Page 38 of Broken Hearts

I watch out the window until I see him pull away from the driveway. As soon as he’s gone, I settle on top of my bed, looking at the ceiling, lost in my thoughts. I need to rebuild my defenses, fortify the walls around my heart that he has started to crack. Max will understand; he always does. He’s my safe harbor in the storm that’s brewing inside me.

The short night finally catches up to me, and I fall asleep as soon as I close my eyes.

Awakening from a restless nap, I feel an urgency to move, to expel the turmoil churning inside me.

Leaving the warmth of home, I go to Max’s gym which, with its familiar smells of sweat and steel, is a refuge where I can silence the chaos in my mind. The gym is officially closed for the afternoon, but I know that doesn’t apply to me. Max and I have that kind of understanding. He’s my brother now.

The gym is quiet when I enter, the silence offering a contrast to the usual racket of grunts and clanging weights. Max is there, only wearing a pair of sweats, showing his chest covered in scars, and methodically organizing equipment. He looks up, his face breaking into a warm, knowing smile as I walk in.

“Hey,” I greet him, trying to sound more upbeat than I feel.

He turns toward me, and if he’s surprised to see me, it doesn’t show. “Eva,” he responds with a nod. “How’s my girl doing?”

“Good,” I offer with a noncommittal shrug.

He only raises an eyebrow but otherwise remains silent.

“I’m okay.”

He crosses his arms on his chest, still silent. I hate when he does that. It feels like he’s interrogating me without uttering a word.

Sighing in defeat, I finally admit the truth, “I’m lost.”

He nods, relaxing. “Good. Now we’re getting somewhere.” He stretches his neck from side to side. “You look like you could use a good session.”

I can’t help but smile. Max always knows. I shed my hoodie, standing there in my sweatpants and sports bra, ready for action. The familiar feel of the mat under my feet grounds me and brings me back to a sense of normalcy.

We start slowly, Max leading me through a series of stretches, but the real therapy begins when we start to spar.

“Talk to me.” He’s gentle but firm, pushing me just enough to make me work for it.

He pulls me toward him and swirls me around until my back is against his chest.

“I’m weak,” I say as I put my leg behind his and pull to make him lose his balance.

Distancing myself, I turn around to face him, taking a fighting stance.

He snorts. “Absolutely not. You’re one of the strongest girls I know.”

I find myself opening up about my struggles and my weakness for Cole without ever saying his name. “I slept with him, and I feel like I can so easily get lost in him again, despite…” I shake my head, and I attack.

Max counters me and makes me fall flat on my back.

“It’s okay to have weaknesses,” Max says as he extends his hand to help me up. “It’s human. Giving in sometimes doesn’t make you weak; it makes you real.”

His words resonate deep within me. There’s comfort in the physical exertion, in the honesty of our fight. It’s a dance of sorts, one that allows me to express my frustrations and fears in a way words never could.

“He’s not to blame for everything. At least not for this,” I add, showing him my palm.

“But he’s guilty of what led to it.”

Of course he is, I think as I give Max a sharp nod.

“You can survive him. If you go back into his arms, I can assure you you will not end up on that bridge again. You’re not the girl you were a year ago, and even then, what happened was a slipup, a moment of weakness, and trust me when I say we all have them.”

I let my eyes drift to his chest and the scars marking it.

As if he can read my thoughts, he continues. “Even me, little one… especially me.”

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