We sat on the bench where we’d sat before, the bag at our feet. There were two guys sparring in the center boxing ring. One was bleeding everywhere, but neither seemed to be letting up even a little bit. A couple of guys were leaning against some free weight equipment, chatting, their beer-and-burger bellies poking out in front of them like flags. The heavy bags were free.

Chris handed me a wrap and I started winding it around my hand. He didn’t try to help.

Wait. He didn’t try to help. Did that mean he knew I had done it before?

“So you remember bringing me here,” I said. I wrapped fast, then finished and squeezed my fist, liking the way it felt taut and solid, like a stone.

He nodded. “It’s been a good day.”

I arched one eyebrow, paused midway through wrapping the other hand. “Oh, has it now?”

He didn’t meet my eye, but I knew he could feel me staring at him. He messed up, had to unwrap a bit and rewrap. “I don’t know, maybe it’s being back at work. Jogged some things loose or something.”

“What kind of things?” Both hands wrapped, I leaned down and tightened my shoelaces, then stood and pulled off my T-shirt, revealing a plain white ribbed tank top underneath. Chris’s eyes flicked up, and then quickly down again. I could see little points of color dot the tops of his ears. I suppressed a smile.

He went back to wrapping his second hand, concentrating a little too much. Finished, he stood abruptly and shook out his arms before putting on his gloves. He hopped on his toes a few times, looking like the old Chris and not the beat-up hit-and-run victim Chris, put on his gloves, and smacked them together. “You ready?”

I had wriggled into my gloves. I liked the way they weighed down my hands, making my arms feel strong and anchored. “Always.”

We found two bags, side by side, and laid into them at the same time. I noticed that Chris’s bag moved less than mine, and when I glanced over, his teeth were gritted together with every punch. He seemed to especially favor his left side. I felt angry all over again at whoever had been behind the wheel of that Monte Carlo. They had taken something from him that he was struggling to get back, and it wasn’t just his memory.

But then he caught me looking at him and smiled wide, his eyes crinkling at the corners. He was hurt and he was struggling, but he was happy to be back in the game.