Summer POV
I watched Ezra punch the same bag for ten minutes. He hit it as if it was an opponent. Each punch and kick was personal. He wanted his opponent dead but in this case, the bag would burst open.
“Why don’t you give the poor thing a break?” I said, clearing my throat.
Ezra paused. He glanced at me before he kicked the heavy black bag.
“You should be in bed.”
“So should you, Ezra. Is this where you’re spending your nights?”
“No… doesn’t matter. I just want you to have your space.”
I didn’t want to feel the cold spot on the bed where he was supposed to be. The bed felt too big without him. He kicked and pummelled the black bag. I just stood there and traced the wooden frame.
Are we ever going to get through this?
“Go to bed, Summer,” he said, slamming into foot into the bag
