Without waiting for his response, I step in and slam my first punch into the bag, but it’s not nearly enough. My fists begin to move faster, harder. A jab, a right hook, then another as the bag swings back, only for me to meet it again with relentless force. Every punch I land feels like I’m trying to destroy the uncertainty, the anger, the helplessness crawling under my skin.
“Keep your guard up!” Drew’s voice cuts through the air, but it’s background noise, barely registering. “You’re here to control the fight!”
Control. Right. That’s what I’m after. I’m losing it in every other part of my life, but this I can control. My fists pound the bag harder, faster, as if each hit might erase the image of her walking away from me.
Sweat pours down my face, stinging my eyes, but I wipe it away without a second thought. Each strike reverberates through me, and the faster I hit, the louder my heart pounds. The bag isn’t the enemy. She’s not the enemy. But god, I’m battling something much bigger than I can handle.
Drew steps closer. “Focus. You’re not gonna solve anything by swinging at thin air. Quit letting your mind wander.”
I grunt in acknowledgment as I launch into another series of punches. The burn in my muscles and the rush of exertion are almost enough to make me forget. For a second, I’m only aware of the bag, the force of my strikes, and the primal rhythm of my breath.
Adrenaline surges. The temporary escape. My thoughts clear and the world narrows down to nothing but the power of my fists and the sharp sting of each punch. It’s almost enough to make me believe I’ve got control.
But the fear’s still there, creeping in from the edges. This isn’t fixing anything.
“Cheer up, you sour puss.”
I shoot Lucy my best death glare, but it crumbles quickly. She has this way of cracking through my defenses, and damn it, it’s impossible to stay mad at her.
“Oh no, not the death stare,” she teases. “Should I start drafting my will?”
“You’re lucky you’re my sister,” I grumble.
“And you’re lucky I’m this charming,” she quips, launching a plastic spoon in my direction.
I dodge it with a laugh. “Charmingly annoying, maybe.”
Her smile slowly fades as she starts unpacking the takeaway. “Seriously, though. I hate seeing you so mopey. It’s not like you.”
I swipe a hand over my face. It’s been a week since Bree went back home. A week of restless nights and days spent staring at my phone, willing it to ring. This isn’t the first time she’s left. She’s always had a life to return to, far away from mine.
But this time, she left after I’d held her and memorized the way her body fit against mine. After I’d tasted her lips and breathed in her moans. After I’d loved her in every way that mattered.
She took a piece of me with her, and for the first time, I’m not sure how to be myself without her here. This is new to me, and the emptiness gnaws at me. I hate it.
I grab a couple of beers from the fridge and set them on the table. Lucy showed up with dinner, and the least I can do is act like I’m happy she’s here. Which, to be fair, I am. She’s my sister, and she’s always had my back, but it doesn’t take a genius to know I’m not exactly the best company right now.
She raises an eyebrow at the beers. “What, no wine? You really know how to spoil a girl.”
I pop the caps off and slide one over to her. “You’re lucky you got anything. Showing up unannounced has its risks.”
She laughs, pulling out plates and setting them down with exaggerated care. “You’d miss me if I didn’t.”
I won’t argue with that.
We’re barely settled at the table when she clears her throat, the kind of sound that screamsI’ve got something to say.I take a long sip of my beer, stalling as the cold liquid slides down my throat.
Her eyes are locked on me, though. Full of curiosity and the right amount of concern.
“Okay…” she says slowly, weighing her words carefully. “You want to talk about this? Or should I keep pretending you’re fine?”
I set my beer down with a thud and run a hand through my hair, trying to pull my thoughts together. “Pretty sure you just ruined the pretending option,” I mutter.
“Good,” she says. “Because you’re terrible at it.”
I drag a hand down my face, taking a deep breath. “You want the truth?”
Her eyes practically sparkle as she leans forward. “I already know the truth,” she says smugly. “I just want to hear you say it.”
