He kept going.
Dust filled the air, making it difficult to breathe properly. And he kept going. It was only when his knuckles began to mark the bag with blood that he finally let his hands fall to his sides and stumbled backward. Sweat and dirt covered his torso in muddy streaks, and blood welled up bright and thick on his hands. He didn’t care. He knew he deserved every bit of pain for all the suffering he’d caused others over the years.
His parents, Miranda, Nolan, the team members whose fate he’d decided today; they all deserved better than what he could give.
He caught sight of the letter poking out of his shirt pocket, and marched over. If Miranda had wanted him to know her thoughts before she died, then he would damn well give her that honor. He tore into the envelope, yanked the contents free, and started reading. When he was halfway through, his legs gave out on him and he sat down on the floor. He pressed the heel of his hand to his eye and started the letter again.
Dear Mr. Anderson,
By now, I’m sure you’ve learned that I’ve made the decision to take my own life. Most people say this is the coward’s way out, and maybe they’re right. But I’ve never been a particularly brave person, so it seems fitting.
I’ve been sick for a long time. Not just physically, though I have my problems, but mentally. My sister is a wonderful person, but the weight of her personality was too much for me. I always needed to keep up, to find a way to be better. I started stealing when I was younger. As long as I didn’t get caught, it gave me a rush, made me feel special, different from her. It was my way of sticking it to people I didn’t like. I hated myself for needing to do that. I still do. I had to steal, but at least I could usually control who I stole from and tell myself they deserved it.
When I first came to work for you, I hated you immediately. You were an asshole who didn’t care about anyone. Day one I took your stapler and stashed it in my car. You didn’t even notice. Then I took the laptop. When you caught me and you believed my story, I thought you were an idiot. But when you fired me, I wasn’t surprised.
What did catch me off guard was what you said to me before security escorted me out of the building. I wonder if you even remember.
Zack did remember. She’d looked so sad that day, as though she’d lost more than her job. He’d put a hand on her shoulder and simply said, “You’re a good person. Don’t give up on yourself.”
It wasn’t anything earth-shattering as far as comfort went, and in the end it hadn’t been nearly enough. But something had resonated enough with her that one of her final acts was to write him this letter.
It doesn’t really matter if you do or not. I remember. Those words stuck with me for a long time. When the police didn’t show up for me and I knew you hadn’t turned me in, I felt even more ashamed. I tried to get better, do better after that. Worked harder in therapy, got back on meds. A part of me wanted to make you proud.
I’m writing this letter to say that I’m sorry I gave up, but the world was just too hard. You’re a good person too, Mr. Anderson. Thank you for your kindness.
Miranda.
Zack read the letter over a few more times until the words were burned into his brain. The poor woman had tried to turn her life around alone. He couldn’t imagine dealing with that sort of pain without someone to talk to, to help him work through the anger and frustration. Russel had seen the pain lingering below his skin as a teen and done everything he could to get Zack on the right path. Zack could only imagine Nolan had gone through much the same thing after his accident, relying on help from scores of doctors, therapists, and family members to piece his body and mind back together.
Nolan.
Zack closed his eyes and hoped Nolan was okay. When he’d left the office, Nolan was beyond rattled. With his sister in Vancouver, he would be alone if he had one of his attacks. Zack wanted nothing more than to go to his apartment and check in on him. Be the person he relied on for help. But given the way Nolan had looked at him, the things he’d said, that would undoubtedly be a bad idea. So he’d come here instead.
The throbbing in his hands was getting worse, forcing Zack to finally move. He’d picked up a large first aid kit for the gym office a few weeks earlier, and it was still sitting in the corner of the main room next to a stack of protective goggles and some other safety gear the kids had been using while they worked. Carefully popping the giant plastic box open, he saw that all the bandages and cleaning supplies were still wrapped in plastic.
“Shit.” His fingers were too painful to move much. Picking up the bandage pack, he tried to tear into it with his teeth as he gingerly held it with both palms.
