Page 70 of Free to Fall

Now I’m just broken, learning to smile

The last line broke me.

Tears streamed down my face as I finished the take. I didn’t do it again. I couldn’t. The moment was already in the booth, immortalized in every tremble of my voice. I sat there, in the dim light, the track still echoing through my headphones. My chest ached from the sobs I’d held back for days. It was like thefloodgates opened—and for the first time, I didn’t try to stop them.

“Egypt?” I looked up, startled by the voice. Averi was standing at the door, hoodie on, slides and leggings, her hair pulled up in a messy puff. No makeup. Just her. Real and present. “I checked your location,” she said softly. “I figured if you weren’t at home, you were here. And if you were here alone... then you needed me.”

I didn’t say anything. I didn’t have to. She walked over and wrapped her arms around me tight, pressing her forehead against mine. We cried. No words. Just pain and the comfort of knowing we weren’t alone.

When we finally pulled apart, I wiped my face and sniffled. “I recorded something.”

“You wanna play it for me?” I nodded and hit play on the track. Her hand found mine as my voice filled the booth again. When it ended, she was crying too. “That’s your interlude,” she whispered. “That’s...the heart of your album.”

“I needed to get it out.”

“You did. And it’s beautiful. Heartbreaking, but beautiful.”

I took a deep breath. “I just wanna work. I can’t sit in the house today. I can’t look at him and not feel like I failed.”

“You didn’t fail,” Averi said, grabbing both of my hands. “You carried a whole life. You fought for it. You loved it. And you’re still loving Nas through all this. That’s not failure, E. That’s strength.” I broke down again, quietly this time, and she held me through it.

Then we got to work. Because that’s what we do. Even when it hurts…especially when it hurts.

19

NASSEEM

“Ijust don’t see how the fuck that’s good news.”

I said it before I could stop myself, slumped back in the oversized chair with my arms crossed tight. My voice was sharper than I intended, but I couldn’t help it. Egypt sat next to me, holding my hand, thumb stroking the back of it like she was trying to keep me grounded. It helped, but barely.

Dr. Hargrove didn’t flinch. He leaned forward a bit, resting his elbows on his knees. “I didn’t say it was good news, Nasseem. I said it was promising. You took a bullet to the side, fractured a rib, and we had to monitor you closely for internal bleeding. Considering all of that? A full recovery projected in four to six months is actually…a gift.”

“A gift,” I repeated, shaking my head, heat flaring in my chest. “You know I’m a professional fighter, right? Four to six months ain’t promising, that’s a fuckin’ delay that could cost me everything.”

He stayed calm. “I know exactly what you are. And I’m telling you, from a medical standpoint, it could’ve been much worse. We avoided nerve damage. We avoided lung collapse. You’rewalking, breathing, and with physical therapy, you’ll get your strength back.”

I dragged my hand over my face, rubbing my jaw hard like I could massage the tension out of it. Egypt’s grip on my other hand tightened a little. “You survived, Nasseem,” she said softly. “And I know that don’t feel like enough right now, but I need you to stop acting like this ain’t a win.”

I looked at her. For a second, I didn’t say anything. Her eyes were big and round, full of that same love that damn near made me want to cry every time I saw it. But under it, I could see her own pain. She hadn’t cried in front of me in days, and I knew she was holding it all in for me. That shit made my chest hurt more than the fuckin’ scar.

“You know how hard I trained?” I muttered, my voice lower now, rougher. “How many hours I put in for this fight? This shit with Nate already had my head fucked up. Now this? The one thing I had control over is gone.”

Dr. Hargrove stood and gave a measured nod. “You’ll be scheduled to begin physical therapy next week. I’ll make sure you have the best care possible. Your body’s job is to heal. Let it do that.”

I nodded stiffly but didn’t say anything. After he left the room, I sat there in silence. Egypt didn’t push me. She let me breathe.

“I’m tired of this,” I finally muttered. “Tired of waiting, tired of rebuilding. I feel like I just get back up and life takes another fuckin’ swing at me.”

She reached up and placed her hand on my face. I leaned into the intimacy, feeling all the love, she had to give in that small gesture. “I know. But you’re not down this time. You’re still in it. And you’re not doing it alone.”

I looked at her, really looked at her. This woman had been through hell and was still here. Still choosing me. “I just…Idon’t wanna let you down,” I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper.

She leaned in, pressing her forehead to mine. “Then don’t. Just get better. That’s all I need from you right now, for you to get through this recovery process.” And somehow…that made the weight in my chest a little easier to carry.

Recovery.

That shit sounded simple when the doctor first said it—like I was just gon’ rest up, ice my wound, maybe take some pills and bounce back. But the second he told me the timeline... the second he said,“You’re looking at four to six months before you're back in the ring at full capacity,”my whole fuckin’ world tilted.

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