Beating the shit out of a punching bag had always been a reliable standby for Eliot when he was angry enough that he wasn't seeing straight. The conversation over the boards hadn't been enough for him to figure out how much of Martha's reaction was anger and how much fear, but she didn't protest his suggestion to hit the gym.
He found an old receipt to mark his place in the book he'd been reading and tossed it on the counter. The rest of Crossfire Trail was going to have to wait. Snatching an elastic band, he pulled his hair back as he nudged the door open with his foot, letting it shut behind him.
Arriving at the gym, he heard the sound of the bag being wailed on before he saw her. From the sound of it, she was really giving it hell too. Not that he could blame her, although he was remaining in his stance of impartial observer unless it threatened him.
"Hey," he said as he approached her, "that's a good way to hurt yourself."