Page 19

OMIR

T he gym was empty when I walked in, just the way I liked it.

The scent of rubber mats and faintly lingering sweat hung in the air as I set my bag down in the corner.

It was early, maybe too early for anyone else to be up, but sleep hadn’t come easy since O'Shea’s death.

My little brother was gone, and no amount of lifting, running, or punching a heavy bag would bring him back.

I wrapped my hands in the worn, black boxing wraps and took a deep breath. The punching bag swung lightly on its chain in front of me, taunting me, daring me to let it all out. I squared my shoulders and threw the first punch.

One. Two. Hook. Uppercut.

The rhythm was familiar, but the weight in my chest didn’t lighten. I could still see his face—O'Shea, smirking, asking me for advice he never took. I could hear his laugh. I could hear the gunshot. I punched harder, sweat dripping down my face, my breaths coming fast.

“O. . .” I whispered, my voice breaking as I drove my fists into the bag. The anger, the guilt, the loss—it all crashed over me like a tidal wave.

By the time I finished, my hands were shaking. I slumped onto a bench, staring at the floor, trying to catch my breath. My phone buzzed on the bench next to me, and I hesitated before picking it up. It was Anya.

I wiped my face with a towel and answered. “Hey.”

“You’re at the gym again?” she asked, her voice soft, careful.

“Yeah,” I replied, keeping my tone short.

“Omir. . .” She sighed. “You can’t keep doing this. You have businesses to run. I mean, I’ve been stepping in but?—”

“Better than sitting around doing nothing,” I muttered, tossing the towel aside.

“Look,” she said, her voice quieter now. “I know you’re hurting. I’m trying to help, but you keep shutting me out. I don’t know how much more of this I can take.”

I rubbed my temples, guilt settling in alongside the anger. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I just. . . I don’t know how to deal with this shit, Anya.”

“Then let me help you,” she pleaded. “We’re supposed to be a team, Omir. You can’t keep pushing me away.”

“I know,” I said, though my chest felt tight. “I’ll do better. I promise.” But even as I said the words, I wasn’t sure I believed them.

Later that day, I sat in my office at home, staring at the stacks of mail on my desk. Bills, vendor contracts, event plans—things that used to excite me but now felt like weights dragging me down. The bell ringing pulled an exhausted breath from me as I went to answer the door.

Sherelle stepped inside, her expression a mix of concern and determination. “Hey,” she said, flashing a sympathetic smile.

“What’s up?” I asked, closing the door and leaning against the door frame.

She crossed her arms and gave me a pointed look. “What’s up is that you look like hell, and I’m worried about you.”

“I’m good,” I said automatically.

“No, you’re not,” she shot back. “Don’t give me that ‘I’m good’ bullshit. I can tell you’re barely sleeping, and I stopped by the restaurant. Anya is doing her best.”

I sighed, running a hand over my face. “What do you want me to say, Relle? That I’m fucked up?”

Her expression softened, and her shoulders rose and fell. “Did you know Lennox’s dad passed away?”

The air seemed to leave the room. I looked up sharply. “What?”

“It happened a couple of days ago,” she said gently. “I thought you should know.”

“Damn. How is she?” I asked, my voice quieter now.

“She’s managing,” Sherelle said. “You know how she is—strong on the outside, but this is tearing her up. Losing a parent isn’t easy.” I nodded, my chest tightening. “You should reach out,” Sherelle added.

I shook my head. “She doesn’t want to hear from me.”

“You don’t know that,” Sherelle said. “Maybe she does. Just think about it, O. Life’s too short to leave things unsaid.”

After she left, I sat in silence for a long time in the living room. I sat there for what felt like an eternity, staring at the black screen of my phone. I rubbed my temples, the ache in my chest impossible to ignore.

I picked up my phone and opened Instagram, pulling up Lennox’s profile. Before I could stop myself, I opened the message box and started typing.

Hey, how are you?

I stared at the words for a moment, debating whether to hit send. It was simple enough, but I knew the weight behind it. It wasn’t just a casual check-in. It was everything I hadn’t said, everything I’d avoided for over a year.

I exhaled and pressed send before I could change my mind. Almost immediately, my phone buzzed. A notification appeared at the top of the screen.

TheeLennoxAnderson: Hey, how are you?

I froze, staring at the words, my mind racing. She had sent the exact same message. At the exact same time.

It felt like the universe had paused for a moment, aligning in a way I didn’t understand. My heart pounded in my chest as I reread her message, wondering if she was thinking the same shit I was.