Chapter 24 Braxton
Braxton
There is no sound in the gym except my heavy breathing and the repetitive thud thud…thud of my gloves hitting the bag hanging in front of me. I bounce on my toes, exhaling hard with every hit before pulling my air in through my nose.
I’ve been going for a while now, but I’m not slowing down yet, even with the burn creeping up my arms. Instead, I sink into it, letting the adrenaline fuel me, the rest of the world fading away into a haze.
It’s been just over a month since I found out that Gracie skipped town without a word, which means it’s been even longer since I saw her.
She’s blocked me. Everywhere. I even logged into all the social media apps I never use—which was a pain in the ass because I couldn’t remember the password for any of them—but she hadn’t missed a single one.
In the first two weeks after she left, I spent a lot of time with my parents, but the more time that went by without hearing from Gracie or finding her, the more my resentment built, turning into burning anger.
Not just at myself, though. My anger had spiraled into something wild, finding a target in whoever made the mistake of standing too close.
Sweat pours down my face, and I blink rapidly, trying to clear my stinging eyes, keeping my focus forward. One of my swings goes wide, and Ryan, standing on the other side of the bag, loses his grip.
“Hold it still!” I growl.
“How ’bout you just don’t miss?” he drawls, barely giving me a look as he readjusts his position. He levels a dark scowl in my direction. “You’ve been a goddamn asshole for weeks. Punch it the fuck out already.”
I don’t bother answering, barely waiting for the jerk of his head before I go in again, throwing a sharp one-two, then driving an uppercut into the bag. Ryan grunts, but I don’t relent, snapping out a wide hit before starting all over again.
I’m the one who has fucked everything up. I know that, but I feel cornered, fighting every single person in my life—including myself—and I’ve reached a point where, unless I’m in this room, I can’t think without feeling like I’m drowning.
I can’t breathe for missing Gracie, but I’m also just so goddamn mad that she didn’t even give me the courtesy of a conversation before she got the hell out of dodge.
I don’t want to be angry. Not at her, not at the people around me, or myself, but I can’t just switch it off. I feel so out of control. I don’t even know which way is up anymore, and the anger is the driving force keeping me going.
If I’m not raging, then I have to accept that nothing I did fucking mattered, that there was no way of saving Allison that day. And if I’m not raging, I have to truly accept that I’m the reason that Gracie’s gone, and she’s probably never coming back.
So, instead, I’m here, doing the same damn thing, trying to save people and forget the ones I’ve lost. But there’s no safe place to land anymore because I drove her away. But Gracie was never supposed to go.
My chest feels like it’s about to crack open, but I just keep going, faster and faster, until it feels like my lungs are on fire with every single breath.
“Braxton.” Ryan exhales heavily. “Come on, man…”
“Shut up,” I grunt out. “Just hold the bag.”
“This isn’t goddamn healthy,” he argues. “We all see you spiraling. Let us in, man. Let us help you.”
A breathless sound of unamused laughter escapes, sounding as brittle as I feel. “You can’t keep pulling me out of the way, Ryan, so just hold the. damn. bag.”
“Braxton—”
I shake my head, but the room keeps spinning, even when I focus on Ryan again. “This isn’t a therapy session. My appointment was yesterday.”
Ryan jerks. “What—” The bag shifts the wrong way on a hit, and he loses his hold on it. I’m already moving, my fist flying forward—too high, too wide—and there’s no pulling it back, even when I can see exactly what’s going to happen.
His eyes widen in surprise, right as my glove crashes into his unprotected face. I hear a grisly crunch, and then blood is pissing out everywhere.
“Fuck!” I use my teeth to tear at the velcro straps of the gloves, chucking them to the ground before yanking off the wrappings.
I grab the first-aid kid and turn around, finding Ryan standing in the same spot.
He’s got his head tilted down, blood dripping from his nose onto the gym mats under our feet.
As I reach him, he spits out a glob of it from his mouth. “Get me an ice pack, you cocksucker,” he mutters, voice nasally and choked. He snatches the first-aid kit from me, pulling out gauze, trying to staunch the blood.
I’m back with an ice pack less than a minute later, and Ryan’s moved to a weight bench. He takes the pack, wrapping gauze around it and pressing it to his face, his other hand braced on his knee. His face is already bruising as he watches me, his expression unreadable.
“Fuck, man,” I breathe, guilt bitter in my mouth. “I’m so fucking sorry.”
He lifts a shoulder. “I shouldn’t have moved like that.”
I lace my fingers together, holding them against the back of my head. “I feel like I’m losing my mind,” I confess. “I never should have…”
Ryan tips his head to the bench next to him, and I sit down, my knees almost collapsing out from under me.
I’ve never hit anyone like that—I’ve never had a need to.
And getting nailed by Nick’s fist on New Year’s Eve, I know how much it hurts…
but at least I had the alcohol in my system to soften the blow.
Ryan drops the ice pack. “Still bleeding?”
I watch for a second before shaking my head. “No. Is it broken?”
He slides a finger down the bridge of his nose. “Think you got lucky.” He pauses. “I’m glad you’re still going to counseling.”
I lean forward, planting my elbows on my knees and staring at the floor.
“It’s been weeks, and it doesn’t feel like I’m making any progress.
Every time I close my eyes, I can see her face.
Every time it’s silent, I hear her mother screaming.
” I swallow thickly. “And I’m just…I’m furious all the goddamn time.
And whenever I’m not, it feels like I’m being sucked into this black hole where I can’t make anything right. ”
Ryan nods, understanding flickering through his eyes. “I get it, man. I wish I didn’t, but it hits harder when it’s a kid.” He reaches out, patting a bloody hand on my shoulder. “You gotta go easier on yourself, though.” He lets out a rough chuckle. “And stop making stupid fucking decisions.”
