News of his father’s sudden departure had spread like wildfire - which was an ironic metaphor, considering what’d happened to the junkyard the very next day. Officially, the inferno that had torn through the property had been started by lightning. Unofficially, a jilted witch was probably to blame, but if anyone actually knew the truth, no one was coming forward. In a place like Spiritvale, that was for the better; prying eyes were the last thing anyone here wanted. Still, Roman couldn’t shake the disquiet that had lodged itself like hooks beneath his skin. Unable to sleep well or concentrate on his freelance work, he hadn’t wanted to worry Tara with his restlessness, so instead, he’d fired up his truck and headed for the only place he’d ever been able to find any peace.
It was barely seven in the morning, but the gym’s doors were open. Cyrus was around somewhere, probably in the back office, but Romy hadn’t spent much time talking to his former boxing instructor since his return, and today probably wouldn’t be the day that changed. Still plugged into his earbuds, he threw his gym bag on the metal rack and taped up his knuckles as he’d done thousands of times before. Pulling on his gloves, he flexed his fingers against the leather and felt the blood-stained bands bite into the webbing. It was a familiar pain, as reassuring to him as the tension between his shoulder blades as he began to work the nearest heavy bag. The rhythmic pounding of his warm-up exercises echoed through the empty room as he kept pace with the music in his ears, aware of the beat, the burn and precious little else.
Unfortunately, it wasn’t long till even the music wasn’t reaching him anymore. His hits became harder as his mind wandered, his eyes darkening in tandem with his thoughts. The bag shuddered and swung, rattling on its chain from the impact of his repeated strikes, till one kick finally connected with such power that the leather split and sand poured out onto the weathered wooden floor. That, at least, broke his single-minded focus, and he ripped the headphones from his ears in frustration before turning away. It wouldn’t be the first time he owed Cyrus a new bag. But before he could even consider what he was going to say to the older wolf, he noticed he had company. Jaw setting, Romy eyed the newcomer in silence for a moment, then dropped his gaze down to his hands, ignoring the blood between his fingers as he began removing his gloves.
It didn’t take long for news of Vaughn’s leaving to reach Nico. The junk yard had gone up in flames and Rayne had cracked a guy’s skull open on Xander’s bar top. Two completely different incidents but both tied back to the gun runner cutting and running. Nico had heard about it all. Of course, he had. Everyone was talking about the ‘lightning strike’ that sparked the fire only, to Nico’s knowledge, there had been no lightning in the area. He knew better than to ask what happened, he knew better than to wonder where Vaughn had gone. The guy was sketchy as shit and not one Nico ever went out of his way to interact with. He saw him around the ring, exchanged pleasantries, but fundamentally, the two were night and day.
His knowledge on Vaughn leaving, though, had come first had when a rather pissed off blonde vampire showed up at his home, demanded he get his ass in gear with regard to training Roman and then proceeded to Storm past him to talk to her best friend. Nico weathered Rayne’s storm better than most in his position because he had known far worse than the temperamental woman in his 500 years. Nico had taken her entry into his house as a queue to get the hell out and go find the kid. He’d heard through the grape vine (the grape vine being Rae) that the boy liked to work out at Cyrus’ gym and so Nico had taken a chance and stopped in there. Even if it hadn’t paid off, which it had, Nico would have been happy to get in a nice long work out.
His gym bag, which was always kept in the trunk of his SUV, hit the floor just as the broken bag spilled the sand all over the floor. He said nothing, watching the boy as he realized Nico was standing there and ducked his head. He had good form, Nico couldn’t really criticize that. “It had it coming,” he said eyes down cast to the floor where bag spilled its grainy insides. “Want a spotter for the next one?” Probably not, but if Nico pushed, Roman would find he had no choice.
