Page 8

I sit on the shower floor with my knees tucked under my chin. I watch as the water flows down the drain. The pattering of the droplets meeting the acrylic tub fills my ears.

The last few days it’s been hard to find something to keep my mind off the loss of my brothers.

It’s been two years to the day, and I still feel the heat of the flames and the burning in my lungs from the smoke. I still hear the creaking of the floor right before Xander fell through it.

My mind and body have felt restless since the night of the fights. Once I came down from my adrenaline high, I was filled with grief.

Grief that I will never be able to tell my brothers about the intensity of the atmosphere in the warehouse. I won’t be able to cheer them on when we’re up to no good. Grief of never being able to see them again.

I lick my lips and a slight saltiness touches my tongue. I hate crying. Crying means I’m sad.

I can’t let myself be sad because then that’s all I’ll ever be.

The random flashbacks happen almost daily. They chip away at my heart, reminding me of the loss I’ve suffered, and causing the unbearable hurt to take hold. It squeezes until I have no choice but to acknowledge the pain in my chest.

I aggressively swipe at my face until I’m positive the wetness is from the water and not from tears.

“I’m fine. I’m fine,” I mutter to myself.

Standing, I finish my shower routine before shutting the water off and stepping out. I wrap a towel around my torso then twist my blonde hair into another.

My hand swipes across the condensation that layers the mirror on the wall and stare at my reflection. My skin is flushed and water droplets coast down my body. Purple darkens my eyes, revealing the sleepless nights I’ve had.

A heavy sigh falls from my lips before I turn away from the mirror.

The only time I allow my emotions to fully rise is when I’m alone. It’s the only time I let the sadness show. I hate feeling weak and vulnerable. I hate having to explain that my family died in a house fire, and I was left all alone.

I don’t need, or want, their sympathy.

Outwardly, I’m full of confidence and swagger. Inwardly? I feel like I’m drowning in loneliness and struggle to encompass the persona I’ve created.

Without my brothers I feel lost and off center.

Sure, Paige has really helped me not feel that way as often, but my relationship with her is nothing in comparison to the one I had with them.

They were my entire world.

“See you later, Sarah!” Paige shouts.

I clear my throat. “Bye, babe!” I force my voice to be cheerful and full of life that I’m known for.

My mask drops as soon as I hear the click of the front door. Huffing, I swing the bathroom door open.

After lathering my body with scented lotion, I dress in a pair of black leggings and the shirt Tommy had given me to cover my mouth during the house fire. Despite being 5’10” the fabric engulfs my frame, hitting my legs at mid-thigh.

Bones had known something was off with me the moment I stepped into the bar and sent me home.

Part of me is grateful for the break to just be alone, but another part wishes I had fought to stay so I could keep myself busy with repetitive cleaning.

My mind is a jumbled mess right now and I can’t quite figure out what to do about it. Swiping my phone off the nightstand, I head to the kitchen and pour myself a glass of whiskey.

Yes, whiskey.

It’s 5 o’clock somewhere and I need something strong that will shut everything off for a while.

I toss the amber liquid back and gulp it down in one swoop. I welcome to burn of the alcohol as it travels down my throat.

After refilling the glass, I head to the living room. Plopping myself down on our faded couch that Paige and I found at the thrift store, I settle into the cushions.

Instead of turning on the tv and searching for a trashy reality show to fill the quiet apartment, I stare blankly at a faded stain on the carpet.

I chew on the inside of my lip until the coppery tang of my blood seeps from the wound. Absentmindedly, I toss back the second glass of whiskey and wince when the alcohol burns my lips.

“Oh, fuck this,” I grumble then stand from the couch and head toward my room.

Rather than changing my clothes, I simply slip on a pair of sneakers. “I gotta find something to do,” I say to myself and swipe my keys off the nightstand.

* * *

I have no place in mind of where to go so I walk down the sidewalk until I pause in front of a gym.

I hum as I stare up at the sign. The name is missing letters. Stepping forward, I cup my hands and peer inside the large glass window.

Inside are punching bags, mats, and a variety of other gym equipment throughout the small space.

Pursing my lips, I repeatedly tap my foot against the sidewalk before shrugging my shoulders and opening the door. The smell of sweat and gym mats fill my nose and I struggle to hold in my grimace.

Movement to my right catches my attention and I stand in awe as I watch two gigantic men throw blow for blow at each other in the center of a square ring. A smile spreads over my face with each hit that lands.

I think I’m going to like this place.

“What can I do for you?” a stocky man with a peppered beard asks as he steps up to my side.

I struggle to pull my gaze away from the men in the ring. “I, uh-” I turn to face him fully and my mind runs blank.

What exactly do I want?

He raises his brow while I stare at him stupidly, trying to decide what to say.

“Would you mind if I just stayed and watched for a little while?” I ask, gesturing to the ring. He glances over then returns his eyes to me. “Sure. Are you interested in training?”

I’m going to blame the alcohol I drank for my actions.

“What kind of training do you offer? I grew up with four older brothers, so I don’t have any experience other than rough housing with them.” I think for a moment. “And I guess a handful of school fights,” I say with a shrug.

He chuckles and shakes his head softly. “We offer a few different options here. Basic boxing, kickboxing, self-defense, Muay Tai, Brazilian Jujitsu.” Amusement fills his eyes the higher my brows rise on my face.

“How much?”

Paige is going to kill me for being so impulsive.

He tips his head over his shoulder. “Follow me to the office and we can discuss everything. I’m Hank.”

“Sarah.” I smile, scanning every inch of the space as I follow him down the hallway.

“I know it might not look like much, but this gym has been in my family for three generations. Right here in this neighborhood.” I smile softly as I listen to him. “I don’t ever plan to move from this location.”

He opens the office door and holds out his arm, motioning for me to step inside.

“I love that,” I say, stepping inside and taking a seat in one of the chairs in front of his desk.

Twenty minutes later, I’m walking out of the gym with my head held high and a hopeful mind and heart that I might be able to find the peace I’ve been searching for.