“And we want to keep it that way. Hence the tape.” His hands are impossibly small against mine. The tape that just covers my knuckles goes from Dante’s fingertips to the middle of his palm. “Maybe one day I’ll get you some gloves, but this is all you’ll need right now.”
“Did you see me when you came in?” I ask.
“You were hitting that thing.”
I gesture towards the bag. “Do what I was doing. We’ll get a baseline for where you’re at and then home in on what—”
Before I can even finish, Dante launches himself at the bag.
He’s small, but he flies. He’s a blur of movement as he circles the bag, punching and kicking and wailing. It’s a heavy bag made for taking what I can throw at it, but Dante actually gets the thing swinging a bit.
“Slow down. You aren’t being timed,” I tell him.
But he
