Eight hours ago, I last had a drink of alcohol, and I know the recommendations are not to breastfeed your child until four hours after drinking any liquor, so it's more than okay to feed him. But the problem is, my breasts are full, leaking to be exact, Wyatt's teething, and my nipples are sore as hell after Gunner got a hold of them.

Sigh...

Just as I sat on the couch to feed Wyatt, I breathed a sigh of relief after remembering I had pumped extra milk for Nikki the night before. I looked down at Wyatt and cooed, "I know you're hungry, but your daddy decided to be a little rough with me last night, and I'm a bit sore, so instead of getting it straight from the tap, you'll be getting a bottle this morning."

While the milk was warming, I thought about Walter and his alcohol consumption the night before, so I grabbed Wyatt out of his bumbo, then headed to Walter's room to check on him. When I opened the door and saw his eyes were closed and he wasn't moving, I quietly walked over to him to see if I could see the bedding move up and down to make sure he was still breathing.

He was, and he looked so peaceful sleeping that I didn't want to wake him, so I turned around to head out, but then Wyatt saw Walter. He whined, his back arched, and he tried wiggling out of my arms to get to him. So before Wyatt woke him, I hurried out of the room.

Walter and Wyatt are incredibly close—like two peas in a pod. Wyatt immediately took to Walter after he was born, and every time he cries and hears Walter's voice, he stops crying, smiles, and coos.

Wyatt absolutely loves Walter.

And I know why he loves him just as much as I do. He's warm, funny, kind, knowledgeable, and loving. And he has a lot of love to give to everyone who adores him just the same.

Who wouldn't love Walter? Besides, the jackasses Cole, Stewart, and his two brothers, Torrence and Hunter. I'm glad they're out of the picture. And thankfully, they're all where they belong—prison and hell.

While feeding Wyatt, a knock at the door caught my attention. I looked away from Wyatt and sighed as I looked over at Gunner. I knew it was Neron after warning me the night before that he'd be here bright and early. And I had been hoping that he was only teasing since I didn't have a match anytime soon.

"Will you let Neron in?"

Gunner chuckled as he stood from the couch. "Have fun with him this morning," he smiled, knowing what I was in for and how much of a treat it'll be—a torturing treat.

"Morning, Neron," I said with a forced smile as he sat next to me.

"Good morning, sunshine," he gleamed, looking at me like he expected me to be hurting from a hangover. "How are you feeling this fine morning?"

"I feel fine. But my nipples are fucking sore. You didn't happen to bring any lidocaine with you. Did you?"

Gunner gave me a disapproving glare, a scowled look that told me he disliked me talking to Neron about my nipples. But I didn't care—they fucking hurt, and I felt like relaxing today. After working as hard as I did these past six months, I assumed he'd give me a break and allow me to take a day off from working out.

Neron's eyes widened, and he nearly choked when he spoke. "You're what?"

"Wyatt's teething," Gunner told him for me before I admitted the real reason behind the soreness. He isn't lying. Wyatt is teething, but it's Gunner's fault for them being sore, disciplining me for getting pissy with him. I may have asked for the punishment, but he could have done it differently. Especially since he knows I'm nursing a teething baby.

Wyatt already has two teeth, and two more are coming in. That's already all day long nipple torture.

"Put some ice cubes on them. That'll numb it up," Neron hinted, looking at Gunner with a shit-eating grin—smiling as if he knew the real reason behind it. Ice would work. But it would also harden my nipples, and the next thing I'll see is all the men around here staring at my chest with their tongues hanging out and drooling while watching me work out.

"Never mind. Forget I even brought it up."

Neron chuckled at my remark. "Anyway, I've got Maxwell and Xavier coming over also," he warned with a devilish smile, looking thrilled he'll be torturing me today and happy to have the boys help with the punishment. "After Wyatt, your next champion, is done feeding, I want you to meet the boys and me down in your training room."

Ah, Phooey...

"They're not even here."

Neron looked at his watch. Then, he widely smiled as he looked back at me. "They'll be here in about two minutes."

My upper lip curled in disdain. Neron had to of known I wanted a day to recuperate and to give my body a rest. But no. He has to be an ass, wishing to work me hard because he allowed me to drink alcohol the night before.

The part that upset me is that I never planned to drink anything because of his rules. I only drank three shots because he pushed and insisted that I do—saying that it would be the one and only time he'd allow it.

He was testing me!

Ugh, what an asshole!

It was all a ploy for him to come over. Possibly because he had nothing else to do, and he felt like being a Mr. tough guy today.

