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—Simone—
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I had no idea what was worse: my clumsy attempt at being flirty or being horrendously awkward at it. I cringed to myself while over-analyzing the whole ‘my clothes go whoosh’ comment.
Embarrassment had me groaning below my breath, but not far enough. It caught Banks’s attention, creating a wry smirk.
“Thank Christ we can blow off some steam where we’re going, because this...” He waved a hand while driving with the other, “...is going to be the end of me. Not heart failure or being pushed off my bike into a ditch.” He shot me a dirty look. “No. It’ll be from burstin’ into flames from the goddamn noises you make.”
“It was an innocent one!” I exclaimed through a laugh.
He focused on the street. “Babe, that sounded anything but innocent, but—” He blew out a sharp exhale. “You’ve got me heated, Simone.”
My pulse kicked from his admission. I bit down on a smile, trying my hardest to hide how much it strummed my confidence. If I had this much effect on him without intending to, imagine what I could do if I tried.
I squeezed my thighs together at the thought. A war waged within. My growing affection for Banks was settling a broken piece of my soul, but it also irritated my internal scars and tore them wide open. Every little inch I let him in exposed more of my vulnerability.
I glanced across the truck and gulped. I feared falling, and during every perfect moment like this one, I willed myself to stay grounded.
If it wasn’t his elbow casually resting on the open windowsill, or the fingers dancing across the steering wheel in time to the country rock on the radio, it was the lopsided grin that instantly sprang to his lips every time he looked at me. Those split seconds and fleeting moments compounded. Each new one stacked upon an ever-growing collection. A collection created and coaxed to flourish by the free-spirited, small-town man I rode shotgun with.
Banks shot me another glance, grinned, and shook his head. “Damn you’re beautiful.”
“Banks, stop.”
The truck slowed. “Pull over?”
I rolled my eyes and laughed. “You know what I mean.”
He shrugged one shoulder, and I caught a flicker of uncertainty before he returned his attention to the road.
“Just dishing out compliments as needed.”
Heart sufficiently warmed, we fell silent for the longest time after departing Gatlin Falls. Banks eventually slowed and pulled down a side road, taking us further into the unknown.
Unease grew in my stomach with each passing mile. “Where are we going?”
“Two towns over. This is the backroad shortcut,” he explained.
The terms “backroad” and “shortcut” didn’t sit well with me. “You know this road?” I asked, reaching for the overhead handle and gripping it tight as we bumped along.
His lazy chuckle sounded over the radio music. “Like the back of my hand. Been drivin’ these roads since before I was legally allowed to.”
I snorted. “Why does that not surprise me?”
“Perks of growing up as the town’s founding family, I guess. A lot of the shit me and my brothers got up to was overlooked.”
I thought back to getting caught by the cops underage drinking in the local park and scoffed. “That must have been nice. Some of us had to learn our lessons the hard way.”
His wry expression cut my way. “Trust me, babe, I’ve learned my fair share of lessons the hard way.”
“Sure you have. I bet having a cop for a brother just enables you even more. And in my humble opinion, you do not need any encouragement.”
Banks snickered. “That’s a sticking point with you, isn’t it? You’re used to being in control.”
My lips pursed hard. “There’s controlling, then there’s being organized. I’m the latter.”
“Uh huh,” he drawled.
“Yes, uh huh!” I folded my arms over my chest, subconsciously shielding myself from judgment. “I never used to be uptight. I know I’ve changed, but I’m trying.”
Banks’s Adam’s apple shifted as he swallowed. “Hardest road to travel, that’s for sure.”
I hummed and let my head tip back against the headrest, chastising myself for creating palpable tension within the truck. Unfortunately, this time we didn’t have Pepin to use as a buffer.
When we cruised into a new town, Banks glanced my way and broke the tension. “Well, I guess I brought you to the right place today. Seems we’ve both got some stress to work off.”
“Smash Palace.” I read the large sign aloud as we turned into the parking lot of a small warehouse.
“Yep.”
Guilt over upsetting him washed through me. “I’m sorry that I’ve made things awkward again. I really am trying to lighten up.”
He offered a tight smile. “It’s fine, Simone. I’m feeling a bit out of sorts today too.”
I studied his profile as he parked and cut the engine.
“Yesterday is weighing on me,” he added quietly.
Without thinking, my hand settled on his jean-clad thigh. Banks hung his head and refused to look at me. He worked his jaw, each clench coiling the muscles at the hinge. Flexing my fingers on his quad failed to draw his attention. As did softly murmuring his name.
“Banks,” I repeated. “Is there anything I can do to help you?”
His eyes finally lifted to meet mine. They held deep sorrow for the barest of moments until he blinked and masked the pain.
“Just hanging out with me is all I need and want.” He shifted his focus through the front windshield. “I thought coming here with you might help us vent our troubles... together.”
I swallowed as apprehension crept into my throat. “Sounds ominous. This isn’t a therapy session is it?” I half-joked.
That pulled a ghost of a laugh from Banks’s mouth. “Of sorts. Not the sit down and talk kind, though. This one is more physical.”
Despite it being an innocent remark, my heart skipped a beat. Trepidation gathered strength when Banks jumped from the cab without warning and strode around the hood with purpose. The passenger door whipped open, and he thrust his hand into my space.
“C’mon, new girl. Let’s go fuck some shit up.”
~
“I can’t believe we’re about to do this!” A nervous tremor shook my voice. “I’ve never smashed plates or hit anything with a hammer before.”
Banks laughed from behind his face shield. “You’re in for a treat, babe. Once the first one shatters, you’ll want more—trust me.”
I turned the perfectly usable plate over in my hands, then simply dropped it at my feet. The sharp smashing sound made me flinch, then giggle.
