at himself. “Stop being an asshole.”

His emotions were no one’s fault but his own. Noah owed him nothing, and despite how unflappable he had seemed throughout his trial and, from what Lawson has said, in prison, he was human. The ordeal he’d been through would have had a profound effect on anyone.

No matter how mature and understanding he had tried to be, it still stung that in three weeks he hadn’t seen or spoken to the man.

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