His words snap my gaze back to his. How does he remember that so easily? Peter didn’t even remember today is my mother’s birthday. She would have been sixty-two. She’s been gone most of my life but every year I make sure to celebrate her in some way. And I call Dad.
It’s what I was doing when I overheard Peter and Darryl.
Another thing I let someone else talk me into. Getting married without my dad there to walk me down the aisle. I hate myself right now. The pushover I’ve been. The pleaser of everyone except myself.
“Lizzi?”
“Elizabeth,” I correct automatically. Nicknames are beneath a Foxworth.
“Is it?” he asks with a smirk and raised eyebrow.
“Yes?”
His laughter echoes around us. “Here. In my house. You’re Lizzi.”
I’ve never had a nickname. Not since—cutting off those thoughts, I nod. “Okay.”
“So…tennis?”
“I can play. I just don’t like to.” Haven’t since Mom died and Grandfather fought for custody of me and Edward.
“Well then, pick up the hammer and hold it like you’re going to smash a ball over the net, just swing at the wall instead. I can draw a tennis ball on there if you want.”
“No. I don’t think I need a smaller target.” Taking a deep breath, I lift the sledgehammer. “You’d better stand back. I don’t want to hit you.”
Laughing again, Devon moves off to the side. “Whenever you’re ready.”
It takes two hands to hold the hammer up because I’m not accustomed to the weight, and I’m not ashamed to admit I’m already sweating. Not from exertion. I’m nervous about taking this swing. Something about all of this feels monumental. Like a shift in my life—in the core ofme.
Then again, listening to my fiancé and his best man getting it on moments before our wedding altered things in an irreversible way. Today has opened my eyes when I never knew they were closed.
Smashing down the wall is symbolic as much as it’s literal.
I glance at Devon and find him standing casually, arms loose by his sides, a small smile of encouragement on his face, and the support I feel emanating from him is so foreign I almost drop the hammer.
Instead, I take another deep breath and focus on the wall, and after my next breath I swing.
The wall stops the forward motion, the hammerhead bouncing back. Vibrations flow up the handle causing my grip to slip before I even hear a sound. The boom has me jumping back and I let go, cringing when the head slams into the floor.
Shaking out my arms, I stare at the dent in the drywall. At the sledgehammer on the floor. Back at the wall. “Holy shit!”
“Feel good?” Devon asks beside me.
“No. Yes. I don’t know.” I shake my head. Bounce on the balls of my feet. “That didn’t go the way I thought it would.”
“How did you think it would go?”
I frown at the wall. “Well, for one, I thought I’d at least put a hole in it.”
“Next time.” He bends over and picks up the hammer. Holds it out to me like it’s a toothpick. “That was a practice shot. Try again.”
“We’ll be here all year if you let me demolish it.”
“I’m not in a rush.” He reaches for my hand and pulls it toward him, wraps my fingers around the smooth wooden handle. “And this isn’t about taking down a wall. It’s about discovering what it looks like when you do.”
“Oh.” His insight is frightening. And relieving. He reads me in a way no one ever has. Not even my brother.
“I find clearing physical things helps me clear mental ones.” He nods at the wall. “Keep going. I’m going to make us something to eat and drink.”
