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I burst from Kelpie Hall, barely feeling the cold as I run through the torrential downpour. The icy drops pound off my skin, but do nothing to alleviate the burn of my thoughts. I’m shit. A shit friend. A shit girlfriend. Not only am I not being honest with Connor, but I also had that weird conversation with the stranger last night. I’ve still not found the courage to read the messages, but I remember the conversation being somewhat adjacent to flirting. It didn’t mean anything, but I still know it came very close to crossing a line.

I run aimlessly until I notice the lights from the gym flickering in the distance. I change course and walk through the door, soaking wet and my hair plastered to my face.

“What happened to you?” Max asks from behind the reception desk.

I clench my fists, heartbreak, frustration, and anger coursing through me. “I want to fight.”

Max stares assessingly at me for a long moment but then nods. “All right,” he says, following me to the sparring room. I feel him watching me as I pull on my gloves.

“I’ll give you the first punch,” Max says, stretching as I get into position.

“Don’t take it easy on me. Hit me.”

Max’s eyes glow green, and he throws a punch, expecting me to dodge it, but I don’t. I want to feel the physical pain. I deserve it. His fist collides with my ribs, and there is a loud, sickening crack.

“Bitch,” Max snarls. “You didn’t even try to dodge.”

“Hit me,” I gasp out, keeping my face expressionless.

“I’m not going to fight you if you’re just going to take the hits.”

The frustration bubbles up, and I shove at his chest. “Fucking hit me.”

“No,” Max snarls.

I slap him hard across the cheek, trying to incite the berserker's rage. The glow of his eyes deepens, and I can feel him struggling to keep control.

“Hit me. Punish me.”

“No.” His voice trembles with strain.

I shove against his chest this time, actually forcing him to take a step back.

“I’m not going to fucking hit you,” he growls.

I throw a punch, leaning into my fae strength and speed. Max just barely dodges it. “Hit.” I throw another punch. “Me.” I follow the word up with a fast kick.

It catches him in the chest, and he winces. “That all you got?”

I hit him again, embracing my powers for the first time ever, desperate to feel something other than the weight of the disappointment from the people I love. I hit him again, this time in the stomach, his abs tightening beneath my fist.

“Pathetic.” He exhales.

I snarl. “Hit me. Fight me. Destroy me!” I say, still swinging for him. Some of my hits land, others he narrowly misses.

“Show me you’re not worthless.”

I lean into my instincts and drop to the floor. Swiping my leg under his, I take him to the mat. Straddle him, I pin him to the floor and start hammering on his chest. My emotions are a knotted mess within me, and I can’t seem to find the end of them.

Max lays quietly beneath me, watching me with his glowing eyes. He keeps his palms pressed flat against the mat on either side of his body, taking the beating. I hit him over and over, and then suddenly, I burst into tears.

My chest shakes from the ferocity of the sobs, tears flowing from my eyes like a river clawing its way to the sea. I gasp for air, but no matter how hard I try, the breaths don’t provide. Ihit weakly at his chest once more, and then bury my face in my hands and just cry.

Max carefully sits up beneath me and gently wraps his arms around me. The hug isn’t warm or intimate. It is a grounding tool. He is only providing a place of safety and comfort without an ounce of judgment.

“It’s okay. Let it all go.”

The tears don’t let up. Somehow, his lack of emotion, combined with the safety of his hold, allows me the freedom to let it all go. It's as if the tears I have repressed for the last thirty years have burst from the banks. I sob into his shoulder, and Max hugs me silently. He doesn’t make any jokes, and there are no snide comments. He holds me, allowing me to release whatever emotions I need to.