“You probably already know this,” I said, avoiding his gaze, dropping his hand. “But Jake and I….”

“Slept together,” Owen said. “I know.”

We eyed each other.

“So you two tell each other everything?” I asked.

“Pretty much,” he said, looking away.

Maybe he was over this conversation, but I couldn’t just pretend that what had happened didn’t. If I was going to go through with this date, with any of this, then it was only going to be with clear honest communication.

I scanned him, waiting for him to elaborate. Eventually, I asked, “And you’re ok with that?”

A frown tugged at his lip corners. “Ok isn’t the right word.”

He glanced at me before continuing. I raised my brows and he sighed.

“If I’m being honest, it’s weird, ok?” He straightened his collar. “I can’t say anything for sure yet. All I know is, I like you, and Jake likes you. And while I’d rather have you all to myself of course, if I can’t, I’m not sure it would be a deal breaker.”

The grin I’d been holding back took over my face. They both really did like me. Maybe their radio silence the past few days had had the same reasoning behind it as mine – just the whole weirdness of the situation.

“And you?” Owen asked abruptly.

“What?”

“How do you feel about this whole thing? About Jake and me?” he asked. A crash from behind a closed door drew my attention. I glanced to find its window unfortunately covered, grateful for the excuse to not have to witness the molten brown of his eyes’ demand.

“I don’t know either,” I said. “Except that I like you and I like Jake, and all of this is really weird to me too.”

“Alright.” He took my hand once more. “For now, that’s good enough for me, if it’s good enough for you.”

I adjusted my grip, threading my fingers seamlessly through his. “It’s good for me.”

“Great. Let’s get breaking things then.”

Inside, we found the room disarmingly white, home to scratches and gouges of various shapes, sizes, and colors.

“What do you think this one is?” Owen ran the pad of his finger along a zigzagging purple line.

“Crayon war?” I guessed.

It seemed implausible, but then again, this whole thing did. Not just being at some business that specialized in letting people break things but being here with a sexy man who was looking at me like he’d forgotten we weren’t as alone as he’d like.

“Stop it,” I said softly. Although my body keened once I tugged myself free of his grasp, a deep inhale set me to rights. “What should we break first?”

“The chair,” Owen said immediately. “Definitely.”

And next thing I knew he’d picked it up and crashed it down in one mighty movement.

I gaped at the mangled shape that was once the piece of furniture. Owen grinned, holding it out to me. “Wanna try?”

A meek smile amidst a ginger nod was the best I could manage. Although once my fingers closed on the cool plastic of the chair, something changed. A tension I hadn’t noticed before in my limbs lifted, then settled in.

‘Smash it’, a small daring voice in my head said.

And, wondering at its seeming lightness, I lifted the chair up and, with all the force I had, slammed it down into the ground.

I jolted back as the sound of plastic giving way careened through the room. Owen’s hand on my shoulder surprised me, although something about the hot stroke of his breath on my ear was reassuring. “Satisfying, right?”

And just like that, he gave voice to the jumble of feelings materializing in me. Infinitesimally and yet unmistakably, something in me had shifted and lightened.

Owen nudged me toward a small desk in the corner. “That one’s all yours.”

My feet started walking me there before I even thought to. Already, my brain was working in overdrive to dissuade me. The desk was old, even a little ornate in the folds and frills of its top edges. This old beech wood desk had belonged to someone, maybe even a child. This desk had had a life, been loved, and now I was going to destroy it, for what?

It went against everything that I believed in as a nurse. Mending, making good again, saving. To destroy, to throw my weight against something and watch it dissolve into ruin seemed wrong. Immoral. And just what I needed right now.

I lifted my foot up over the top of the squat desk and slammed it down.

The splinter of wood from wood was music. My next kick was the lifting of the conductor’s baton.

Good thing I was wearing my ankle boots for what happened next. A pure symphony of strikes. My foot jabbed out over and over. into the collapsed, half-legged wooden remnant. Kicking and breaking and shredding, and not just wood. Worry and guilt and regret were snapping out there too. Pain and hope, while pure animal impulse took over. My feet, one and then the other, jumping out and on the wooden heap, still not done, kicking and stomping and stamping.

Owen’s shoulder squeeze came as a surprise. I whirled around, eyes wild.

“You ok?” he asked.

I took a breath, realizing it as I exhaled. “Yeah, actually. Better than ok.”

It was true. Something that had been coiled and hardened and horrible inside of me had been dislodged. Not thrown free but shifted.

“Better enough to tackle the TV?”

At Owen’s words, both our gazes went to the flat-screen monolith. At the back of the room it stood, waiting. as if the final challenge in some sort of video game, impassive, unhurried.

When Owen’s hand took mine, I knew the answer. Together, we approached it, regarded it. And then, together, we destroyed the shit out of it.

First, though, Owen handed me gloves that Battle Sports had provided. Then, we exchanged a grin. It was time.

