CHAPTER ELEVEN: TOUGH LOVE

Taylor wasn’t sure how long she had been staring at the bag.

It sat in the corner of the gym amongst others, same as always, swaying slightly from the last hit it had taken. The leather was worn, scuffed from years of punishment, its surface marked by the strikes of people who came here to work, to train, to let something out.

It was just a bag. Just another piece of equipment.

But her body wouldn’t move.

Every time she raised her fists, something felt off.

Her balance was wrong. Her stance was wrong.

She was too aware.

Of her body, of her breathing, of the power she could unleash with a single action.

She hadn’t used her power here. She never would, at least not intentionally. But that didn’t stop the memory from creeping in, twisting through her mind like an unwanted thought.

The weight of a life turned to nothing in front of her. The pull. The flash of blue. The way the man had—

Stop.

Taylor sucked in a sharp breath and forced herself to move.

One step. Then another. She planted her feet, crouched slightly, exhaled, and threw a punch.

The bag rocked slightly.

Not enough.

She adjusted her stance. Another hit. 

Still wrong.

Her body remembered. Her body knew.

It was instinctive. A quiet, unavoidable certainty. The same way she had known how much force to put behind a strike, the same way she had learned how to move in a fight. Except now, she wasn’t just aware of her strength.

She was still afraid of her power.

“You’re off today.”

Taylor flinched before she could stop herself.

Keith stood by the closest bag, arms crossed. His loose hoodie and jeans made him look more like a bystander than a trainer, like someone curious who had just wandered in off the street. But his eyes told a different story.

They had been watching.

She forced herself to relax, stepping back from the bag. “Just tired.”

Keith didn’t move. Didn’t drop his gaze.

She could feel the demand of his attention. Intense.

“You didn’t show up yesterday,” he said.

Taylor shrugged, wiping at her forehead even though there wasn’t much sweat. “I had stuff to do.”

“You always have stuff to do,” Keith said, moving closer. “That’s not new.”

Taylor didn’t respond.

Keith let out a slow breath, shaking his head. “Look, I don’t need to know what’s going on, but I know something is.”

“Keith—”

“I’ve seen it before,” he cut her off, voice calm but brooking no argument. “The way you keep looking over your shoulder. The way you tense up when the door opens and someone new walks in. You act like you’re waiting for shit to hit the fan.”

Taylor clenched her jaw.

He wasn’t wrong.

She hated that he wasn’t wrong.

Keith sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “If you’re in trouble, you need to be careful.”

“I can take care of myself,” she muttered.

Keith gave her a look. “I know you think that,” he said, “but that’s not the same thing.”

Her fingers curled into fists.

Ever since her mother died, she had practically taken care of herself in every way that mattered. She had survived more than Keith could possibly imagine. What did he know about—

But then she saw it.

The way he was looking at her.

Not just curious. Not just suspicious.

Concerned.

Keith wasn’t just letting her train because he respected her skills.

He cared. In his own gruff way.

Taylor swallowed hard, forcing herself to look away.

“I’m fine,” she said, quieter this time.

Keith didn’t argue. Didn’t push.

But he didn’t drop it, either.

“Just… don’t do anything stupid,” he said.

Taylor let out a breath, one she wasn't even aware she was holding.

Too late for that.

She didn’t say it.

She just nodded, grabbed her bag, and walked past him—leaving the heavy silence behind.