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Maxen doesn’t continue, so I press. “Tell me what?”
“Brock… Sadie, he was in love with you.”
My heart leaps up into my throat, and my mind spirals. “What? No.”
I roll away from Maxen and sit up, refusing to believe what he’s telling me. “How do… why would…?”
So many questions run through my head, but I can’t form a coherent thought. In my head, Brock smiles up at me, softly touching my cheek before his eyes close for the last time. Oh, god. Is this true?
Standing up from the bed, I walk to the closet, ignoring Maxen’s calls for me to come back. I pull on some running gear and grab my shoes, hearing Maxen’s worried voice behind me. “Fuck. Sadie, I’m sorry.”
He’s standing at my closet door wearing just his undone TDU pants. I shove past him, but he reaches for my hand. “Sadie, I just thought…”
I jerk my hand back and look anywhere but at his face. “I… I can’t think right now.”
Grabbing my keys off the dresser, I rush out of my apartment, still holding my shoes in my hands. I feel like I’m suffocating as I race down the stairs. Outside in the parking lot, I drop onto the landscape wall lining the shrubbery and pull on my shoes.
I don’t want to believe Maxen. I don’t want to be the person that’s so self-absorbed that she doesn’t know the people closest to her. I don’t want to believe that Brock pined for someone who could never reciprocate because she has the emotional depth of a cave troll.
I don’t want to believe I could hurt a friend like that.
But what possible reason would Maxen have to lie? And dammit, why would he tell me at all? It’s selfish of me, but why couldn’t he just let Brock take his secret to his grave? Because Maxen knows you. He knows you always want the truth, no matter how ugly or painful.
“Not this time.” Fighting a renewed agony over losing Brock, I tear out of the apartment complex, desperate to outrun the demons chasing me.
I lose track of how long I pound the pavement. Anger, regret, and guilt weigh me down every step, but I can’t stop.
Thirteen miles have come and gone, and finally, lungs burning and head pounding, I give up. I can’t go any further. With my hands braced on my knees, I suck wind until my lungs no longer feel like they’re going to collapse.
My head is still pounding when I look around to see where I’ve ended up. I almost laugh when I realize I’m standing under the sign for Mel’s. How many times have Aaron, Brock, and I spent evenings here? How many signs did I miss? How long had he felt that way?
What the hell does it matter now? Brock was family, and now he’s gone.
My car is parked near the entrance to the bar, right where I left it last night. Thankful to have grabbed my keys on the way out, I open the door, crumple into the driver seat, and start the engine.
Muscle memory carries me to Knot Corporation, where I drag my ass inside to the training room. The place is quiet for a Thursday morning, but I don’t care to ask why. No one says anything to me as I blow through and head straight for the bags hanging in the back. Not even bothering to tape up, I attack one of the bags, releasing all the turmoil inside on the heavy target.
An hour in, I’m winded again, but I keep going. I don’t even stop when blood appears on the bag’s white logo from my unprotected hands. I only stop when iron-like arms wrap around me, pulling me away and ending my punishment.
A tormented scream fills the now-empty room as Spatch drags me toward his office. He sets me on my feet in front of the sofa and shoves me down to the cushions. Without a word, he retrieves a first aid kit, applying an ointment to my bloody knuckles before wrapping them.
“I know you’re angry, Sadie, but I can’t let you hurt yourself. Brock’s death is not your fault.”
Spatch grossly misreads the guilt, and my response to him is a maniacal laugh. If he only knew. I push off the sofa and walk out, and wisely, Spatch lets me. My next steps lead to the dorms, where I collapse onto the bed I usually sleep in before deployments.
I wake in the dark hours later, still in my workout clothes and runners. My headache has not eased and now has two throbbing fists to keep it company. I gather some clothes and stuff from my locker and walk to the showers, where I remove the bandages Spatch placed on my hands. The skin around my knuckles is a mess, red, swollen, and bloody.
The hot water stings the new wounds, but I remain holed up in the stall for a long time to let the pounding of the spray ease the pounding in my head. Eventually, I give in to the fact that the shower isn’t going to fix anything and shut off the water.
I dry and dress, taking the time to blow out my hair instead of putting it away in a wet braid. The whole time, I avoid meeting the eyes of the woman in the mirror. I kind of hate her right now.
Leaving the wrecked bed for housekeeping to deal with, I walk to my car and head home, only hesitating a moment at Bonnie’s door before shoving inside my own apartment.
Maxen’s long gone, which is probably for the best. I wouldn’t have known what to say to him anyway. Though I feel like shit, I’ve decided I’m not angry at him for telling me something I failed to figure out on my own. Discussing one man’s feelings with the man you’re sleeping with is just an awkward conversation.
Who I will talk to is Aaron. I don’t know what good it’ll do, but I want to ask him if he knew and why he didn’t say anything. Ultimately, it doesn’t matter, but it does, even if I don’t know what to do with the knowledge.
I locate my phone and see a missed call and a text from Maxen. I’m sorry, his simple message reads. Shaking my head, I decide to deal with him later. I call Aaron and don’t wait for him to speak when he answers.