Owen was first. With no warning, he let out a sort of grunt, then his foot shot out. Now, I was more than ready with my own kick. The liquid crackle as foot met screen was more than worth it. Beside me, Owen was hunkered over, his eyes alive as his gloved fist slashed into the TV’s innards. That was the last I saw of him. From then on out, I was lost to everything except the pure hedonistic pleasure of destruction. Foot, fist, I lost track of what was connecting, crumpling into what, until the TV was a flattened wreckage before us.

Owen and I exchanged a glance.

“We are insane,” I said.

“Certifiable,” he agreed. “But isn’t it fun?”

--

After, true to his word, Owen drove us to the beach. We didn’t talk much, still processing everything that had happened in that small, over-white room. Only once we were comfily positioned on a blanket on the sand, did Owen broach the subject.

“I was a bit worried I’d be the only one going ape there.”

“Nope, looks like we both have our own demons,” I said. I’d meant it as a joke, but my laugh came out feeble and unconvincing.

Owen’s sidelong study of a look didn’t make things any easier. Was I never going to tell him and Jake?

“Was yours about your hand?” I asked, to avoid remaining on the subject at hand.

“Sure, yeah,” he admitted without elaborating.

I guess if I was keeping my secrets, he could be allowed his.

When his hand dipped into his messenger bag and came back with a bottle of what looked to be red wine, I couldn’t have been happier.

“Picked this up on the way to your place,” Owen said, extending it out to me partway before pausing. “If you want.”

I grabbed it, pleased to see it was a twistable cap. I took a swig, then, wiping my lips, shook my head. “Nah, don’t think I’ll have any.”

Another meant-to-be joke, although I was the only one who giggled at it. I could still feel a bit of wine coating my lower lip, though I’d have sensed its presence even otherwise with the way that Owen was looking at me.

My heart dropped. The way he gazed at me made time stop. It made me want to reach for the wine bottle to better be able to handle it.

When Owen took a swig of wine himself, I was well-relieved.

“I can see why you guys like boxing,” I said suddenly, my gaze lost on the never-ending waves in the water before us.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” I took another sip of wine, the fruity expansiveness floating through me. My eyes closed, recalling it all. “The exhilaration of that walk in, the howling crowd, the absolute real humanness of it. Fist connecting with flesh.” I felt weird saying the words, revealing to Owen what I hadn’t even admitted to myself yet. “There’s lots of things you can fake these days but not that. The final frontier of realness is what boxing is. No bullshit, no games. Just one man’s brute force against another’s.”

The silence after I spoke made me feel self-conscious all over again.

“I was a bit nervous you’d think it was barbaric,” Owen said, another expression I couldn’t place taking over his features, one by one. “Most girls he and I have dated do.”

“I did, at first,” I admitted. “But then I stopped thinking in ‘should’s’ and how my parents or my sister would want me to react, and just let myself take it all in. The fullness of the fight – from the collective held breaths to the gurgle and crackle of flesh hitting flesh in the ring.” I exhaled. “Although I couldn’t take seeing Jake lose.”

“Neither can I,” Owen admitted. “Lucky for us though, Jake’s been having a winning streak these past few months and looks all set to continue it. You have a sister?”

“Yeah, I don’t mention her that much.”

“Guessing you’re not close, then.”

I smiled ruefully. “No, in fact, we’re almost opposites. She’s like my parents. Decisive, always knows the right thing to do and does it.”

“And you don’t?”

I fixed him with a stare that he returned unflinchingly.

“I’m dating two brothers at the same time,” I said. “How can that be right?”

“What if it is?” he countered.

I looked at him for a moment before continuing. “I just don’t want anyone to get hurt,” I finally said.

Our gazes held for another few seconds.

“You’ve been hurt badly in the past,” Owen said, as though his gaze had somehow looked into to my brain. “Haven’t you?”

“Hasn’t everyone?”

He shook his head. “Not what I meant.”

The way Owen had of waiting for you to respond even when it was unbearably uncomfortable was singular.

When he finally held out the foil wrapped dark chocolate bar that he’d bought to pair with the wine, I released a breath I hadn’t even realized I was holding. “Thanks.”

“It’s ok if you don’t want to tell me.” Owen’s words were understanding and sad. “There are some things I can’t tell people either.”

Though I didn’t look his way, my thoughts turned toward Owen. How briefly we’d known each other. How fast we’d taken to each other. How, with two more sips of wine, I almost felt like I could tell him about Brent.

So, with the chocolatey darkness melting in my mouth, I sipped the wine once, twice, and, keeping my gaze careful on the red ombre skyline, I asked, “You ever been in love?”

His response was immediate, “No.”

It shoved my oncoming response back in my throat. If he hadn’t, how could he understand?

And then maybe it was the third sip of wine, or maybe it was the way his arm settled around mine, but next thing I knew, I found myself telling him. “There’s something I want to tell you.”