Just because Selena told me that Olive is gone doesn’t mean I have to accept it. I’ll look for her. I will find her. Fuck. She can’t be gone.

A rush of emotions washes over me, and I’m so conflicted.

I don’t know if it’s pain, rage, or regret flooding through me. Probably all three. And then it hits me what I’m feeling.

Heartbreak.

My heart hasn’t been broken before, not really. Not until Olive. I felt it crack the first time when she refused to see me after I left for my first match. I’d just turned eighteen, and I focused my mind on my career.

Then when I saw her that morning on the couch in her apartment and she yelled at me. My heart cracked some more. In Greece when she told me we weren’t right for each other—all those times left cracks. But now I fear the damn thing can’t take anymore.

My heart has only ever belonged to Olive. To everyone else, I put up walls. They don’t see the real me. I don’t let them.

They may catch glimpses, but they never see me the way Olive does.

I want to talk to Selena, but I don’t trust my voice right now. I wasn’t able to when I started recording those videos for Lark and Olive, and I wonder if Olive will even let her see them.

I hope she does, and I hope that she’s not upset by the way my voice sounds in them. Because that’s nothing compared to how my heart is breaking right now.

“All right,” I say, still choosing my words carefully as I step into the hallway. I need to come up with a game plan. Just because she’s not here doesn’t mean I won’t be able to find her. I need to get control of the situation. I hate not being the one with the power, but Olive takes that all away from me. She always has.

Fuck.

“Where is she?”

Selena looks past me as she speaks. “I don’t know.”

I wait for her to continue, but she doesn’t.

“Selena,” I press. “Where is Olive?”

“I don’t know, Axel,” she says, finally looking at me. Her eyes are so sad, and I know she’s telling the truth.

But I accuse her of lying anyway, and I turn my back as the “I don’t believe you” spills out of my mouth so she doesn’t know I’m the one lying.

I feel her hand on my back as she tries to comfort me, but I’m out of there.

Trying desperately to not be seen as running away. Why does it feel like I’m always fucking running away?

Because that’s what I’m best at.

Also hurting the people. Especially the woman I love. That’s something I’m pretty damn good at, too.

I search everywhere in town—her favorite coffee shop, the book shops she frequents. I’m just guessing, because she and I have never been together in this city. I don’t know much about where she would go here.

Then I receive a text from Selena with a list of places Olive might go, but then right after that another text comes through that says “Olive acted like she was leaving forever. I don’t think she’s going to be shopping.”

Since I don’t know what else to do, I look anyway.

And I find nothing.

Couples sit at the outside tables in the cafés, and I wish that was me and Olive.

I know she ran away because she thinks I don’t want to be with her. That I’m already over her and whoring around with other women. But I would never do that to her.

Fuck me!

I kick a potted plant as I walk past, scowling and hating how it can still be bright and sunny outside, and people can still be happy when I’ve never been so fucking miserable.

I keep looking for her, through the night and early into the next day. My feet hurt but I keep going. I only stop when a limo pulls up to me and Coach pulls me inside, telling me to get my shit together, that there’s another match coming up, and I can’t be running myself ragged.

I don’t care.

I fall asleep as soon as I hit the bed, though. Not my bed. Back in hotels again. But Coach is in the room next door and he snores loudly, and as soon as I know he’s sound asleep, I’m out the door, looking for her again.

I search for Olive the morning after. And the morning after that. Mornings blend into nights that turn into weeks …

A month of searching, and I still don’t find her.

But I refuse to give up.

All the time away from Olive has got me more down than I can ever recall feeling. And I deal with it the only way I know how—by putting on the gloves.

That feeling of loss I have every time I think of Olive and Lark is what I use to fuel my rage, and I take it out on the punching bag.

I push myself hard. That’s easy, because I don’t give a crap about myself. Every waking moment I devote to training. It’s either, running, lifting, sparring, or working on agility. Or punching that bag.

That’s what feels the best.

Beating the shit out of that canvas monster.

I’m ready for another fight. I’m dying to hurt somebody.

Sometimes I just start hitting. Screaming, cursing, shouting as loud as I can, I throw all my weight behind my fist and slam it against the bag.

“Fuck!”

Coach rushes in from the locker room.

“Axel!” he shouts, coming up from behind me and grabbing me. I yell again. I’ve lost control and now I’m lashing out at him.

He grabs my head, and we’re both shouting. He slams me against a wall, and I go limp, not because he’s beat me, but because I know I need to calm down.

“Sorry,” I pant, but he continues to hold my arms behind my back, clutching me like I’m a threat he needs to take care of.

And I am.

A threat to myself and to people around me. That’s probably what he thinks. I’m sure it’s what everyone thinks.

“I’ll stop.”

He lets me go. I turn around to face him, and he nods at me.

“So, kid,” he stretches his arms out to his sides, “I’ve got some news for you.”

“Yeah?” I ask, visually checking him out and making sure I didn’t hurt him. I don’t think so, and I stroll back over to the bag. I raise my hands in ready position again, and I’m about to start a new round of punishment.

