Tap Out: Bannon's Gym, Book 3 by Cat Grant

Author:Cat Grant
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: boxing, mixed martial arts, sports, m/m, angst, grief, loss, acceptance, addiction, recovery
Publisher: Samhain Publishing, Ltd.
Published: 2015-01-12T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Ten

Travis’s car was the only one in the lot when he pulled in, but that wasn’t so strange. On weekends he usually got to the gym before Danny. But he wasn’t expecting his gut to go into free fall when he walked in to find Tom punching and jabbing away at the heavy bag. Face scrunched into a tight scowl of concentration, Tom bobbed, weaved and circled the bag, hitting it from all angles. Every thwack reverbed between Travis’s ears like a door slamming shut.

Just like last night.

Tom hadn’t seen him yet—or maybe he was simply ignoring him—so Travis went over to switch on the stationary bikes and elliptical machines. Anything to keep busy, keep from facing the inevitable.

Stop being such a fucking coward. You’re still his trainer, and he’s got a major bout in three weeks. So suck it up and get over there.

Oh, now Tom saw him. He stopped punching and grabbed his towel to wipe his face. “Hey.” His flat tone made it hard to judge if it was a friendly greeting or a noncommittal one.

“Hey.” Travis put his hands on the bag to stop it from swinging. “Looks like you’re really throwing yourself into it.”

“Gotta step up my game. State’ll be here pretty fucking soon.” Tom threw another punch, the impact moving through the bag and into Travis. Tom hit it again and kept on hitting, his gaze going hard and flinty, zeroed in on the bag.

Travis braced himself against it, holding on even as Tom’s punches crept higher and higher. “Look, I, uh”—punch thwack punch—“hope you’re not still”—punch smack thwack—“mad about last night.”

Tom stopped punching again, fists poised in midair. Stopped moving, except for the rapid rise and fall of his chest. “What’s there to be mad about? You made yourself clear. I can keep things professional. Unless you want to break up with me as my trainer too?”

Oh God. “I never said that.”

“You don’t say a lot of things, Trav.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Tom blew out a raspy chortle. “You want me to spell it out for you?”

“Look, like I said last night—”

“I don’t need you making decisions for me without talking to me first. I don’t want it extending into our professional relationship either.”

What? “Since when have I ever—”

“You tell me.”

Silence.

Travis swallowed hard. “Are you firing me?”

Tom started punching again, hitting the bag harder with each blow, moving higher and higher—

His last jab smacking the leather not five inches from Travis’s face.

Travis flinched, backpedaled, let go of the bag. “What the fuck was that?”

“Just making sure you’re awake.” Tom smirked and reached for his water bottle. “I think I’m warm enough. Wanna spar?”

Now Travis was well and truly rattled—no doubt exactly what Tom intended—and pretty fucking pissed too. What was the point of all this? Did Tom want to beat him into the ground, force him to quit? Well, why not? Might as well put on his gloves so they could have this out once and for all.

“Sure,” Travis said. “Go climb in the cage.

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