Page 80 of Always

“Into what?”

“You’ll find out soon enough.” My phone dings. “Christopher’s downstairs waiting for me.”

She nods.

I stand and pull her alongside me. I touch her cheek. “It’s never easy to say goodbye to you.”

“Really?”

“Surely you know that.”

“That night in New York, when you ended things. You seemed so…cold.”

“I’ve learned to hide my emotions. I’ve had to, for business purposes. But as you know, I don’t lie. That was the hardest thing I’ve ever done.”

I press my lips to hers without opening them.

A chaste kiss, because I know if let my tongue touch hers, I won’t ever leave.

…

The next morning I’m back at my Boston gym in my building with my regular trainer, and after a harsh workout, I’m in the cold plunge once more.

The icy chill of the water seeps into my aching muscles. I suck in a breath as it penetrates my skin, spreading through my tendons and bones. I shiver slightly and force myself to remain still, allowing the cold to work its magic.

“Five more minutes,” my trainer says from the other side of the pool. I nod, not trusting myself to speak without chattering. A rivulet of freezing water trickles down my back. I wince.

When I’m finally allowed to leave the icy bath, he hands me a fluffy heated towel. I wrap myself in the softness. The contrast between temperatures sends a rush of adrenaline through me, and for a moment, I feel invincible.

Forced meditation works its magic.

But there’s another reason the cold plunge is necessary for me.

To put it bluntly, it sucks.

It’s not enjoyable.

It’s something I get through.

It reminds me of life. Of the gritty, grueling parts that you must push through, clenching your teeth and bearing it, to reach the sweet relief of the other side. It’s also a reminder of my roots, my past, where every day was a cold plunge of its own sort.

I don’t like to think of those days.

Telling Skye about my mother last night took a lot out of me.

But it gave me something, too.

I won’t say it was closure. Closure, to me, is a myth—a soothing word people use to patch up the raw, ragged edges of their past. It’s like a beautifully wrapped gift box, hiding the messiness of human emotions inside.

No, what it gave me was a grudging acceptance, a reluctant agreement to look at the pain square in the face and acknowledge it as part of my life.

I don’t linger over the past. I’m not one to wallow, not one to dwell on things that can’t be changed. But sometimes, those icy shards of memory pierce through my defenses. The hardships? They sculpted me into who I am today—a fighter, a survivor.

The plunge pool serves as my daily reminder. It’s my own little ritual of struggle and perseverance, my silent tribute to the life I left behind.

Another Monday at the office awaits me.

And then tonight…

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