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The room is empty, which is exactly what I was hoping for.
I head straight for the bag suspended from the ceiling.
It’s been a while since I was in a physical fight. And I miss the adrenaline. The rush of facing an unpredictable opponent.
Basketball’s a more civilized version. No one is throwing punches, just shoving elbows. And no matter how hard I hit the bag; it never retaliates.
I lose track of time as my fists fly.
My muscles are exhausted from lifting weights for the past hour, but I continue throwing punches relentlessly, trying to expel the chaotic energy swirling inside of me.
I don’t stop until one of my knuckles splits. I swear, ripping off a piece of paper towel from the roll meant to be used to clean equipment.
By the time I reach the locker room, I’m sweaty and exhausted. All my teammates are long gone. I shower and change into sweatpants, then head for the exit.
Cassia is standing in the lobby, wearing one of my high school sweatshirts. It hangs to her mid-thigh, her hands lost somewhere in the front pocket.
Despite my dark mood, my lips turn up into a smile at the sight.
“What are you doing here?” I ask. “Because I know you’re not here to exercise.”
She rolls her eyes. “At least I know you didn’t stand me up on purpose.”
My eyes close briefly as I wince. We had dinner plans tonight. I was supposed to meet her after my practice. “Fuck. I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay.”
“No, it’s not.” I scrub a palm across my face.
“Jesus, Holden.”
I drop my hand, realizing she’s focused on my knuckles.
“It looks worse than it is.”
I’m not sure if it does, actually. I thought the shower would clean it up. But blood is oozing out of the wound again. I definitely should have searched for a Band-Aid, at the very least. The paper towel didn’t do much.
Cassia steps closer, searching my expression. “Did something happen?”
I exhale. People are walking in and out around us, but I’m totally focused on her.
“I got the results. I’m not a match.” I spit the words out.
Sympathy bleeds across her face.
“And I’m relieved, which makes me feel like shit. But I’m also angry. Disappointed. Not only because she’ll probably die, but because I wanted her to owe me. Tonot want usbut toneed me.” I shake my head. “It’s stupid. I’m just—”
“It’snotstupid.”
She hugs me. Here in the lobby of the sports center. Random people are walking past and the fluorescent lights hum overhead. And I hug her back, bending my neck so my chin rests on her shoulder. Exhale deeply, ignoring the throb of my hand and the ache in my heart and focusing on the only person I’ve ever allowed myself to accept comfort from.
“I could get tested,” she whispers.
I pull back so I can see her. So she can see my expression, especially the certainty there. “No. Absolutely not.”
“It’s not as likely I’d be a match since I’m not family, but—”
“I saidno, Cassia.”
