The worst part for Byron wasn’t the pain.
It wasn’t the aching in his chest or the sick twist in his gut when he saw Brandon place a hand on her back. It wasn’t even the way his hands shook at night when he gripped the edge of his mattress too tightly to keep from dreaming of her.
It was the restraint.
Every. Single. Day.
During training, he was faster. Stronger. He could’ve beaten Judd blindfolded. But he didn’t. He let himself lose. Let bruises bloom on purpose.
The others noticed, which was okay with him. He needed to seem weak.
“Off your game lately,” Damien Kelly teased during drills.
“He’s still feeling sorry for himself,” his brother had laughed.
Byron didn’t reply. He gritted his teeth and dusted himself off. He played the part. Every blow he didn’t throw tore at him more