“You’re not wrong,” I mutter, staring blindly across the room. “The counselor said it’s not unusual that I would shut down or act out of character, but it feels like an excuse. And it’s not gonna make Gracie feel any better.”
Ryan doesn’t speak for a long moment. “You want her back? Gracie?”
I turn and meet his stare, letting him see the utter sincerity there. “More than I want air, man.”
His shoulders move as he sucks in air through his mouth.
“If she came home tomorrow—hypothetically—how would you win her back?” I frown, opening my mouth, but Ryan’s not done.
“She turns up tomorrow. How are you gonna prove she can trust you? Because this angry asshole, sitting here? All this proves is that Gracie was right to walk away.”
“You think she was?” I ask softly.
“I didn’t say that, but…if you can’t figure out how to move past this, then what happens the next time you see shit go down?
” Ryan looks up at the ceiling, looking exhausted.
“This job isn’t suddenly going to get easier.
You need to have solid strategies to fall back on when everything gets dark.
” He turns to me, eyes widening pointedly.
“And you should never be talking to someone who’s not your damn woman. ”
I wince. “Point taken.”
Paisley had been noticeably absent since New Year’s.
Nick said she flew back out to Minnesota to see her friends, but chances are more likely that she’s licking her wounds after practically the entire town started talking about what went down that night.
I don’t think anyone had a kind word to say about her, all of them siding with Gracie, even when she was nowhere to be found.
“What if Gracie never comes home?” I murmur. “I haven’t heard jackshit since she left, and I’ve got this bad feeling…” I press a hand to my chest, trying to ease the ache that’s become a constant companion. “I never even got the chance to tell her that it wasn’t…That I never kissed Paisley.”
“What if she does,” Ryan counters, “and you’re just as fucked as the day she left?”
The door to the chief’s office is ajar when I knock an hour later, gently pushing it open. When he looks up and catches sight of me, he doesn’t look surprised, his eyes softening as he greets, “Braxton.”
“Chief,” I return, shaking my hands out at my side, trying to clear off the nerves. Monroe is a good man and a good chief. I’ve known him for most of my life, but I still feel uneasy coming to him like this. “I need a favor.”
Monroe sets down his pen, watching me carefully. “Is this about Ryan’s face?” he asks dryly. “Because I gotta say, the new look is not an improvement.”
The guilt is hot and sharp. I rub the back of my neck as I step further into the room, sitting down in one of the chairs across from him.
“It has a little something to do with it,” I admit reluctantly. “I need a leave of absence…Just until I get my head screwed back on.”
Monroe’s expression tightens, but he just sighs. “I thought this might be coming.” His eyes go distant, and I can see the cogs whirling as he starts planning. “I can pull another crew member from Ashland, maybe, but I might need you to give me a week to pull it together.”
I clear my throat. “No need.” He looks at me with a question in his eyes. “I’ve just gotten off the phone with my dad and, if it’s okay with you, he’s willing to step in until I’m ready to come back to work.”
Monroe’s shoulders sink, his face immediately easing. “Well, I do like it when I’m presented with solutions instead of problems. Of course Stephen is welcome to come get his hands dirty.” He watches me for a beat. “What will you do?”
“A reset program,” I say, acting more confident than I feel.
“The counselor and I discussed it yesterday when I admitted that the weekly sessions weren’t working.
I’ve got a daily routine to follow, limiting my exposure to triggers”—the words feel unfamiliar and strange on my tongue, but I push forward—“and attending group sessions in Ashland. I’ll keep working out, and Dad and I have some nature day plans. ”
“Nature days,” Monroe echoes slowly.
I chuckle at the expression on his face. “Fishing, mostly, but maybe just sitting around and shooting the breeze, too.”
“Stephen is good at that, isn’t he?” Monroe leans back in his chair, arms resting on either side of him. “How long are you planning on this for?”
I swallow roughly, my eyes dropping away from his. “Three weeks,” I say. “With one volunteer day a week—not taking calls, but just supporting. Doing stuff around the station. Errands, maintenance, whatever’s needed.”
Monroe drums his fingers on his armrest, but doesn’t say another word until I lift my head, meeting his eyes again. “You’ve really thought this through,” he says, an edge of pride in his voice. “I’m glad, Braxton, and I hope it works. I felt like we were losing you for a second there.”
“I feel like I lost myself,” I say quietly. “And I lost something that matters more. But Ryan pointed out that I’m not going to have a shot of winning Gracie over if I don’t get myself to a healthy mental state.”
The corner of Monroe’s mouth drops. “You doing this for her, then?”
“No.” I sigh. “Well, yes and no. This job is a massive part of me. Something I feel like I was born to do. I know I’ll lose it if I don’t figure this out now.
But the one thing I love more than this job is my girl.
I won’t lie about wanting Gracie back, but the things I’ve done?
” I lock stares with Monroe, my jaw setting with determination, and his mouth twitches.
“It’s possible she’ll never give me another shot.
It’s going to take a lot more than this to prove she can trust me again. ”
Monroe nods once and stands up. I follow suit, watching as he rounds his desk, his hand out.
I slap my palm against his, expecting a shake, but Monroe yanks me forward into a bone-crushing hug, slapping his giant damn hands against my back.
“It’s good to see you again, Braxton. We’ve missed you around here these last few weeks. ”
Wincing at the jolt he’s giving my organs, I step back and give him a crooked grin. “I’ve missed me too. Apparently, all I needed was to deck Ryan in the face.”
Monroe barks out a laugh. “Well, don’t make a habit of it. Or, if you’re gonna punch anyone, Marco’s ego could use some popping. He can barely fit through the fire station doors as it is.”
Shaking my head, I chuckle. “I’ll keep that in mind.”