Page 37 of Broken Rivalry

“Smashing stuff for free?” She snorts. “I’m so in.”

I shake my head and turn to Eva.

She twists her mouth to the side. “I’m not sure…”

“Are you scared to let it all out?” I ask, and honestly, I mean it as a joke, but the sudden seriousness of her face kills the humor in an instant.

“I’m not sure I’ll be able to close the box if I do.” Her voice is barely a whisper, a fragile admission hanging in the air. Nessa, ever the comforter, places a hand on her back, rubbing soothing circles. “That’s exactly why you need to, Eva. Because we’re here to help you close it again.”

Eva’s eyes linger on ours; a silent battle wages behind them before she finally nods, a quiet agreement sealed in the small yet significant gesture. “Okay,” she whispers, “let’s do it.”

The decision is made, and with a collective, albeit shaky, resolve, we find ourselves getting ready for this peculiar experience.

The more that time passes, the more the idea of smashing things excites me. I can already imagine the frustration leaving my body, and by the time it’s time to go, I’m almost bouncing with excitement.

We embark in Eva’s Cherry Bomb, and we navigate through the city streets, the atmosphere charged with anticipation and apprehension. The rage room, inconspicuously nestled between a quaint bookstore and a bustling café, awaits us, its nondescript exterior belying the cathartic chaos that lies within.

As we push open the door, a cacophony of shattering glass and muffled yells greets us, a symphony of unleashed emotions that are somehow oddly welcoming. We exchange tentative glances, each of us silently acknowledging the step we are about to take—not only into the room but into a space where our pent-up frustrations, fears, and pains can freely unravel.

We approach the counter, and a guy with a mohawk smiles at us.

“Poppy Donovan?” I try, not sure if Ethan has used my new name or not. I put the voucher on the counter.

“Yes, perfect. I’m Ted, and I’ll be your team safety officer today. Come with me.”

We follow him silently to a changing room.

He looks down at our feet. “Shoes are fine; no need to change them,” he says before turning around. “Love the combat boots, by the way,” he adds before looking back at Nessa, who ignores his comment.

He shrugs at her obvious disinterest and continues. “You need to wear your safety gear before getting into the room.” He points at the wall where yellow bodysuits are hanging. “You need to put on a combi. They go from XS to XXL. Then”—he points at two big plastic bins—“you need to grab the face protector. We usually encourage the enclosed one, but if you want the visor, it’s up to you, but you will need to wear the glasses as well.”

I glance over at Eva, noticing how her fingers twitch at the mention of the protective gear. Anticipation or anxiety? It’s hard to tell.

“It’s like I’m in an episode of Breaking Bad,” Nessa mutters, grabbing a bodysuit from the rack.

The guy laughs. “Yeah, you’re not the first to say that. Okay. You can put your belongings in the lockers and put on the bracelet with the key, and don’t forget to grab heavy-duty gloves on your way out. I’ll wait for you by door three.”

We each step into our respective bodysuits, the material whispering against our skin with every movement. I catch a glimpse of our reflections in the mirror—three women shrouded in yellow, faces partially obscured by visors and masks. We look ready for battle, and in a way, we are. Battling our demons, our pasts, and our pent-up emotions that have been simmering beneath the surface for far too long. With a nod to each other, we step out of the changing room, our steps synchronized, our resolve solidified.

Ted, clipboard in hand, welcomes us with a warm grin, standing confidently in front of the vivid red door. “Perfect, let’s head in. Your team is already inside.”

“Our T—” My voice catches in my throat, words evaporating as the door swings open, revealing Ethan, Liam, and Cole, helmets casually held in their hands, their stances a mix of mischief and anticipation.

“Our team…” My eyes narrow at Ethan, who meets my gaze with a shrug and a smile that’s half guilty, half teasing.

My focus involuntarily homes in on Ethan as he saunters over, standing so close that I can sense the warmth radiating from him. Ted’s explanation about the array of destructive weapons available to us becomes a distant hum in the background.

He steps closer, the intensity of his gaze making my heart race. “You’re not too angry about us crashing your session, are you?” His voice is gentle, almost hesitant. “I wanted to be here.”

“To watch me lose my mind?” I retort, a playful edge to my voice.

“No,” he whispers, his breath caressing my skin, “to see you let go and to be here in case you need someone to hold on to afterward.”

His words, laden with unspoken promises and a depth of emotion, cause my heart to flutter uncontrollably. I turn to him, our eyes locking, and for a fleeting instant, the world around us fades away.

“Hey, lovebirds, focus!” Ted’s voice slices through our bubble, and we break apart, a blush creeping up my cheeks as if we’ve been caught stealing a moment.

My eyes drift to the others, landing on Cole, who’s glaring at the floor, a dark energy swirling around him. A scrape bridges his nose, flanked by two burgeoning shiners beneath his eyes.

---