She did an exaggerated fake stomp.
“Good.”
She elbowed him.
“Nice work. Let’s go through that one more time a little faster.”
Stomp. Elbow. She threw her head back, but this time she connected with bone and Markus dropped his arms and buckled. He grabbed his nose, which was pouring blood.
“Ohmygod! Did I break it?”
He didn’t answer because he was running for the men’s locker room.
After a few moments, she followed him and knocked softly. “Are you okay, Markus?” She googled “broken nose symptoms and treatment.”
Depending on his pain level and whether it was out of joint, she’d have to take him to the ER in her mom-mobile. God help her, but she wanted to peel Phil out of the customized family window decal on the back of the van right now, as if Markus would notice the sticker with his eyes swelled shut. Either way, that stick figure dad needed to go.
“What’s your pain level?” she called through the door.
“I’m fine, Gabby.”
Her pain level was climbing by the minute.
She texted Justin:Idk if I can do this.
U have been there 10 minutes. CHILL!
It’s bad.Once again, she wanted to call and tell him exactly how bad this was. Then he sent a follow-up text filled with insanity. He was thinking of putting the cat on Craigslist to recoup his money but wasn’t sure on the price. Kyle wanted to go to the mall with Sienna, and were they out of the lactose-free milk?
You’re right. I’ll stay.
Saturday, midafternoon, EOD headquarters
Gabby splashed water on her face in the women’s locker room and pulled herself together. If she broke Markus’s nose, that’s what happened. It was over, and she would need to deal with it. Broken noses were part of her new post-divorce, Sloane Ellis–prescribed adventure. Back on the training mats, she found Markus waiting, blood spatters down the front of his shirt. His eye wasn’t bruised yet, but it was swollen. It could be worse. He could have asked her to make him lunch and drive him to the mall.
“Is it broken?” She held her breath and waited for bad news.
“No. I’m fine.”
She wasn’t sure if she believed him, but it was a good story, so she went with it.
“Let’s take a break from hand-to-hand tactics.”
She exhaled with relief. She hadn’t been one of those “gym and recess are my favorite parts of school” kids. Library and quiet reading time had been her thing. It showed.
“Next is target practice.”
Target practice… She mulled it over. You didn’t need to be an athlete to shoot.
“I was considering a knife-throwing lesson, but…” He let his sentence trail off, and a single drop of blood fell in a perfect splat onto the floor between them, punctuating the reason why she would not be allowed near knives.
If he wanted someone to throw knives, he should ask her bestie. Justin was one of those guys whom people would pay to watch chop a carrot. High-speed, precision chopping. There was no vegetable that he couldn’t turn into a rosette. Last year, she had cheated at Halloween and invited Justin over for drinks. She’d had a glass of wine and watched him carve award-winning pumpkins. That was her skill—getting other people to do her jobs without realizing they’d signed on for a day of work. She’d always been great at that. It was un-American of her, but there it was.
Markus looked up, as if asking the heavens for counsel. After a deep breath, he said, “I guess we should do firearms training.”
Gabby had grown up liberal, silence and nonviolence. Guns were for police and bad guys only. And Gabby was a good girl. She’d always done what she was supposed to do, never questioned, just good girled her way into nothingness.
It was time to make a mark on the world. She could see herself with Valentina and Alice, dressed in sleek black clothes, shoulders thrown back, a pistol on her belt, and an encyclopedic knowledge of the RICO laws. She would be intelligent, informed, and ready to save the world. It was time for a new Gabby.