“What the hell did you do?”
The package fell to the floor as Zack spun around, then froze. Nolan was coming toward him, dressed in jeans and a T-shirt that hung loose on his too slight frame. Zack couldn’t move, even when Nolan bent down and picked up the package, ripped it open, and took out a spool of sterile gauze.
“God, you’ve destroyed your hands. Is there any peroxide?” Nolan didn’t wait for him to answer, instead dug through the first aid kit to retrieve the supplies he needed. “If we don’t get the dirt out of it, you’re going to get an infection.”
Zack let Nolan take his hands out so they hovered between them. “Why are you here?”
Nolan flashed him a scowl. “Apparently to clean you up. Don’t move.”
After cracking open the seal on the peroxide, Nolan poured a generous amount across his knuckles.
White bubbles fizzed up, obscuring his skin and the cuts. Zack sucked in a breath at the sting. “Shit, that hurts.”
“It would hurt more if it was alcohol. What were you doing? If there’s something that can hurt the kids, I need to let their teacher and the contractor know before they come back next week.”
Ignoring the pain, he took Nolan’s hands in his. “Stop.”
Nolan’s eyes went wide. “You’re bleeding.”
“I’m fine.”
Nolan cleared his throat as his gaze slipped away to a point behind Zack. “You were boxing?”
“I was. That happens here.”
When Nolan’s gaze returned to Zack, it was actually funny. His eyes widened, and his mouth fell open. “You’re not wearing a shirt.”
“Took it off to hit things.”
“You’re sweaty. And dirty.”
“I’ll shower later.”
“That’s probably mold, if it came from that old bag. You should get cleaned up so you don’t breathe too much of that—”
“Nolan.”
“Yes?”
“Why are you here?” Even as he asked, he realized he almost didn’t care why. He was just glad to see him, touch him, hear his voice and know Nolan was all right.
Nolan stepped back, rubbing one hand along the back of his neck. “I wanted to talk to you. When I called the office and your cell and you didn’t pick up, I thought I’d try here. Well, first stop was Frantic. The club, not my state of mind.” A blush crept up Nolan’s cheeks. “Do you mind putting something on? I can’t talk to you when you’re looking all . . .” He waved his hand around Zack’s chest, as though that said it all.
The anger and frustration that had grabbed Zack in a python’s grip began to release. “Sure. Give me a second.”
His dress shirt was dark, so at the very least it wouldn’t be ruined by the sweat, blood, and dirt. He ignored Nolan and took his time doing up the buttons of his shirt, needing a few moments to wrap his head around what was going on. Because it really did matter why Nolan was here.
Okay, Nolan had come looking for him. He was willing to go to multiple locations so they could have a face-to-face conversation. That had to be a good thing, right? Maybe he wasn’t as angry at Zack as Zack had first assumed.
“Jesus.”
He turned around to see Nolan holding Miranda’s letter. “Put that down.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”
“Now.” He let out a huff. “Please.”
Nolan folded the note in half and held it out for him to take. “Did you do that to yourself before or after you read her note?”
“Before.”
Nolan frowned. “Why?”
Seeing him standing there, Zack was beginning to wonder the same thing. “I was angry at myself for what I had to do to you.”
“You didn’t have a choice. I know that now.” He gave a little shrug. “I have some savings that will cover my rent and expenses for a month or two. I should be able to find another job by then.”
Another job, where Zack wouldn’t see him every day. But that was how things had to be. “I’ll do whatever I can to help you.”
“That was actually one of the things I wanted to talk to you about.” Nolan glanced at Zack’s hands again. “And I’ll be happy to tell you if you let me wrap those up.”
Zack could continue to be stubborn, but it was hard to maintain the edge when Nolan was standing there looking cute but stern. “Sure.”
They moved to the rickety old bench by the wall, where Zack sat and held his hands out.
Nolan squatted in front of him, lifting the edge of the gauze from the spool. “I spoke to Max.”