Last Seen Alive

Chapter Eighteen

Song: Physical by Dua Lipa (Hehe👀 I totally chose this song because it has a perfect feel-good beat to work out to or *ahem* train😜).

"This is clearly not working," Kelsey commented as Michael pummeled the punching bag she was holding for him.

"Why do you say that?" he grunted, punctuating his words with four quick punches.

"You seem a lot tenser than you were when you started."

"No, I'm not."

"Tell that to the frown on your face," she scoffed.

He ignored her and kept up his steady rhythm of four quick punches followed by two slower ones.

"You're going way too easy on the bag, that's why. If you're worried about me, don't be. I'm a lot tougher than I look."

In between heavy breaths, he said, "I'm not undermining your strength, Harris."

"But you are holding back and that's not helping. Since this didn't work and you don't want to talk about what's going on with you, there's only one other thing we can do."

"And what's that?"he asked.

Kelsey let him continue while she watched him closely. On one of his slower punches, she pushed the bag aside, holding it away from her body, while she put her other hand up, palm facing forward to block the punch intended for the bag and stop him.

Although his slower punches had looked light and weak when he was hitting the bag, she'd grossly misjudged her strength to block it and the speed at which he was going. She let go of the bag to use both arms to block his hit, only realising her mistake when she saw the bag swing towards her from the corner of her eye.

Michael was quicker than her and he diverted his punch before it hit her, wrapping his arm around her waist, and pulling her forward out of the way of the swinging punching bag. She was pressed against his chest, listening to the rapid beat of his heart and the creaking of the chain attached to the punching bag swinging behind them. His heartbeat drowned out the sound of everyone else in the room groaning through bench presses, pounding their feet on treadmills, and throwing punches in the boxing ring. 

His vest was a little damp with sweat, making the heady, musky scent of his cologne hit her stronger. She buried her nose a little deeper into his chest and his hand around her waist held her a little tighter against him. His chest rose and fell slower with each passing second as his heart rate returned to normal. When it had grown so faint that Kelsey had to hold her breath to hear it, he took one last deep breath and pulled away from her, dropping his arm from her waist.

"Were you trying to get your wrist broken, Harris?" he asked. His voice was low, but instead of the stern tone she'd expected, he sounded more concerned than angry.

"I might not have thought that through," she said with a shy smile. 

He shook his head and pulled off his boxing gloves to wipe the sweat from his brow. "I think I've had enough. We should get back to your training."

She nodded, pulling her scrunchy from her hair before shaking it out and tying it back up again. 

"You've got most of the basics down now," Michael went on. "Blocking, defending, and counter strikes. I think you're ready to learn joint locks and how to  use them to escape an assailant's grip."

"Joint locks?" she asked with a grimace, giving her hair one last pat. "Sounds...painful."

"I'll go easy on you, don't worry. Once you learn joint locks, you'll love them. You can use them in place of standard blocks and counter strikes and if you do it right, the move disarms your assailant and gives you the chance to seriously hurt them and escape."