Dark Awakening: Echoes of Destiny (The Children Of The Gods #88)

51. Rob

51

ROB

R ob lay sprawled on his bed, staring blankly at the television screen. The romcom playing was one he'd seen before with Lynda, back when things were good between them, and the familiar scenes only served to magnify the turmoil of recent memories, bringing a fresh wave of pain and anger.

What was she doing now?

Was she happy?

The urge to check her social media was almost overwhelming, but Rob resisted. He was afraid of what he might find there, which would be either her trashing him publicly or, perhaps worse, waxing poetic about her new boyfriend, who was also her former fiancé.

Were they even still together?

Lynda's ex hadn't exactly been the dependable type. It was entirely possible he'd bolted as soon as she became available again. Part of Rob hoped that was the case so she would feel the same pain she'd inflicted on him.

It wasn't very charitable of him, but he didn't feel like turning the other cheek so she could slap it again.

He reached for his laptop, his hand hovering indecisively over the lid.

No .

He couldn't do this to himself. He needed to get out, to find some distraction from his spiraling thoughts.

But where could he go?

The village, for all its wonders, wasn't exactly a hotbed of nightlife. There were no bars open during weeknights to drown his sorrows in and no clubs to lose himself in the anonymity of a crowd.

Not that he had ever frequented them even before meeting Lynda. He was a homebody, and she hadn't been wrong when she'd accused him of being boring.

He was boring. But he was also dependable, which she wasn't.

Maybe he could go for a walk, or he could follow Mia's suggestion and go to the gym. The place was open around the clock, and if they had a punching bag, he could definitely put it to good use right now.

Decision made, Rob pushed himself off the bed and changed into his workout gear. Mia and Toven weren't in the living room as he made his way to the front door, so he fired off a text to Mia, letting her know where he was headed.

Outside, the silence that enveloped the village was almost eerie, and Rob wondered if the Amish settlements were as quaint and quiet. The thought brought a wry smile to his face. Here he was, in a village of immortals, gods, and aliens, comparing it to an Amish community.

His life had certainly taken some unexpected turns.

As he approached the glass pavilion and walked toward the elevator, Rob realized he had no idea which floor the gym was on. When the doors opened, he stepped inside and eyed the buttons, trying to guess what the letters on them meant, but before he could make his selection, the doors opened again, and Arwel walked in with a mountain of a man, whose muscles strained the seams of his T-shirt in a way that reminded Rob of Dwayne 'The Rock' Johnson.

"Rob," Arwel greeted him with a warm smile. "Heading to the gym?"

"Yeah, if I can figure out which floor it's on."

Arwel chuckled. "No need to worry about that. Just say 'gym,' and the elevator will take you there." He turned to his companion. "This is Bhathian, a fellow Head Guardian. Bhathian, meet Rob, Margo's brother and our newest Dormant."

Bhathian extended a hand, his grip firm but not crushing as he shook Rob's hand. "Welcome," he said, his voice surprisingly gentle for someone of his size.

As Arwel had promised, the elevator smoothly began its descent as soon as he said "gym."

When the doors opened again, all three of them exited and walked through the double doors into the gym.

The place was packed, mostly with males, but there were a few females on the various machines.

"Is it your first time?" Arwel asked.

Rob looked down at himself. "Is it so obvious?"

The Guardian chuckled. "I meant in this gym."

"I know. I was just joking. Well, almost joking. I was never consistent in my exercise routine."

That was one hell of an exaggeration. It would have been more accurate to say that he had paid for a membership for years but rarely visited the gym, always promising himself that next year he would cut down on his work hours and start exercising every day.

He was lucky to be naturally lean and not a big eater, or he would have ballooned from sitting on his ass all day and not paying attention to what he was putting in his mouth.

Lynda had never cooked despite not having a job, and he worked long hours, so hamburgers and pizzas were what he usually ate.

"You probably need some guidance," Arwel said. "Anything in particular that you are interested in?"

Rob smiled sheepishly. "Do you have a punching bag in here?"

"We have several. Let me show you where they are." Arwel led him to a corner where several heavy bags hung from the ceiling. "Do you have boxing gloves?"

Rob shook his head. "I don't."

"I'll get you some." Arwel walked over to a nearby equipment rack and returned with a pair of gloves.

"Thank you." Rob put them on, and Arwel helped him secure them properly.

"Go ahead." The Guardian nodded in the direction of the bag. "Give it all you got."

As Rob took his first experimental swings at the bag, he felt a twinge of embarrassment. He was clearly out of shape, and his movements were uncoordinated and lacking power. "I was told that for you to be able to bite me, I need to last at least a minute with you on the mat," he confessed between slightly labored breaths. "I thought that I should start training."

Arwel laughed, but it was a kind sound, free of mockery. "That's right," he confirmed. "But don't worry, we'll work up to that."

For the next few minutes Arwel watched Rob's attempts, offering gentle corrections to his technique. "Keep your guard up," he advised. "Rotate your hips more into the punch. That's where your power comes from."

As Rob followed Arwel's instructions and improved his technique, he felt some of the tension begin to leave his body. The rhythmic impact of his fists against the bag was therapeutic, each punch seeming to chip away at the emotional weight he'd been carrying and loosening the tight vise constricting his chest.

"You know," Arwel said, "one of our male Dormants used a unique strategy during his induction fight. He recited profane slam poetry to antagonize his opponent into producing venom. What I'm trying to say is that physical confrontation is not the only way to aggravate an immortal."

Rob paused, lowering his fists. "Do I look that pathetic?" he asked half-joking.

Arwel chuckled. "Not at all. You look okay for an untrained human, but it never hurts to consider another option. Not that profanity will work on me. If you choose that path, you will have to select another inducer. Someone with a short fuse and a hotter temper."

"I don't want another inducer." Rob turned back to the bag, throwing a series of punches with renewed determination.

Arwel smiled. "I'll leave you to it, then. If you need more guidance, I will be over at the weight-lifting station."

"Thank you for the help," Rob said.

"Anytime." Arwel walked away.

Rob continued the workout, and as his mind started drifting to thoughts of Lynda and his old life, he refocused on the immediacy of his body's movements, the burn in his muscles, and the satisfying thud of each impact.

It was cathartic.