Page 54 of Written in the Charts

She leaned into it, putting her weight behind it, and I let loose again. It was like I had opened the floodgates and the dam was breaking. Left, then right, I smashed the shit out of that bag.

“Evan, you’re really angry. If you don’t calm down, you’re going to have a heart attack.”

Her lecturing only made me smack the bag harder and harder. I was unleashing my fury, the pent-up rage of the past two years, maybe longer. Every time I connected with that bag, I felt a brick from the wall around my heart drop. I pummeled it harder, willing the wall to collapse, for something to break. For my life to be different.

“Evan!” Serah snapped.

I stood there staring at her, chest heaving. I was out of breath, but I wasn’t done yet.

“I guess you never got the paternity test done? Or did you and it’s not yours?”

I growled, slamming my fist into the bag. Then my leg, then my other leg. I kicked it and punched it until my leg started to hurt. The more I kicked, the more it hurt, until I couldn’t go on. I collapsed, landing on my ass next to the bag. I tore the gloves off and threw them hastily across the gym. Serah watched for a moment but then sat by me, saying nothing.

“I didn’t pursue it.” I had to catch my breath. “I wanted to believe the best about her.”

“And something else went wrong?”

I couldn’t even begin to tell her what went wrong. Even if I knew the truth about what was happening, I had no words. All I had was a ball of anger and pain.

“You need to ask her, Evan. If she has nothing to hide, she won’t argue with you. You know that.” She stood, offering me her hand. I took it, but I could barely get up, and when I did it was painful. I winced and limped, and she scowled at me.

“Come to MTF. I’ll give you a shot.”

“But that’s dangerous.” I resisted, knowing more cortisone could damage my knee.

“It’s ketorolac. It’s fine. It is not a steroid, and it will help. Stronger than OTC stuff, and it wont fuck with your head the way opioids would.”

I followed, grabbing my bag on the way out and limping every step I took. Pain medication would ease the physical, but my heart was going to be tormented until I took this challenge head on. I had to know whether that baby was mine. It was killing me. I just didn’t know how to confront her.

CHAPTERFORTY

Gypsy

I’d slaved over that damn oven for at least an hour, baking and icing brownies and cookies. I wasn’t sure which one would suit Evan more, but I had to do something to snap him out of the funk he’d been in. I knew he was working with Derek. It was a Sunday evening following my exam week, and he always worked with Derek on Sundays.

When I pulled into the driveway, I saw his car parked next to Derek’s truck. Maggie was probably in the house and saw me pull in, but I drove directly to the barn and parked, climbing out with my plate of brownies in hand. It was warmer, no need for a jacket on this spring evening, so I breathed in the fresh air and lingered outside in the breeze for a moment. I could hear Derek and Evan talking, and another man whose voice I didn’t recognize. Derek sounded happy. Evan sounded moody. I hoped the sweets would change his mood.

As I pushed the barn door open, the men looked up at me. I instantly placed the third voice. Derek’s brother, Peter, was standing there with a pitchfork in hand. His eyebrows waggled when his eyes met mine, and I blushed.

“Evan’s lady friend made dessert. Well, Derek, we need to get us a woman like that.” Peter elbowed Derek and headed for the barn door.

“I already have a woman like that,” Derek said, following him. “Hi, Gypsy.” He winked at me as he passed. “You need to get a woman for yourself.” Their conversation followed them out the door as they left me alone with Evan.

“Hey,” I said, rocking on my feet. I held the plate out.

“Hey.”

“I made brownies and cookies.”

Evan looked at the plate and shrugged. “Not hungry.” His face contorted into a scowl, the same scowl I’d seen which seemed to be permanently etched on his face. He tore his gloves off and threw them at the bales of hay, then rolled his neck. “What do you need?”

His tone wasn’t very inviting, but I wasn’t deterred. I was on a mission to snap him out of this funk and help him, and I wasn’t leaving until I did.

I set the plate down and walked toward him, lacing my fingers through his for a moment. He held my hand, but his grip was stiff and cold. He didn’t look me in the eye. I wasn’t sure how to get him to open up.

“I can tell something is bothering you. It’s been bothering you for two weeks. You’ve hardly spent time with me. When you do, it’s cold. The last time we had sex was really weird. I had to make myself come because you just...”

I sighed. I wasn’t here to attack him, and I didn’t want him to feel attacked. “I’m sorry. What I’m trying to say is, I want you to talk to me. You’re hurting. I can see that. I want to help you.”

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