Page 52 of 4th Degree

“Skylar,” I interrupt. I can’t listen to this, can’t listen to her talk about a life this hard in such a detached tone. I wish I could just wrap her in my arms right now, but I know she isn’t ready to lean on me.

She looks up at me with a blank stare. Not because she forgot I was here, but because she’s falling into some kind of fucked-up pattern that she’s used to living in.

“You’re still here,” she says simply. She pulls the sweatshirt over her head. “You didn’t need to stay. Thank you for the ride home, though. If I had gotten home later?—”

She swallows thickly, the severity of the situation breaking through her emotional walls for the first time. And her voice is rougher when she says, “I have to get going. I’ll see you at the gym next week.”

For a moment, I can only stare at her. But then I realize it doesn’t matter what I do or say, she’s going to keep pushing me away to stand on her own.

And I can’t bring myself to stand by as she does that.

I reach for her backpack and sling it over my shoulder. “Come on, I’ll give you a ride to the hospital.” When she opens her mouth to protest, I add, “Taking the bus or even waiting for an Uber at this time of night will take too long.”

Still, she stares at me. And my heart breaks a little when I whisper, “Please, don’t make me leave here knowing your brother is alone at that hospital waiting for you.”

That finally breaks through her defenses. Her eyes well with tears, but then she’s blinking them away and nodding.

The sight of her like this, vulnerable yet strong, fills my chest with a maelstrom of emotions I’m not prepared for: awe, pride, respect. But most of all, affection.

19

SKYLAR

The rest of the weekend goes by quickly, despite Mom being kept overnight for observation in the hospital. Since she’s on blood thinners I was worried about a brain bleed, but a head CT didn’t reveal any trauma, and thankfully, she only has a bruised hip from the fall.

Overall, it wasn’t the worst weekend we’ve had. There have been plenty of other emergencies that didn’t end with our family smiling and laughing. Even the discussion about needing to finally move out of the townhouse, to an apartment that’s safer for Mom, didn’t kill the mood. Mom was told to take it extra easy for a few days, but other than that, everyone is back to their usual schedule.

Everyone except me, because I’m no closer to knowing what to say to Dominic when I walk into the gym on Monday.

And, of course, he’s the first one I see when I step through the doors. He’s sitting on the couch in the reception area, and when he sees me, he immediately stands and moves toward me, making me wonder if he’s been waiting for me.

“Hey,” he greets me, brow furrowed in clear concern. “How’s your mom?”

I give him a genuine smile. “She’s good. Little sore from the fall, but no real injuries. It just seemed bad because she knocked herself out on the way down.”

He seems to deflate in relief at the news. “Good. That’s good to hear.”

I fidget with the hem of my sweatshirt for a moment. “Thank you again for the other night,” I say quietly. “For the ride, and for helping me with my brother.” I suck in a shaky breath. “You didn’t need to do any of that, but I’m grateful that you did.”

For a moment, he only stares at me, his expression giving away nothing. But then he speaks, his voice quiet but deep. “You’re welcome. You never have to thank me for that. I’m just glad your family is okay. I’m glad you’re okay.”

His words fill my chest with warmth. He makes me feel cared for, in a way that’s not overwhelming. And yet, I still have no idea how he feels about everything else that happened the other night. We have so much to talk about, to figure out, but he’s giving me zero hints about how he’s feeling or which direction he’s leaning.

I feel wanted, yet completely lost.

Classes are the usual mix of therapeutic, challenging, and exhausting. By the time they’re over, I feel a sense of overwhelming peace that my life is back to normal. And that the gym still feels like my safe space.

But as soon as I start to clean, and I’m left alone with my thoughts, reality hits. Because I realized after the other night that there’s no way I can be with Dominic.

It’s not because of him. And it’s not because of the professional boundary, or his age, or any of the other things. It’s because I can’t be in a relationship.

I tried dating once when I was in high school. I said yes to a boy in my class, went on a few movie dates, I even liked him enough to lose my virginity. But a month after we started dating, my mom was diagnosed with early onset Parkinson’s. We found out when she cut herself making dinner—for the third time in a week. And while 11-year-old Joey was crying in the corner watching his blood-soaked mother tremble so hard that it took her ten minutes to call 911, I was out with my boyfriend. Being selfish.

That was the last time I dated. Because not only is another person not worth the sacrifice of my family, but bad things also happen when I do things for myself. This weekend proved that. Even though Mom is completely fine, I’m still shaken up.

While my mother was hurt and my brother was scared, I was busy having sex.

This guilt is suffocating. Every time I think of my recklessness, the pressure in my chest makes it hard to breathe.

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