Banks grinned and nodded with approval. “Good, yeah?”
“Yeah! Pass me another.”
He snickered and handed me another plate from the stack at hand for smashing. I now understood why he asked me to change into jeans; we had half an hour, starting now, to break, smash, hammer, throw, and destroy all that we could in this one room purposely set up to do all those things. “Stress release”, the reception guy had said.
As the endorphins flooded my system from one simple plate smash, I craved more of the rush.
The plate in my hand smashed on impact when I hurled it at the far wall of the room we were allocated.
Banks cheered and clapped his gloved hands, then pointed at the pile. “Why throw just one when you can send the entire stack?”
“Should I?”
He nodded eagerly. “Fuck yeah, you should. Show me what you’ve got, new girl.”
With one almighty shove, the stack of plates left the table and shattered at our feet. It was the catalyst I needed to let go of my control. To allow myself to do instead of think.
Banks shoved another pile, sending it shattering on the concrete floor, then we sprang into action, demolishing everything within reach.
As I took a hammer to an old TV, I felt the tethers deep inside me release. The freedom brought tears to my eyes as I hit the TV as hard as I could. Blow after blow, glass flew, plastic splintered, circuit boards broke, all the while tears streamed down my face.
Without thinking, angered words tore from my mouth. “Fuck you, Reagan! Fuck you! I hate you and I miss you and I want you back, but I want to move on. I can’t do this anymore,” I screamed, moving on to a shelf loaded with glass bottles. I picked them up one by one and hurled them at the destroyed TV.
Each smash accompanied my tear-stricken accusations. “We were meant to grow old together. Your parents are assholes. They took everything from us. Everything you left me, they took. They’re greedy, self-centered assholes who never deserved you in the first place.”
Out of nowhere, a sharp realization struck during the angered purge. Like a physical slap, it jarred me into clarity. All my ranting, my blame-laced screams, the anger residing within me, all had a common theme: this wasn’t about losing Reagan. I’d become so wrapped up in self-pity and grief that I’d lost sight of the good memories. The exact ones I should be clutching to. Letting him go was hard, but acceptance of the situation was even harder.
“I just miss you so much,” I whimpered as I fell to my knees among broken rubble.
Behind me, Banks’s own curses punctuated the shattering of glass as he worked his way through his own turmoil. Grateful for him being distracted, I removed my face shield and pressed my gloved hands to my face. I sobbed into the thick, stiff fabric, not caring that it smelt of stale sweat and not giving a fuck for my own safety as Banks continued his path of destruction.
I cried until my throat grew raw, and my chest burned. When it begged for more oxygen, I sucked in heaving inhale after heaving inhale while grappling with the surfacing demons.
Blindly searching for the one object I needed, as soon as a shard of broken plastic was between my gloved-fingers, I shoved up the sleeve of my protective jacket.
The makeshift blade needed a little more force than usual to penetrate my skin, but when it did, a hiss of deep relief deflated my chest. The release I needed came as an initial wave, then again when I made a second slice.
I didn’t notice the crashing around me had stopped until a strong arm wrapped around my chest while the other locked down my hand holding the shard.
Banks’s breathless voice spoke against my ear, “It’s okay, babe. I’ve got you. It’s okay,” he chanted on repeat.
His bent knees pressed to either side of my hips as he pulled me backward into him. There he held me so tight I finally felt safe and grounded.
He hastily tore one glove off, then pressed his bare fingers to the fresh cuts on my inner arm and his voice cracked. “Fuck, baby, you scared the shit out of me.”
The warehouse siren blared to life and a demand filled the loudspeaker. “Smashers, please make your way to the exit immediately!”
I sniffed and palmed my eyes dry. “We need to get up.”
Banks’s lips brushed my ear as he spoke, “I’m not letting you go until I know you won’t fall apart again.”
Him rocking me from side to side soothed my emotions and coaxed me calm. He stayed on his knees behind me even when a second, more urgent warning came.
“Banks, I need you out of the smash zone right now. We have cameras, and your removal is a matter of personal safety.”
“Fuck,” Banks breathed out. “C’mon, babe, we do need to leave.”
I struggled with my footing as he lifted me, then found my balance. But when I got a good look at Banks, my heart dropped. His cheeks held the color of exertion and his smile was forced, and the torment in his eyes had me breaking for him. Red-rimmed and still shimmering with moisture that came after crying, his hazel gaze unashamedly held mine.
Again, I was reminded of the bigger picture—one far greater than myself. Banks was battling his own demons, and I’d been too caught up in my historic ones to help fight his.
My hand raised to his cheek, pressing to his heated skin briefly before he snagged it away. “C’mon, babe. We need to move.”
With my hand firmly in his grip, I rushed to keep up with his hurried stride. Once out of the smash zone, we came to a halt in front of the reception counter. Banks tucked me protectively behind his body as he met the manager’s outrage head-on.
“Tommie, w—”
“Get the gear off, then get her out of here! You’re both banned for life,” the man spat as red-hot rage crept up his neck and disappeared beneath his unkempt beard.
The muscles in Banks’s arms tensed as he shrugged the jacket off. “That’s a bit harsh, don’t you think, Tommie?”
A forced, humorless laugh left the manager’s mouth. “You might get things your own way two towns over, Gatlin, but in this one you don’t. Out, now.” He pointed at the door. “Both of you.”
Banks’s hand found mine and squeezed it. “C’mon, babe.”
We left our protective clothing in a pile in the middle of reception, and he guided me to the exit with a firm hand on my lower back. He opened the single glass door for me but paused when I stepped through.
“Meet me at the truck, babe,” he murmured while handing over his keys.
After a gentle push that propelled me on my way, Banks stepped back into the warehouse and closed the door behind him.
