Page 605 of Not Over You

“Lucila.” I keep her up with an arm and use one hand to force her to look at me.

Her eyes slowly open, blinking against the water droplets splashing her in the face. Her eyelashes are full of them. “I’m fine,” she slurs, sounding like a drunk who’s about to sleep off a bender. “Seriously. I’m not dizzy or anything. I’m not even weak. Just.” She sighs. “Very, very tired.”

She stands on her own two feet, like she’s doing it to prove to me she’s telling the truth. I keep an eye on her as I wash her clean. And after I do the same, I dry and dress us both, then carry her to the bedroom. Before she can knock out, I grab a paper bag from the top of the dresser.

“Eat,” I say, handing her one of the candy bars inside of it.

She looks at it for a second, at me, and then takes it. She eats two of them, her eyes hooded like they’re weighted, before she plops over and falls right to sleep. I kiss her forehead and then cover her with the blankets.

I pull a hoodie over my t-shirt and keep my grey sweatpants on. I stick a beanie over my head and then put on a pair of tennis shoes. The last I hear as I walk out the door and into the snow is her snoring.

I step outside and into what seems like a vortex. Visibility is slim, and it seems like the snow has created white walls all around me, but I’m in the middle of the abyss. I lock the door behind me and keep my head down as I push past it and into the gym.

Just like with Valentino’s bakery, it’s connected to our house, but separate. The only way in is from outside. Only a few lights are on inside. They highlight all the various equipment, the boxing ring, and the decorations lining the walls. The old man I bought it from used to be a boxer. Then he became a trainer.

The proof of those times stares back at me as I walk the place and take it all in for the fiftieth time. I breathe in deep. The place smells used. Smells like sweat, blood, and tears. There’s grit on these walls and determination splattered on the floors. It’s ingrained in the success of this place now.

My home.

The place next door is Lucila’s.

Together, we bring them together and make them ours.

It’s ironic how naturally that came to me. The thought of her making us a home, and this place—mine—being my business. A business that requires sweat, blood, and tears. Something that comes second nature to me. I’ll still get paid for beating them out of someone, but this time, everyone will be willing.

Michele and I took separate roads, but somehow, I still followed in his footsteps. I realize what it means now to dedicate myself to something, something I’m passionate about, while having the other half of me next door.

I’m here. She’s there. We take care of each other—meeting in the middle and on both sides.

Echoes of footsteps sound in my thoughts. The many miles we’ll travel from one side to the other. Our marriage. The pregnancy. Her rushing to tell me it’s time with Minnie on her heels. The sounds of little footsteps as our daughter or son grows up between here and there. Minnie doing the same. Thriving, since she’ll be with Lucila all day. She loves animals, and she can have them.

I have it all planned out. A future that’s as bright as the light in Lucila’s eyes and smile.

My feet take me to an area not touched by light. A punching bag hangs from the ceiling. I make two fists and tap it at first with my knuckles. Then I start to impale it. Everything I’ve always kept bottled inside comes through my fists. It’s flowing out, but the fire stays stoked at the same time. It’s a frozen steel burn. A hunger. A thirst. A crave. It’s a vice, and it’s salvation.

Like the woman in my bed next door.

I don’t tire easily. I keep at it, the beat of my heart drowning out the sounds of my fists hitting the bag and my grunts. I stop, though, when I sense someone in the room with me.

“Lilo?”

Even though the beanie is saturated with sweat, it still runs. It drips into my eyes. My entire body is soaked.

Lucila steps out of a pool of light and into the darkness with me. She uses her hand to wipe sweat from my brow, and I close my eyes. Her hands are ice cold. Healing to the heat of my skin.

“You feel so good,” she says. “So warm.”

She gasps when I pull her body against mine, wrapping her in my arms. She’s freezing cold. Because she didn’t even bother to put on layers before she must have run out looking for me. She’s dressed in the clothes I put on her before I left. I remove my hoodie and slip it over her head, even though she tries to dodge. She thinks I’ll be cold without it.

I kiss her forehead. “What are you doing running after me? It’s too cold out and too dark.”

She grins. “That’s exactly why I did it. The bed got too cold. The entire house, actually. I wasn’t sure how to make it warmer.” Her eyes meet mine, and then she turns them toward the gym. “So, this is it?”

“This is it,” I say.

I turn us so we’re facing the rest of the place, then take a step forward so we’re half in the light and half in the darkness. Our bodies create one shadow that bleeds onto the floor and rises on the wall. I rock her in my arms some, not even realizing I’m doing it until she whispers, “This is you.”

“This is me with you,” I say, and then hold her tighter because she’s shivering. The gym holds a draft. “Come on, baby, let’s go home.”

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