I looked at Gunner. "When's your next fight again?"

"Three weeks."

My eyes narrowed. "Why aren't you doing any training if your's is in three weeks and mine isn't for another month and a half? You can go train with Neron, and I'll take a day of rest."

"I'm not worried about Gunner. He's down to only fighting a couple of times a year. Whereas, you, my dear, an amateur that you are, will be fighting a lot more until you're established and well-known."

"I'm already well known. I'm Gunner's wife," I retorted. I don't know why I'm objecting to this. Boxing is what I want to do—just one day, one day, I'd like a break so I can spend quality time and play with my little guy.

Neron stood tall. "See you in your training clothes in-" Neron looked at Gunner, and then he raised his arm, slid his sleeve up, and looked at his watch. "Ten minutes."

"I have to check on Walter."

"Ten minutes."

***

"Why am I sticking my hand in a bag full of dry rice, grabbing a hand full, and then squeezing it? What's that going to do?" I asked Neron as he held the bag for me, watching how I gripped the rice.

His eyes shot up to mine. "It's to help strengthen your grip and forearm muscles. That's why. Now switch hands and repeat," he ordered sternly.

At first, I thought it was silly. But when I started feeling the strain on my forearms and the muscles tightening in my hands, I understood why Neron made me do the different exercises. It's a clever idea, I guess.

After finishing the rice exercises, Neron walked me over to the speed bag, instructing me to start punching the bag with my right hand and that I was to switch to my left after a minute.

After about ten minutes, he ordered me to switch it up. "Now alternate your right and left hand.."

While punching the speed bag, a vision of my father's wife flashed before my eyes once again, angering me, so I started hitting it faster. All the wrath I felt towards her, I took out on the bag as I was yesterday when Nikki walked in on me, doing it to the heavy bag.

I know, I know. After twenty years, you'd think I'd let it go like everyone wanted me to. And I somewhat did for a while. But because it had bothered me as much as it did, and how she was the reason my father walked out on me, my mother, and my brother, I just couldn't let it go.

All I did so people would get off my back was I quit talking about it—making people think I did let it go.

"Woah, Woah, Woah!" Neron yelled, extending his hand in between me and the bag. "Aria, I said that's enough."

I didn't know how long I was punching the bag, but after hearing Neron yelling for me to stop, and how his arm blocked me from beating the bag, I stopped. Then, when he lowered his arm, I shot my eyes from him to the bag and punched it a few more times until he ordered me to knock it off. I jumped back and lowered down, pressing my fists to my knees, and took deep breaths.

"Where were you just now?" Neron asked, bending down, asking that I look at him; when I finally did, he informed me about what I was doing. "I kept telling you to stop, and you continued hitting the bag like you're pissed off at the world."

I'm pissed, not at the world, but at someone who enjoyed ruining people's lives.

I took one long, deep breath and then stood, shaking my head. "Nowhere. I was just in my own little world," I lied, not wishing to get into it with Neron.

He frowned, gripped hold of his hip, and scratched the back of his head, looking at me like he was trying to figure out what I had on my mind.

Please stop trying to guess what's going on in my mind, Neron; you'll never figure it out.

Finally, he threw his hands up and sighed, "It's time for warmups," he said, a hint of disappointment in his voice. "I want you to start by doing ten minutes of jump-roping. After that, I want you to do twenty squats, twenty pushups, and then forty crunches. Afterward, I want you to do three-minute rounds of shadowboxing, five times with thirty-second rests between each exercise; jab, cross and hook punches."

Neron thinks that by working my ass hard, he'll be making me sweat out all the alcohol I drank the night before. The funny thing is. I didn't drink like he thinks I did. And the alcohol I drank most likely escaped my pores after Gunner and I fucked all night.

"Now, I want you to go over to the heavy boxing bag," Neron demanded when I finished my last shadowboxing punch.

I sauntered over to the heavy bag, wishing he'd end the nonsense punishment, but I knew that wasn't happening any time soon, so instead of making a big deal out of the situation, I continued doing as Neron asked me to do.

Neron stood behind the bag and held it while instructing me on the following training exercises he wanted to see me do. I may not be in mixed martial arts fighting just yet, but he wants to see me doing some side-kick punch combos. So that must mean the next thing he has in store for me after I master the boxing competitions is signing me up for what Gunner is in—UFC/MMA fighting.

Neron had me doing cross punches for twenty minutes using my right and left hands, side-kick combos, lunge, kick and jab, cross, and hooks. After the twenty minutes were up, he had me alternate ten pushups and ten punches, and then he had me subtract one repetition from the previous number until I finished with one pushup and one punch.

