glanced into the workout room where Reed was throwing punches at the swinging bag with the fuel of a dozen men. Lingering for a beat, I watched him move. Watched his arms fly left and right, pummeling the synthetic leather with fury, power, weakness, and all the same things I felt brewing inside of me. He pressed his forehead to the bag, stifling its movement with both hands as he went still. Then his eyes lifted in my direction. Eyebrows pinched together, face flushed and lined with beads of sweat, he sent me a tortured look as I hovered near the main door with my fingers curled around the
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