CODY
The hospital exit felt further away with every step. I gripped Skylar’s hand, let her strength pour into me. Her father had died only weeks ago, and yet she was here. I’d never deserve her.
The mechanical doors slid closed behind us, and I immediately spotted Lindsay’s parents off to the side. Their whispered accusations bounced off the brick walls and concrete sidewalk.
“They were your pills,” her father said. His suit coat was unbuttoned, his tie loose and crooked. He looked tired, weary and ticked off.
“I didn’t stuff them down her throat.” Her mother’s tone was as stiff as her posture.
“You should have listened. She tried to talk to you. To tell you she was hurting.” Worry marred her father’s face. He touched his temples, pressed and circled.
“I don’t recall you jumping in to save her either.” The bite in her tone was intended to sting.
His arm lifted in exasperation. “Because you accuse me of babying her every time I do!”
I cleared my throat. They owed Lindsay more than this. They should be at her side, not fighting with each other.
Her mom spun around and suddenly the tough, hostile exterior crumbled. “Hi, Cody. Are you leaving?”
We’d met earlier and I’d given the same report to her that I had to the doctor.
“Yeah.” My throat ached to pour out my own string of accusations. Why didn’t you believe her? Why didn’t you support her?
She pulled me toward her like my dad had once when he’d lost me at the mall. “Thank you for finding her.” She was little, like her daughter, but her grip threatened the circulation in my arms.
Skylar’s hand disappeared.
“How is she?” I eyed her father, who immediately stalked back inside.
That’s right, you jerk. Walk away, just like you did before.
My heart hammered against my chest. I couldn’t move, and the hypocrisy of being mauled by Lindsay’s neglectful mom only fueled my fury.
She finally let go and wiped away black smudges under her eyes. “She’s pretty out of it right now but, don’t worry, they say she’s going to be just fine.” With a final squeeze, she left in the same direction as her husband, never once acknowledging that she practically pushed the bottle into Lindsay’s hand.
I rested my forehead on the cool brick and the heat from Skylar’s hand singed my back.
“I need to get out of here,” I said. “I’m too angry. Angry at her. At Blake. At her parents.”
“Okay. We’ll go back to my house.”
I was trembling. Nauseous. Flushed. “No. I have to go…somewhere else.” I backed away. “I’ll walk you to your car. Follow you home. I just….” The air was choking me. I paced. I had to move. Had to fight, do something. The pain overwhelmed my senses. My vision blurred until two hands held my cheeks.
“Cody, my car is right over there. I can get home just fine.”
I sucked in two deep breaths. “You’re sure? Absolutely sure? I will not leave you here if you’re not.”
Her voice was the only sound holding me together. “I’m sure. Go.”
I flew through the parking lot, stumbling more than stepping, whipping around cars, pushing myself faster and harder. Hoping the rush would stop the fury that had an iron-tight grip on my insides.
I never had a sibling, but what Lindsay and I shared created a bond as tight as family. I wouldn’t let this go unpunished. No matter what I had to do.
A sharp sting assaulted my chest. It wasn’t from the running, but the screams of Fatty James that couldn’t be silenced this time. The injustice of seeing yet another victim of cruelty and abuse.
Like me, Lindsay would never be the same. Today was the final break. I could see it in the vastness of her surrender.
I put my truck in drive and beat on the steering wheel. I needed the contact. Needed to find Blake and end him. But I couldn’t do it like this.
On instinct, I whipped a U-turn at a stoplight, the sound of rubber against asphalt matching my urgency.
The Storm. Apocalypse. A release.
Then I’d find Blake and rip him apart until his body looked as broken as Lindsay’s.
*
The Storm was scarier at night, even with dusk only an hour behind us. The pothole-ridden lot jarred my truck as I sped toward the building. Matt’s bike was still there along with an old Camry whose hood didn’t match the rest of the car.
My eyes narrowed at the sedan. I wondered if the engine was as jacked as the paint job, or, if like all of us, the outside was only a sad reflection of what fell below the surface. It didn’t matter. People saw what they saw. Did what they did. To hell with the collateral damage like Lindsay and me.
