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The lighting in the boxing gym was the worst.
Simon had been telling Will to change the overhead light for months now, with no success. What started as a casual, brotherly suggestion had rather unfortunately evolved into a customer demand—one almost armed with a threat to switch gyms.
Over a dumb light.
Simon was well aware of how it sounded. Which was precisely why the silent threat lived only in his unsettled mind. He cursed the offending fixture every time he walked in, but as soon as he threw the first punch, he felt better. And if that punch landed against Will himself, it was particularly satisfying.
Simon had been boxing for as long as he could remember. If he counted the punches he had thrown in elementary school when someone made fun of his stutter, he had started even younger. He knew Will would disagree. He would say something about how boxing was a disciplined and strategic art form, not pure raw aggression. Simon would then nod and ultimately concede to his point.
He actually liked that about it. It was more than a cathartic release—mastering complex techniques while following strict rules made boxing deeply rewarding for him. It also had helped build his confidence and self-esteem throughout the years.
Maybe a bit too well, some would say.
And that had mostly been true in his adult life.
Until the last couple of years.
Not that anyone would notice. On the outside, his demeanor had remained much the same. Except this time his silent, observant nature—often misinterpreted as arrogance or pride—was not about carefully selecting his words to ensure fluency.
It was about the creeping fear that he was becoming the very man he had once vowed never to be like, and being too afraid to let anyone see it.
The locker room was emptier than usual—or at least emptier than his usual time. He enjoyed working out after work to release the stress of the day, though today it was his turn to pick up Auggie from daycare, so he had decided to go early and get it done first thing in the morning.
When he first moved out, he only had Auggie every other weekend. Daphne insisted he was too young to be apart from her for longer periods of time. Now that Auggie was three, Simon had fought to have him during the week as well.
It was kind of funny how the fighting had not stopped after the divorce, only the reasons they fought about.
Simon sat on the bench, wrapping his knuckles in athletic tape. The faint sound of steel lockers opening and closing seemed louder without the typical chatter to muffle it. He kept his gaze lowered, not focusing anywhere in particular or paying attention to what he was doing. It was automatic now.
And that was how he felt most of the time—just going through the motions.
Except when he was with Auggie. There was nothing predictable about parenting a toddler.
“Uh, are you lost?”
The voice shook him from his thoughts. It was too sweet for this space, and too soft for the exposed concrete walls surrounding them.
“What?” He asked, confused, and looking up from his seat. But he couldn’t quite see her—that dumb overhead light blinding him.
“I did not take you for a peeping Tom, Basset.” She crossed her arms, waiting. “This is the ladies’ locker room.”
He stopped blinking and finally recognized her.
Penelope Featherington.
Simon had known Penelope for several years now. Agatha Danbury was the senior advisor to Mayor Charlotte Queen, and Penelope interned for his godmother when Charlotte was running for office. Later, she was brought on as a policy specialist—something he was keenly aware of, since his law firm held a contract with City Hall. They often exchanged work-related emails and occasionally ran into each other at civic events.
But he knew very little about her on a personal level, which was why he was surprised to find her standing in front of him in his boxing gym, claiming he was the one in the wrong place.
“I assure you this is not the ladies’ locker room,” he chuckled, shaking his head. “I have been coming here since—”
“Pen, I was looking for you—” Alice Mondrich said as she walked in, unaware she was interrupting. “Simon? What the hell?”
Penelope smirked, far too satisfied about being right, and Simon covered his face, embarrassed.
“Clearly this is far too early for me. I apologize, ladies,” he said, clicking his tongue as he stood and prepared to leave.
The two women resumed talking.
“Hey, Alice. Is everything alright?” Penelope asked.
“Will’s not feeling well this morning, so we’ll have to reschedule your private boxing session. Sorry for the late notice. You know he would not skip a workday unless he was basically dying.”
Simon’s ear perked up at that. In all the years he had known them, he could not remember a single day when Will was not at the gym.
“What’s wrong? Does he need to go to the doctor? I can take him,” Simon offered without hesitation.
“Thanks, Simon. We went last night, and he’s properly medicated. He just needs to rest—which he will hate to know when he wakes up. I just came by to set things up for the day and then I’ll head back home to look after him.”
He gave her a small smile, one cut short by the unexpected tightness in his chest.
Fifteen years and three children later, Will and Alice still took care of each other and loved each other deeply. Simon had never really desired to get married or have children, but seeing the Mondriches happy and supportive marriage had given him the push to take the plunge when he did.
Now the ache that caught him off guard was not for the life he had and was no longer his.
It was for the hope and courage he had lost.
“I’m so sorry, Alice. I hope he feels better soon,” Penelope said, placing a hand on Alice’s arm and giving it a gentle squeeze. “No worries about the session. I’ll just work out on my own.”