“Yeah, but you need to calm down first.”

I drop my hands, wondering what the hell it is. Everyone knows I’m obsessed with Olive, how upset I’ve been over her. Could this have to do with her?

“Your house is up for sale again, Axel,” he says, turning to leave. He hasn’t been putting as much attention on me as he usually has. He knows I want to be alone. I just want to fight.

Eat. Sleep. Fuckin.’ I’m an animal. I want to behave like one. Not fucking socialize, be treated like a boy. I’m a man.

“I thought you’d want to know. Don’t you have a few things the owners let you keep in the garage? Maybe you want to take a nice break. Go get them.”

I ignore his suggestion and go back to punching the back.

After a minute, he gives up and goes back into the office. I wonder if he’s already given up on me.

My parents first sold the house when I took off to go work on being a boxer. We knew the people moving in though, and gave some of the money to Olive’s family to help them out. There were special provisions, and we were able to leave a few things stored there, since they were only planning to use it as a summer place.

Coach was right. My motorcycle was in the garage down there.

Now, with somebody new coming in, I’ll have to have my bike transported somehow.

Great. Another pain in my fucking ass.

Over the next few weeks I have a couple of bouts scheduled.

I’m too focused on fighting to worry about my bike. I can’t think of much besides pain and punishing my opponents in the ring.

Sweat and blood consume me.

Besides that I eat.

Sleep.

Fight.

And instead of fucking some skank, I occasionally let myself think of Olive just before my head hits the pillow, and I lose consciousness.

But I only allow myself to think of her then, right before sleep. Because if I think of her at other times of the day, my mind always goes back to the night she ran away from me for the last time. And it makes me sick.

I can’t focus on that right now.

Right now I have to focus on violence. On punishing myself for being such a fuckup. And on punishing my opponent for being stupid enough to stand in my way.

The faces of the men I fight blur together. I fight them all mechanically, with a fire in my belly that comes from the kind of pain that gnaws at your gut and never quits.

I could have been a father. Instead, I settle for being an instrument of pain.

Just as long as I can deliver that pain. I’m sick to death of receiving it.

Two more fights behind me, and all the wins I’m racking up are building me a pretty spectacular record. My only loss was at the very beginning of my career. Now Barry and Coach are talking about setting up at title fight. Maybe even a deal with one of the networks to film my training sessions beforehand.

For some reason people love to watch that shit.

In the meantime, I’ve got a short gap in my schedule.

“Go, get your fucking bike, and when you come back I’ll have your next fight all arranged,” Barry says. “We’re goin’ for the title this time!”

But I hesitate. Now that I’m back in the swing of things, I’m not sure I want the downtime. That sounds like a recipe for disaster. More time alone to start moping over Olive all over again? I don’t think so. I need to keep busy. Keep training. That’s how I’ve always done it, and it’s served me well.”

“Get the fuck outta here, kid.” Coach takes my keyring and removes my key to the gym from it. “I’ll give this to you once you get back here with that bike.”

“Are you fucking kidding with that?” I stare at him like he’s lost his mind.

Coach doesn’t meet my eye. “Hey, I’m sick of having to arrange rides for you everywhere. You’ve got a bike. Bring the damn thing up here, and you can use it to get around. Save the rest of us from having to be your car service all the time.”

“All right, geez.” I storm off. I wasn’t such a problem to them when it came time for paychecks, was I?

In the end, I get over myself and decide that Coach is right. I book a flight home, and when I get there in the middle of the afternoon, I have a cab drive me over to my old house.

I’ve spoken with the realtor, and they know I’m coming so I should be able to just let myself into the garage, get my bike and be on my way.

And once I get there, I realize why I’ve been putting this off.

Standing there, on the lawn that connects my old house and Olive’s, all the memories of the past come rushing back. I’m overcome with emotion.

I should have come back with her.

The corners of my mouth lift up thinking how amazing it would be to have Olive with me right now. How much I’d love for us to be sharing our memories with each other. With our daughter.

I swallow hard. That’s not the way it worked out. Might as well get on with the job at hand. Retrieve the damn bike, so I can get out of here.

Walking to the side of my house toward the garage, I’m just about to open the door, when I turn to take one more look at where my precious Olive grew up.

Just then the front door of the house opens.

I freeze, my eyes glued to it. I know Olive doesn’t live there anymore, and her father passed away so I’m not expecting him.

But what I do see is the most beautiful sight I’ve ever seen in my entire life.

My precious daughter Lark skips out the front door, holding the hand of my other most beloved girl—Olive.

“Come on, Mommy. You’re too slow!”

And maybe what I do next isn’t playing fair, but I’m tired of losing in this game of love. The last thing I want to do is spook Olive and have her run back inside and refuse to see me.

So I play a little dirty, because everything is on the line.

They say all is fair in love and war, and I finally intend to win this war.

“Hey there!” I wave and call to them. “Lark, come here.”