I pushed through the glass doors with such force that the handle banged the wall. Matt was in street clothes. No doubt finished for the night and heading home to be with his wife. I didn’t care.
“I need Apocalypse. Now.” My voice trembled more than my hands.
Matt glanced at the blond guy behind the counter.
“It’s open,” the kid said, looking between the two of us like Matt would somehow calm the hurricane in my eyes.
I didn’t wait for an okay. Just headed straight down the hallway, past the two guys pounding each other in the ring and pushed open the door.
Seconds later, I was the one pounding. My shirt gone, music blaring, I sent fist after fist into the bag. I kept waiting for the violence to make me feel better, for it to take away the pain in my chest and the memories that flooded my mind.
Fatty James. We know you’re in here.
I hit harder, faster.
Wow, Fatty, you’re a whole lot of man, aren’t you?
There wasn’t enough volume to drown out the noise in my head. Wasn’t enough strength behind my fists to stop the gut-punch I felt with each word. I wasn’t fatigued enough to block the hopelessness I swore I’d never feel again.
I faltered, my arms dropping to my sides. The tape across my hands was torn and red from the splotches of blood. I tried to lift them again, ignoring the protest of my bruised and cracked knuckles. Five more punches, five more attempts to forget, and then I swayed.
Reaching out, I gripped the bag for stability, my heart now a dull thud in my chest.
I spotted movement in the doorway.
Matt was there. Arms folded, watching, waiting. His expression was blank, but seeing him made me feel safe. He represented all I had achieved over the past year and a half. He took a step forward and clicked off the screech of heavy-metal rock exploding through the speakers. “You ready to move on from this?”
His words knocked me back. “I thought I already had.” I dropped my gaze, studied the way my shoelaces looped though each hole of my sneakers.
He took another step in my direction. His movements were slow and careful, like a man two seconds from wrestling a bear. “You can slam that bag until every inch of skin is gone, but it’s not going to help you move forward.” He spoke with gentleness and understanding, like he’d been in my shoes before. Like he’d faced the same demons.
“Then how?” I begged more than I demanded.
“You’ve got to get control of your mind, Cody. Ignoring or blocking out the past may work in the short term, but eventually, the pain always surfaces. Trust me. I know this first hand.” He looked at my chest, his gaze following the line of my new definition until it settled on my face. “You’ve transformed your body. But that won’t make any difference until you’re ready to transform your mind and your emotions.”
I put my forehead to the bag, unwilling to look into eyes that could peel away every shield I’d learned to use. “When I think about it, I hurt. And when I hurt, it makes me angry and bitter.” Gruff and barely audible, my words hung in the air.
Matt’s hand was on my shoulder, offering me strength and comfort. “I know. And it may always hurt. You may always struggle. But until you let go, you will never struggle in a healthy way. You will never find healing. Or forgiveness.”
I hardened to a statue. “I’ll never forgive them.”
“Then you’ll never really be free.” Matt’s voice stung like acid dripping on my skin.
I gripped the bag tighter, hit my head against the slick leather twice before the first round of sobs descended on me. They sounded a lot like the sobs I’d released on the gym floor two years ago. But today they were different. Today they meant grief. Every tear for the boy who wouldn’t stop haunting me. “I’m so tired of being weak.”
Matt moved closer. “You have it backwards. Forgiveness is strength, not weakness. Letting go means giving up your rage. It means allowing yourself and the other person to have grace. It means giving up the hate and facing the pain of what you went through. Because only then, will you truly find peace.”
I stared at the man I considered my hero. Forgiveness. The word ricocheted within me like a bullet. “Where do I even start?”
“You start by telling the truth. To yourself. To the people you love. You stop thinking you can do this on your own and let others support you. And, most importantly, you rely on the author of strength to overcome your pain. God tells us that in the world, we will have tribulation, but in Him, there is peace, because He overcame the world.” Matt pulled me into an embrace that was as crushing as it was liberating.
I held on like a man drowning.
“You’re not alone, Cody. You’re never, ever alone.”