Page 59 of Omega's Faith

The walk back to the main house takes ten minutes but feels like hours. Pastor David is waiting by his car, a rusty Toyota with the paint peeling on the hood, and a crack across the windshield.

"I'm coming with you," I tell him.

"Jonah, are you certain?"

"I need to pack."

My suitcase is still in the closet where I'd shoved it after unpacking.

I grab the items I'd scattered around—my toothbrush from the bathroom, my clothes and my books. My wedding suit hangs in the wardrobe, still covered in plastic. I leave it.

My hands are steady as I zip everything closed.

I walk out to Pastor David's car. The door creaks when I open it, and the seat springs poke through worn fabric. Pastor David starts the engine. It coughs twice before catching.

As the car rattles down the long gravel drive, I don't look back.

15. Alex

The leather gives under my fist with a satisfying thud. Again. Again. The rhythm settles into my bones—jab, cross, hook—while Ricky adjusts his grip on the heavy bag.

"You're dropping your left shoulder," he says.

I adjust my stance, keeping my shoulder level through the next combination.

Elemental is the kind of gym that doesn't advertise. No website, no listed phone number, certainly no social media presence. You need three member recommendations to get on the waiting list, and even then, money alone won't get you through the door. The clientele values privacy above everything else: actors between films, politicians between scandals, billionaires between wives.

Or in my case, a billionaire a week after his omega husband walked out.

The boxing area is separated from the rest of the gym by soundproof glass and another layer of security. Inside, the decor is exposed brick and industrial fixtures which is funny because I know that this was part of an ordinary office block a year ago. They’re trying to fake something authentic while charging five thousand a month for membership.

The heavy bags are Italian leather, the ring ropes are some space-age polymer that's supposedly easier on the skin, and the water bottles are branded with nothing because brands are for people who need to advertise.

Yes, it’s hokey. It’s also private.

"How's your head?" I ask between combinations, noting the faint yellow-green bruising still visible above Ricky's left eye.

"Hard as ever. Though Diana suggested I might want to consider a helmet as part of my work uniform."

"Diana's got a point."

Ricky shifts the bag as I unleash a particularly vicious cross. "Speaking of which, she know you're here?"

"Diana doesn't track my every movement."

"Since when?"

Since Jonah left and I stopped answering her calls immediately. Since I woke up that first morning with the worst hangover I’ve ever had.

"You look different," Ricky observes. "Lost weight?"

"Haven't been drinking."

The bag swings wildly as Ricky nearly loses his grip. "Sorry, what?"

"You heard me."

"For how long?"