He throws his hands out. “That’s not true!”
I take a step back, motioning to him. “Finn, look at yourself. You’re hungover after getting so drunk last night you could barely walk. And why? Because of what you saw, what you experienced, and everything you’ve endured by being with me.”
For a moment he simply stares, but he doesn’t argue because he can’t. “Let me go,” I plead with him. “Give yourself this chance to get well.”
“Don’t do this,” he says. “Sol, don’t fucking do this to us!”
My arms ache with the need to hold him―to soothe that bruised expression claiming every inch of his face. But I can’t. So despite what I want, I give him what he most needs: an opportunity to heal.
My purse slaps against my side as I turn away, hurrying out the door before I change my mind. I’m not what Finn needs to be healthy. That doesn’t mean I don’t want to be.
The door slams hard behind me as I rush into the hall, a sob breaking through my throat when he calls my name one the last time.
CHAPTER 26
Finn
“Elbow, elbow, push kick. Elbow, elbow, knee. Knee. Rear push kick. Okay, now pushups.”
I bark my orders as I perform each task. I’m dragging myself and everyone on my team to the breaking point, and still, I can’t feel anything but rage. I hit fifty pushups and leap to my feet. “Roundhouse, roundhouse, roundhouse. Higher. Roundhouse, roundhouse.”
My shin repeatedly slams into the Muay Thai bag, each strike as hard as the last. I don’t care what’s happening. And I don’t ease up, ignoring the way my heartbeat pounds like a sledgehammer.
My body is warning me I’m exhausted, and that I need to slow down. That doesn’t stop me or scare me from issuing my next set of commands. “Switch, roundhouse, roundhouse . . .”
“That’s enough,” Killian calls from behind me. “Take three laps, cool down, and stretch.”
Our team collectively groans, abandoning the row of bags and starting their half-assed attempts at a jog around the gym floor. Me, I keep going. Roundhouse, push-kick, jab, jab, spinning elbow, uppercut.
“Finn, stop,” Killian says, lowering his voice.
I ignore him, leaping into my kicks.
“Come on,” he says. “Take a break from the bag.”
“Gotta make weight,” I tell him, switching from legs to arms.
“You keep this shit up, you’re going to come in underweight. Come on, start your cool down.”
I shrug. “Okay.” I walk away from him and head for the treadmill, cranking it almost as soon as the engine starts. I’m being an asshole to him, and anyone who tells me shit I don’t want to hear. The problem is, lately that includes everyone.
That numbness I’ve felt in the past, hell, I thought that was bad. But all this rage that’s been unleashing since Sol walked out on me, it’s made me a dangerous man. Knowing how bad I can fuck someone up should scare me, force me into action, something. But instead I stopped going to counseling the minute my court mandated time was up and let my anger brew―let it take me, reasoning it’s better than feeling nothing.
I don’t hear Sofia approach. She appears from one second to the next, leaning against the railing. “Hi, Finn,” she says.
I don’t answer. “How are you?” she asks.
Again, I don’t say anything. Out of everyone who’s been trying to talk to me, she’s been the one person I haven’t laid into. And I want to keep it that way. If I rip into her―someone who’s so unbelievably gentle―there’s no going back. So I don’t answer, my way of clinging to the human still left in me rather than surrendering to the irate beast no one can stand to be around.
“My wife just asked you a question,” Killian snaps, coming forward. “Show her some respect and answer.”
“Killian, it’s okay,” she says.
“No, it’s not. If he wants to have an attitude with me, that’s one thing. But he’s not pulling that shit on you.”
Son of bitch. I so don’t want to deal with this right now. I hop off the treadmill, not bothering to turn it off and storm to my office as I strip out of my shirt.
Heavy footsteps follow behind me, slapping against the mat. “Finn, get back here,” Kill snarls through his teeth.
Those sprinting past me slow their steps. I can feel their eyes on us. They’re anticipating trouble. Maybe they’re even hungry for it. Can’t blame them seeing how hard I’ve been working them.
I keep walking as if I’m not ready to go to blows. Yet I am. Do I like the idea of fighting my brother? No, not really. It makes me sick, if I’m being honest. We only ever came close twice: once, when I was sticking up for Sofia, and again when he reamed into me about Sol. That doesn’t mean I’m not willing. That’s how messed up I am. So angry, so furious, I’m waiting for that swing that gives me an excuse to act.
Sofia urges him back. I don’t bother turning around, don’t bother caring if he charges. If he wants to go, we’ll go.