After that insane workout, I'm now heavily drenched in sweat—like a whore in church.

The next thing he had me doing was weight lifting with Xavier and Maxwell—something I was definitely in no mood to do. And I let him know it by telling him he was a woman abuser.

He's not one, but since he calls me a man beater, I've decided to start calling him it, anyway, just to piss him off—and I did. And he taught me a lesson for my choice of words by working me two hours longer than he originally planned.

That'll teach me...

Gunner did mention how he needed to work with me on my short temper, and if this is the punishment I'll get every time I blow a fuse, I better learn how to bite my tongue and fast.

I could hardly move after working out, lifting weights, and sparing with all three of my trainers. I was sore, tired, worn out, and ready to soak in the tub.

Finally, Neron told me my training was done for the day, so as I headed out of the room, I raised my hand, then flipped the bird, groaning, "This is for you, Neron."

He chuckled, and I continued walking out of the room, ignoring that he was laughing at my hand gesture and how I was walking heavy-legged.

"Ice bath will work wonders!" Neron yelled, thinking he was being funny.

He can kiss my ass.

***

I needed to reduce my muscle pain and soreness from Neron's intense workout session. And to get the relief I desperately needed to reduce the inflammation, I knew taking a ten-minute cryotherapy bath would help satisfy my muscles. It wasn't my favorite thing to do, but it works.

