ONE
RILEY
Morning light cascaded through the tall windows of Riley's gym in the heart of Philadelphia as she moved with precision while demonstrating techniques to her weekly women's self-defense class. Each movement flowed into the next—economy of motion married to devastating effectiveness.
"Wrist release into knee strike," Riley called out, her voice carrying the authority of someone who'd earned every callus on her hands.
Her best friend Lila added her own flair when Riley broke free from Lila's wrist grab and pretended to knee her in the abdomen. Lila instantly hit the mat with an exaggerated groan, sending ripples of laughter through the watching women.
"See? Riley is a certified badass," Lila announced from the floor, grinning up at their students.
Riley couldn't help but smile as she looked at her students and the surrounding gym environment. This was what she'd built from nothing—a space where people learned to take up room unapologetically, and where strength wasn't something to apologize for. The students watching weren't just absorbing techniques; they were witnessing two professional kickboxerswho'd clawed their way to respect in a world that didn't hand it out freely.
As the women paired off to practice, Lila drifted closer, nudging Riley's shoulder with the casual intimacy of years of friendship.
"So," Lila's voice carried that particular tone Riley had learned to dread. "Tell me about your date last night."
Riley's exhale came sharp and quick. "Don't."
But Lila's grin only widened, immune to Riley's warning. "Come on. The suspense is killing me. Was he at least better than the guy who asked if you could 'tone it down' for dinner?"
Riley's gaze drifted to the front check-in counter where her mother Tammy was manning the desk, efficiently handling the morning rush with her characteristic warmth and no-nonsense efficiency. Her mother caught her eye and raised an eyebrow—the universal mother signal for 'we'll talk later.'
"He spent half the date bragging about his bench press numbers," Riley admitted, her voice flat. "The other half explaining how I might be 'too intense' for most men, but he was willing to give me a try."
The words tasted bitter.Try.Like she was a difficult piece of equipment someone might test out before deciding she wasn't worth the trouble.
"Please tell me you didn't smile politely when he asked for a second date," Lila said, though her expression suggested she already knew the answer.
"Of course I did. But I also told him I'd have to check my schedule." Riley's jaw tightened.
Something old and familiar twisted in her chest—that tired ache that came from repeatedly realizing she wasn't what men expected or wanted. She'd smiled through dinner while he mansplained her own sport to her and nodded when hesuggested she might consider softening her image for broader appeal.
"Please stop setting me up," Riley said, and despite her best efforts, weariness crept into her voice. "Blind dates and romance aren't for me."
Lila's teasing expression sobered. She heard the edge there, the finality that meant Riley was done playing along.
What Riley didn't say—couldn't say, even to Lila—was that love had never felt steady to her. It felt like leverage, something other people collected and eventually used against her. Her father had left when she was eight, one duffel bag and a distracted promise to call. He never did. After that, she'd learned to anchor herself because her mother was too busy playing both parents and working two jobs to catch every fall.
The memory of Trent surfaced unbidden, the way it always did when her defenses were low. He'd been different at first—one of her students, awkward but determined, showing up three nights a week until his footwork sharpened and his confidence grew. They'd connected easily. He'd admired her discipline, said he loved how focused she was, how she'd built something from nothing.
When he'd offered to help manage the gym six months into their relationship, she'd been grateful despite her wariness. It had felt like relief—someone who understood her vision, who wanted to help rather than change her.
But comfort had bred contempt. His suggestions soon became directives. He wanted to "elevate" her gym, her image,her. Soften her edge, smile more for social media, and adjust pricing structures and clientele. Change her and her gym into something more palatable and more profitable.
When she'd pushed back, he'd accused her of being stubborn and shutting him down. When she'd refused to bend in ways that felt wrong in her bones, he'd grown resentful and distant. Thefinal fight still echoed in her memory—his voice raised, telling her she'd never be successful if she couldn't adapt and couldn't change. She'd ended things that night, and he'd made sure she knew it was her fault.
Now she stood in the gym she'd insisted on running alone, six months after dumping Trent and losing her only gym manager in the process. The heavy bag by the far wall was splitting again, duct tape barely holding the seam. The second treadmill flickered like it was considering early retirement. Membership numbers had dipped without Trent handling promotions and scheduling, which meant less money flowing in when she desperately needed more.
She told herself she preferred it this way—running everything solo. Cleaner. No negotiations, no compromises, no one trying to steer her toward destinations she'd never chosen.
But exhaustion crept in around the edges like smoke under a door. She taught every class, answered every call and email, and negotiated every supplier contract. She handled marketing, maintenance, and recruitment—all while trying to maintain her own training regimen and kickboxing competition schedule.
Control was what she'd wanted, and control was what she had. The problem was that control didn't multiply hours in a day or generate money from thin air. No matter how fiercely she believed she could handle everything alone, the evidence mounted daily that belief and reality weren't always aligned.
"I know that look," Lila said softly, studying Riley's face. "You're doing the thing where you convince yourself you're better off alone."
"I am better off alone," Riley replied, but even she could hear how automatic the words sounded.