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Another father is gone. Another man who came, then walked out of my life. My real father, Leblanc, now Brett… they were slipping through my fingers like sand. They were all lost to me and I was alone.
“Jericho!” I cried, Alastair’s arms wrapping around me, pulling me to his chest.
I wept there on the porch. My legs, bare to the cold, folded into him. I wrapped my arms around his neck, and he held me tighter, quietly humming in my ear again, rocking me back and forth.
He kissed me on the temple. Then down to my cheek, where tears were flowing again. He wiped my tears away.
After a minute, he tried to lift me in his arms, but I fought him. I pushed him away until my feet were on the ground.
“Rose?” He asked gently, looking to see what was wrong.
“I need to go after him.”
Alastair shook his head.
“He wants you to stay here. He’s doing this for you.” He wrapped his arms tighter around me. “Don’t make me tie you down.”
I shook my head. “No.”
I didn’t know what I was saying no to. But I disagreed with everything. With the world.
“No.” I repeated.
If Brett left because I wasn’t working hard enough, wasn’t training hard enough, then I’d train harder. If Brett thought I was a liability, that I wasn’t ready for the missions he needed me to do, like I’d get myself killed, then I would change. If I worked hard enough, maybe he’d take me back.
Chapter 34
Alastair
Rosedescendedintomadness.
She silently changed her clothes, and I trailed after her like a lovesick puppy. She went to the gym with her gloves on. She moved like a zombie, going through her day. Her tears were dry. There was nothing but the look of determination on her face.
She got on the bag and fell into a rhythm of punches and kicks. Unbelievably, her hits got harder with every move, and after three minutes, I yelled at her to take a break.
“Rose, you need to rest for a minute before going back to the bag.” It was common sense. Not only that, but her fists would suffer too.
“No time.” She said and continued.
I wanted to pull her away, but knew that would be futile. Unless, of course, I wanted to take the place of the bag. I’m sure she’d be more than happy to work on me, and it wouldn’t be in a fun way.
I went to the kitchen and got a bottle of water, a towel from the bathroom. I didn’t think I’d need to play nursemaid, but that was obviously what she needed from me.
When I returned to the gym, she was absolutely crazed. She had taken off her gloves, and was now just in the wrappings - little bandages that protected her knuckles.
She moved away from the bag, flapping her arms to keep them loose and to increase blood circulation.
“Here.” I gave her the water. She gulped it down, her chest still heaving. She was careless, and water dripped down the corner of her mouth.
She crushed then tossed down the bottle and went back to the bag.
“Punishing yourself won’t bring him back sooner!” I yelled at her, but she didn’t react. “He’s going to come back when he’s done. When he’s eliminated the threat.”
Wherever she was in her mind, she couldn’t hear me. Even if she could, she wasn’t in a place to listen. So I watched, helplessly, as she pounded the bag.
When lunch came, I went to get a plate for her. Protein, in the form of chicken. Some fast acting carbs in mashed potatoes and boiled mixed vegetables, carrots, broccoli. An athlete’s lunch if ever I assembled one.
I had only been gone thirty minutes, but she had deteriorated further. The wrappings were off, and she was hitting the bag with her bare fists. With every hit, blood was left on the leather bag until a maroon stain was left seeping into the fabric.