“How long have you been training?” Simon cut in. “I don’t remember seeing you here before.”
“It’s been two months now, I believe?” Penelope twisted her lip upward as she thought, and he could not recall another time he had ever noticed how her lips moved like he was now.
“That is… not very long to train on your own. You could get hurt,” Simon warned, raising a brow.
“I won’t. Plus, I’m already here…”
Simon was about to argue back like the good lawyer he was when Alice stepped in.
“He is right, Pen. Simon, why don’t you train her today? That way no one gets hurt or wastes their trip.”
He waited for Penelope to protest the suggestion, but she simply nodded, pursing her lips in agreement. He was not sure why he kept staring at her mouth all of a sudden.
He really needed to go out more. He had not been on a date since the divorce, and it was beginning to show.
“I, uh…” He scratched the back of his neck, scrambling. “Sure. Why not.”
—
After warming up for a few minutes, Simon and Penelope stood to the side of the ring, ready to start. Sweat was already dripping from his forehead and it could not have been from light shadowboxing and arm circles alone. He was actually kind of nervous. All his years of training, and he had never taught anyone before. This should be interesting, he thought to himself.
“Alright, let’s keep it simple with some mitt work today,” he said, holding up the cushioned pads. “I will walk you through some punching techniques and put together a combo.”
“Sounds good, Coach.” Penelope smiled, taking a deep breath and getting into position.
“Okay, relax your stance a bit. I’m not wearing gloves. I’m not here to attack you.”
“Sorry. I get into fight mode automatically,” she said, rolling her shoulders and adjusting her form. “I started training right around the time one of the Assembly Members tried to block my safe streets policy. Agatha suggested punching a bag would do me more good than punching his face, so she recommended the gym.”
“Ah, that makes perfect sense. Assembly Members will do that to you more often than not,” he agreed, smiling. “You look good. I mean…your body…uh, your form looks good now.”
Simon knew he was officially nervous when his stutter crept in. In his defense, he had never seen Penelope in anything other than business casual and meticulously put together for her very public job. Now she was wearing leggings and a sports bra with a loose tank top over it, her hair in a ponytail with a few stray strands framing her face, and it was…distracting.
But he needed to focus. If he made Penelope late for work, Agatha would come down hard on him.
“Round one—let’s focus on the jab,” he started. “Give me one… Good. Move your feet after every punch. Jab.” He moved away, demonstrating. “Move forward. I’ll adjust to keep you moving. When I raise the pad and call it, you throw another. Jab.”
They repeated it a few times, moving together.
“Good. Jab… Nice and long.”
Penelope snickered and complied. Simon rolled his eyes but smiled. “Jab. Jab. Jab. Keep it balanced. Don’t open your legs too wide.”
She laughed again. “I’m so sorry. I promise I’m better than a boy in puberty. It doesn’t sound that…suggestive when Will says it.”
Simon raised a brow, smiling to himself. He was pleased to know that it probably meant she was not lusting after his married friend—and even more pleased that maybe she was lusting after him. He decided not to read too much into it and just play along. Suddenly, he was not as nervous anymore.
“I tend to have that effect,” he smirked. “No flirting with the instructor, Featherington. It won’t make me go easy on you.”
“Flirting? I was not—”
“Jab, jab.” He continued. “Front foot first forward, back foot first going back. Jab.”
Penelope kept moving and punching, her eyes not leaving his. It was the nature of the sport, but it affected him all the same. First her lips, now her eyes—blue and bright, and not even the terrible lighting could dull their sparkle. She was enjoying this. And so was he.
Then the wicked part of him wanted to see just how dark those blue eyes could get.
“You are doing good. My shirt will be soaked with sweat in no time if you keep up the pace,” he teased.
Penelope swallowed but did not back down. “I know a challenge when I hear one. Wanna bet I can get you all sweaty by the end of the session?”
It was his turn to laugh, like his brain was not the one fully matured now.
“What are we betting?”
“If I win, you take me out for drinks after the next Assembly Plenary session,” Penelope proposed. “I’m going to need it if they try to launch another pointless investigation.”
Simon was taken aback by her suggestion, impressed by her boldness all the same. He did not expect her to ask that. She had to know that his schedule was insane, even more so with Auggie staying with him more often. Penelope was also a lot younger than him—even younger than Daphne was. And she definitely knew that he was divorced, and had barely made it to three years being married.
Most days, he felt lacking and like a failure. He wished things had been different, including himself.
But when she smiled at him like that… maybe he was not that terrible after all.
“Done,” he said, with a conviction and something close to excitement he had not felt in a long time.
“What about you? What do you want if you win?” she asked, extending her hand for a shake.
“You take me out for drinks after the Assembly Plenary,” he replied.
She smiled. “Well played, Coach.”
“We are just getting started, Featherington.”