After my ice bath, I needed to warm up. So I stood underneath a lukewarm shower. And as the water trickled down my body and warmed me, I closed my eyes and thought back to one of the last times I saw my father.

~~~

"Daddy, can I have some cotton candy?"

"Sure, you can. Which color would you like?"

"Pink."

"Justin, would you like some cotton candy?"

"Yeah. But I don't want pink. Pink's for girls. I'd rather have blue," Justin told my father before looking at me and sticking his tongue out.

While we stood in line for our cotton candy, I turned around to face the rides and scanned all the moving carnival rides until one ride caught my eye. My eyes widened. I smiled, and with my eyes on the ride, I tugged on my father's hand. "Daddy, daddy? Can we go on that ride over there?"

He looked down at me and then looked in my direction, covering his hand over his eyes to block the sun. "Which one are you asking to go on, hun?"

My eyes never left the ride spinning around and upside down while in the air. I smiled even wider. "That one there! The one in the air that's upside down and spinning in all different directions!"

Justin laughed and shoved me. "Yeah, right, Aria. You'll be crying the entire ride. You'll also throw up all over everyone the second they have us up in the air."

"I will not," I argued, shoving him back and pushing him harder than I wanted to, where he fell to the ground.

"That's enough, Aria," my father scolded. "If you two can't behave, we're going home."

"He started it!" I squealed, crossing my arms.

"How much do you want to bet you'll puke?" My brother whispered into my ear.

"One hundred million dollars," I emphasized, looking serious when I said it.

"You don't even have that kind of money."

"No. But when I win, I will."

"What if you lose?"

"I won't," I huffed.

Justin laughed hysterically. "Okay, Aria, whatever you say. How will you pay me the money you don't have when you lose?"

"I'm not losing. You are," I argued as dad handed us our bags of cotton candy.

"You're a wimp, Aria. Don't kid yourself," Justin quietly said in my ear as we headed to the ticket booth. "We all know you're a weak little girl who'll end up being a scaredy-cat the rest of her life. Jesus, Aria, you're always puking on rides. You're the only one I know who gets motion sickness from the littlest things. So what makes you think you'll handle this ride?"

"Shut up, Justin. That was a long time ago," I retorted while telling myself it was something I could do.

Dad took our bags of cotton candy while we stood in line for the ride, and then he headed to where all the other parents were standing, watching their kids on the ride.

Justin continued teasing me, claiming I wouldn't be able to handle the ride, and once we got to the front of the line, Justin looked at me and grinned a shit-eating grin. "Last chance, Aria. Do you still want to go on?"

"Yes. Why wouldn't I?"

"Because," he greatly emphasized. "You're too much of a chicken. You can't handle anything."

"Can too."

"Can not."

Justin argued back and forth with me until the carnival worker opened the gate and reached out his hand, asking for our tickets. I handed him my tickets, then excitedly ran over to the ride, chose my seat, and smiled while buckling myself in. After the seats filled up, the carnival worker came over to Justin and me, made sure our seatbelts were tight, and then lowered the bar over our shoulders, locking it into place.

The moment the ride lifted, my stomach sunk, and I quickly looked over at my father. Then I looked back at Justin after seeing his back was facing us and that he was on the phone. "I changed my mind. I don't want to ride this anymore."

Justin's head flung back, and he laughed. 'HA! HA! HA!' "I told you! It's too late now; you're stuck on here!"

Just when Justin finished making fun of me, the ride took off, spinning and twirling us in different directions.

And I ended up doing precisely what Justin said I'd do.

I puked...

***

"You look drained," Walter alleged, his eyebrows forming to one as he analyzed my face while I exercised his legs.

"I'm just extremely sore. Neron thought he'd be funny earlier to work my body harder than normal, and then he worked me even more after I accused him of being a woman abuser."

As I pushed his leg closer to him, he reached for my hand, pulled me to him, and stared me in the eyes for a minute before saying, "You're lying to me."

"I'm not lying," I disclosed. "I did call Neron that, and he did punish me today, ask Gunner; he'll tell you," I pleaded, looking away from his curious eyes and over at Wyatt.

"Liar, liar, pants on fire," he groaned.

I giggled and looked back at him. "Are you twelve?"

"I wish I was. Why do you ask?"

"Because you sounded like a twelve-year-old kid when you called me a liar."

"You are a liar. Don't you think I can see behind your beautiful blue eyes? I know, see, and sense everything... Plus, while you were taking a bath, I overheard Neron talking to Gunner. He couldn't get you to stop punching the speed bag after asking you to stop. And then he told Gunner that when he tried getting you to stop, you punched the bag even faster and angrier. So be honest with me, Aria; what happened there?"

I got out of his grip, lowered his leg, lifted his other leg, and started exercising it. "I was pissed."

"At what?"

"Him," I lied, hoping he'd stop questioning me. But knowing Walter, I'm sure he'll catch me on that lie, too.

He always does.

"Liar..."

I knew it.

I've never understood how Walter can read me so well. And he's done it since the first day I met him. Hell, I can't even figure myself out sometimes.

Maybe I can change the subject? But because Walter's a pushy old man who refuses to stop bugging me for answers he wishes to know, he'll keep pushing until I admit to him what's bothering me. "I don't want to talk about it, Walter. How about we talk about you? How are you feeling today?"

He groaned, then sighed while shaking his head. "I was feeling absolutely wonderful until the beautiful woman exercising two out of my three non-working legs started lying to me."

Three legs?

Ugh.

At least Walter's still the same serious and funny old pervert I've grown to love. As much as I'd like to fill him in about what I've been thinking heavily lately, I can't. It would not only disappoint him, but it would also hurt him. Walter's the one who's been more like a father to me, far more than my actual father ever had been.

I walked to the side of him and grabbed hold of his hand while resting my other hand on top of his. And when I met my eyes with his, I gave him an assuring smile. "I didn't start lying to you. I've had a lot of things on my mind, that's all. It's nothing that you need to be concerned about. I promise."

His hand slipped away from beneath mine, and then he reached to my chin and gripped it, guiding me closer to his face. "If you say so. But I want you to know that I'm not stupid. I know something is going on with you and how something heavy is weighing on your mind. So when you're ready to talk about it, I'll be there to listen, and I'll give you the best advice you'll need to hear. Sound good?"

I nodded slowly.

This only makes me feel worse that I'm lying to him.

He gently patted my cheek and smiled a persuading smile, almost like he very well knows what's been bothering me. And he's doing and saying everything he can, hoping that it's good enough for me to open up to him.

His eyes grew more serious. "Can I add one more thing?"

"Sure."

"Your dad may have walked away from you and Justin, but I will bet you my dentures that not a day went by where he never thought about you and your brother."

I sighed.

I had a feeling he'd know I've been thinking about my father. It must be written all over my face. Neron picked up on it earlier but didn't say anything, and now Walter's talking about it.

I walked over to pick Wyatt up off the ground and then balanced him on the side of my hip as I walked back over to Walter. "I'll have to disagree with you on that one. If my father were ever thinking about us, he would have attempted to let us know we were on his mind. Someway, somehow, he would have done just that—like a normal father who loved their kids would."

I helped Walter into his wheelchair, and when he held up his arms, I knew that meant he wanted to hold Wyatt. So I set him on Walter's lap and smiled. "Wyatt loves you, too, grandpa Walter."

"And don't you forget it," he responded as I started pushing him down the hallway. He tilted his head back, asking that I stop and look at him. "You're right, Aria. I could very well be wrong. But then again, think about everything I've ever told you. When have you ever known me to be wrong?"

Hope you enjoyed the chapter!❣❣❣