PART FIVE

IF TRUE LOVE HAPPENS only once in a lifetime, I'm fucked. My fists hit the heavy bag, and pain lances through my ungloved knuckles. Sweat trails down my body and I still can't let go of whatever it is that's eating me alive. The bag might be taking a pounding, but hitting it does little to stop my restlessness. The Slam's season ended three months ago, and my life has been completely in the dumps since. We won the damn championship and I shouldn't feel this way. What the ...