“Okay,” I said. “But I can’t make any promises about the hundred questions.”
“I’ll take it.” He pulled out his phone. One hand tugged his hair as the other scanned something. “We should make it, but we have to go right now.”
A little over an hour later, inside a nondescript concrete building, Leo and I wore matching jumpsuits, helmets, gloves, and safety goggles.
The teenager running the Rage Room handed me a sledgehammer after going over the rules and safety precautions.
“You’re good to go. You have thirty minutes. Rage away,” she said and left the padded room filled with junk.
“I’ve heard of these but thought they were a joke,” I said, glancing around. Several glass bottles sat on a ledge, but an old box TV on the table called to me. “I can’t even decide where to start.”
Leo fidgeted with his goggles, grinning happily. He looked hot. How could he possibly pull off a silk caftan, or jeans and a tee, or this look? Not fair.
“The whole point is not to think. Or at least don’t overthink,” he said.
I frowned in confusion.
“Pull up a memory that pisses you off and let it rip. That biker throwing his drink. Or Pin Dick,” he suggested.
I hefted the sledgehammer, testing the weight of it. “Or Ben Huntsford.”
“Who?”
I huffed a laugh. “Really?”
“Oh yeah, the dulcimer guy. Wait, why him?”
“He left me a voicemail today when he knew I wouldn’t be able to take the call. He said he couldn’t help Cath because it would be too loud.” I scratched an itch under my helmet. “I think he just doesn’t want her practicing there.”
Leo frowned.
“At least we still have Devlin as an option,” I said. “He’s good for it, even if it isn’t as convenient.”
Leo picked up a crowbar. “Well, screw that Ben guy. Muster that classic Mari rage. Go balls to the wall.” He gestured all around.
Classic Mari rage.
I glanced down to look at myself. In this too-big jumpsuit, helmet knocking around on my head, I suddenly felt a little ridiculous. I felt like a child.
“Time’s a-wasting,” Leo said. “Wait. What’s wrong? I thought you’d love this.”
“I do in theory. But being here, I feel so ridiculous.” I’d had too long on the drive up to Knoxville to cool off.
“Ridiculous? It was my idea.”
“Or maybe childish? Grown women shouldn’t be acting like this. I should learn to control my temper,” I said.
“Why control it?” he asked. “Just acknowledge it.”
I lifted my chin.
“Do you think maybe you’re holding on too tight?” he asked.
“This again.” A flash of him standing behind me, holding my hand that gripped the drumstick.
“You’re this ball of pent-up rage. Bouncing around in this perpetual pinball machine of life, never fully free to go off. It must be exhausting.”
“Excuse me?”
