Page 60 of Facing Off
Blood beats in my ears as I charge into the room that’s been readied for us. Instant adrenaline floods my mouth. It tastes amazing. Exactly what I didn’t know I needed. To not think, but swing, swing, and swing some more until electronics explode. Keyboard keys go flying. Television screens crack. A microwave is dented.
I destroy everything.
Instead of lecturing me about how anger isn’t healthyor placating me with insufferable clichés likethis too shall pass,Hughes brought me to a rage room. A place where people pay to release stress by breaking things.
Tension melts from my body like water swirling down the drain. More objects crunch under the weight of my blows. I’m huffing and sweating, and finally back to being invincible. Like nothing can vanquish me.Except maybe this man who somehow oddly understands me clearly enough to bring me to a place like this. Not that I’m consciously worried about that. I’m too busy smashing things.
This is relief.
Much later, the front desk attendant walks into the room. It’s been a while since we started. Thinking that our time must be up, my shoulders sag. This was nice while it lasted. A very effective distraction to forget what happened to me earlier.
The man looks around and balks. “I had a birthday party of five yesterday, and they didn’t do this kind of damage…”
Hughes laughs. “Isn’t she incredible?”
“You mean terrifying, right? Anyway, it’s been over an hour?—”
Before he can finish that sentence, Hughes leads him outside.
Ten minutes later, he’s back in his same spot. Leaning against the wall, grinning in this way that doesn’t make sense since he hasn’t broken anything himself. Affectionately, maybe. Like he considers himself lucky to be able to watch me unleash.
I pause my destruction. “Are we being kicked out?”
Hughes shakes his head, negative.
I’m confused. “Wait. We have more time?”
“As much as you want.”
A strange glow spreads through my body.
How? The reception area where we signed multiple liability forms had a chalkboard schedule displayed. It seemed crammed full of other bookings. This place is popular.
I think about asking but get distracted looking at him, outfitted in the same protective gear. The coveralls are drab and dreary. Yet they don’t dull his eyes. If anything, the blue in his gaze seems brighter, like a cloudless sky in the middle of summer. And his hair appears almost golden against the black helmet. Sunshine-infused strands.
This isn’t the first time I’ve seen him in dark clothes. For interviews between games, the Wings are always dressed up. Hughes has a navy suit he sometimes wears. It’s expertly tailored, though I’d call it a sack compared to what he’s wearing now. They must not carry his size. The fabric is padded, yet strains over the contours of his body and leaves no room for doubt. It’s clear he’s a professional athlete.
I am one, too.
But my muscles aren’t what I’m thinking about currently.
I walk to him and lift his hand, pretending not to notice how his pupils instantly darken or the thick swallow of his throat. Maintaining eye contact, I place the handle of the bat against his fingers. “I’ve been hogging all the fun.”
“But I’d rather watch you, darling.”
“Yeah, right.” I’m rolling my eyes. “Destroying shit is way better.”
“Not for me,” Hughes says, looking very pleased with himself. He smirks as he says, “I’m not bullshitting when I say my eyes are sore from not blinking because I didn’t want to miss a second.”
“Of my violence? You’re so dramatic.”
“And you’re sexy when you’re destructive?—”
“Stop it,” I warn, my chest fluttering at his words.
“Stop what? I’m innocent!Youare to blame here.”
“I’m not breaking anything else if it’s going to turn you on, you pervert.”
