Chapter 321: Restless Hands
The days passed, and with each one Joe found it stranger that he hadn’t heard a single word from Max. The Bloodline Group was running smoothly, but most of the orders seemed to come from Wolf or Montez now. They oversaw operations, organized tasks, and kept people busy.
Joe, one of the original Rangers, found himself drifting. Doing a little bit of nothing.
He sat on the edge of his bed, phone in hand, thumb hovering over the screen. "It feels weird to contact him first," he muttered. "But at the same time... what kind of friend doesn’t even check in?"
His pay had arrived as expected, so at least that part of things was steady. But that wasn’t what weighed on him. What gnawed at him was the silence. After everything Max had been through, after everything they had been through, the quiet felt wrong.
And whenever he thought about breaking it, one memory stopped him, the gunshot.
Joe tried not to replay it, but the sound haunted him. It rattled around his skull more than anything else ever had. Not Sam’s death. Not Jay’s. Those hurt deeper, they cut his heart open, but those had still felt like things out of their control. This was different.
This wasn’t losing a life. This was taking
one.Maybe it was because he had been there, standing so close, part of the chain of events that led to it. Maybe that was why the scene stuck so stubbornly in his mind. He didn’t hate Max for it, he knew that much. But facing him? That was going to take time.
Restlessness settled into his bones. So Joe did what he always did when he couldn’t sit still, he went to the gym.
It was the middle of the day, summer break in full swing. The streets were crowded with kids, laughter spilling from every corner. With no school to tie them down, Brinehurst felt alive in a different way, like the whole city had been let off its leash.
Inside the Bloodline Gym, the familiar clang of weights and rhythm of gloves meeting pads steadied Joe’s nerves. He was even happier to see Steven already there. Without wasting a moment, the two fell into training together.
Joe never slacked. Not once. If anything, he pushed harder now, improving piece by piece, day by day. He could feel it, his body getting sharper, his fists landing cleaner. It was like being a musician who’d finally reached the point where the songs he heard on television didn’t seem impossible anymore. Growth came in bursts, and right now he was in the middle of one.
This time, instead of drilling stamina and jabs, they shifted focus. A third skill. Something new to sharpen. Joe thrived when he trained one thing at a time, even if he didn’t always know how useful it would be in the long run. Steven had a vision, and Joe had chosen to trust it.
After their session, Joe collapsed onto the mat, sweat dripping from his chin. He lay back, chest rising and falling, cooling down. Steven, on the other hand, kept moving. His own training wasn’t about adding new tricks, it was about rebuilding. Getting his old body back.
And Steven didn’t mind talking while he worked. In fact, for him it was part of the test. If he could keep a conversation going while pushing his limits, it meant his recovery was moving in the right direction. During the last fight a few of the students had gotten seriously hurt. Out of those they were the ones that also decided to leave the Bloodline group, realising just how dangerous life really was going to be.
If he was his former self he could have helped them, part of being in the group was his wish to help the young ones around him get hurt as little as possible.
"So you don’t know what to do with yourself," Steven said between sets. "That’s normal. People get restless, especially after adrenaline spikes like the ones you’ve had. Big events keep your blood pumping. Then suddenly it’s quiet, and it feels wrong."
Joe rubbed his face with a towel. "Restless is one way to put it."
"Well," Steven continued, "there are options. Plenty of Bloodline gyms across Brinehurst now. I even heard they might expand into the rest of the city. You could run one. Become a manager. Or a trainer."
Joe frowned. "You think I’m good enough for that?"
Steven snorted. "Good enough to run the basics, sure. Get people moving, keep the staff in order. That’s easy. But coaching fighters? No. Not yet. You’d need more experience in the ring first. But listen, I meant what I said before, you’ve got real talent. More than me. If you keep pushing, you could be a professional boxer. Hell, maybe even a world champion one day."
Joe considered it for all of two seconds before waving him off. "Nah."
Steven shrugged but pressed on. "Even if you don’t chase the belt, the matches, the training, the grind, it’ll make you stronger. That helps you, and it helps the group."
Joe sat up, shaking his head slowly. "That’s not it. It’s not about the training. It’s just... since we haven’t heard from Max in a while, I feel like when he comes back, he’s going to need us. Like whatever he’s doing right now, it’s bigger than what we’ve seen so far. I just can’t stop wondering, what happened at that meeting of his? Do you think it’s about his family?"
"Definitely." Steven let out a short laugh, grabbing his water bottle. "Rich people problems. I wonder what those even look like. Because if I was rich? I wouldn’t have problems."
Joe smirked, throwing the towel at him. "Yeah, right. You’d still have the same problem you’ve always had."
Steven raised a brow. "And what’s that supposed to mean?"
"Getting a girlfriend."
Joe grinned as Steven rolled his eyes and shook his head, but for the first time in days, the weight on Joe’s chest felt just a little lighter.