Page 54 of 4th Degree

She frowns as she studies me. She’s looking for a lie, but there isn’t one—it’s just not the full truth. I haven’t gotten my work schedule yet, but I need every shift I can get. Especially because we got the first ambulance bill yesterday.

“Alright, well…if your schedule opens up, we’d love you to come with us,” Lucy says. “We’re hosting a pregame at my house, too.”

There’s a pang of something in my chest. What would it be like to have friends? To not feel guilty about going to a party with them?

I force a smile. “Thanks, Lucy. I’ll let you know if anything changes.”

She nods and starts up the stairs, leaving me alone in the bag room. I reach for the disinfecting wipe so I can clean the heavy bag in front of me. But before I can swipe it over the leather, I get an overwhelming urge to punch it.

So I do. I haul back my right fist and unleash it on the bag.

I barely feel the sting in my knuckles, even without gloves on. So I punch it again.

And again.

And again.

Until I do feel the sting. And the soreness in my shoulder. And yet, none of that physical pain compares to the emotional agony that has taken up residence in my chest.

I’ll never be able to take a Saturday off. My Saturday nights are spent working, or taking care of my sick mother, or being a parent to my little brother. I can’t just blow off my responsibilities to watch fights with my friends. That’s not the kind of life I have.

And it’ll never be a luxury I can afford. The bills will never stop, not until—I can’t even think about that. And Joey is still young enough that I’ll be his only parental figure for a few more years, and the only adult he can count on forever. I have years of schooling left, and God only knows how long it will take me to pay off my student loan debt, and it doesn’t matter how much I work, or how hard I try, I’ll never be able to catch up. I’ll never be able to live in a way that isn’t this perfectly planned-out, fragile version. And God, I’m so tired. I’m just so?—

I feel arms come around me, gently but effectively stopping me from throwing any more punches. Dominic. I try one last time to throw one, but end up choking out a sob and collapsing into his arms, limp with exhaustion.

“Skylar. Baby, look at me.”

I don’t know what’s happening. I don’t know how long I’ve been lost in my thoughts. But suddenly, my environment registers, and my brain slowly settles back into reality. Maybe it’s the sound of “baby” on his lips that does me in.

Dominic is sitting on the mat, and I’m sitting sideways in his lap. His hands are soothing as they rub up and down my arms. My face feels wet, and my chest is still so tight that I realize I’m raking in loud, strangled breaths, but Dominic’s touch makes the inhales come a little bit easier. My erratic heartbeat also begins to slow.

He looks so worried. Like he wants to pull me into his arms, but also like he’s trying to give me some space. He doesn’t stop rubbing my arms, but as soon as my breathing is under control, he asks quietly, “What happened?”

“Sorry, I—” I clear my throat and try again. “I just…had a moment. I’m sorry.”

There’s a storm of emotions swirling in my stomach as Dominic comforts me. Shock that I just lost my mind a little in front of Dominic, embarrassment that I let him see it—vulnerability as I try to rebuild the walls that just came crashing down. I’ve never lost my mind in front of someone like that. Not at my father’s funeral, not when Mom got sick—Joey’s never seen me shed a tear. I’ve been an impenetrable fortress since the day I overheard Dad’s diagnosis at the age of nine.

And yet, I expose myself all over again when Dominic asks, “Do you want to talk about it?” Because as soon as the question leaves his lips, I instantly throw myself into his arms. Vulnerability be damned.

Wrapped around Dominic with my face pressed into his neck, I allow myself to soak in his warmth, his strength. The feeling of his hand stroking my hair is calming. Taking a deep breath, I try to vocalize what I’m feeling.

“I guess it just hit me that I’ll never have the kind of freedom to be happy that other people have at my age,” I murmur into his skin. “I have too many responsibilities to be selfish.”

But how can I possibly say that I don’t have anything in my life that I chose on my own? When did I become so self-absorbed? Not only did I pick up a sport that I love, but it also came because of a financial break that made my entire family’s lives better. A break that made it possible for me to do things that bring me joy. Today is the perfect example.

“Actually, forget I said that,” I hurry to say, pulling back from Dominic. “I’m feeling sorry for myself. I don’t know why I’m being so dramatic.” I try to force out a laugh to play it off, but Dominic sees right through me.

His eyes never leave my face. When his thumb brushes over my cheek, any remaining semblance of a mask falls to the wayside.

“It’s okay to feel overwhelmed sometimes,” he says. “You’ve lived a hard life, Skylar. No one would judge you for that.” I can’t answer, because my eyes once again fill with tears. I hurry to blink them away, very aware of the fact that Dominic is still wiping the rest of my tears from my face.

“Everyone needs to be a little selfish,” he tells me gently. “We all need to find our happiness. It doesn’t make you a bad person.”

“It feels like it,” I whisper.

“Skylar, you are so far from being a bad person that I kind of want to shake you just for thinking it.”

I duck my head to hide my smile. Sweet Dominic is disarming.

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