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Chapter 5

ELEVEN YEARS EARLIER

Helen Elaine Leathers—my grandmother on my dad’s side—shook her head as she watched me track in more muddy footprints.

“Magpie, would you care to tell me where all this mud’s coming from?” she asked.

I laughed at the look on her face before answering. “It’s out of the garden, Grandma.”

Grandma shook her head again. “I don’t know what you’re doing but my floor is beginning to resemble those fancy mud spas your mom is so fond of.”

At that, I couldn’t help but give a snort and laugh again. “You and I both know Mama wouldn’t even let her big toe get anywhere near this kind of mud…it’s too much…real mud!”

Eyes, bulging, and face turning red, Grandma burst out laughing. “Lord have Mercy, you know your mama.”

Tears filled my eyes at her words, and I shook my head. “No, Grandma, I don’t, or at least not anymore. I don’t know who she is—but I know she’s not Mom. She hasn’t been since Dad died.”

Coming over to me, she enveloped me in her arms, holding me in silence. I could feel her love for me pouring out of her, yet intermingled with the emotion was that of sorrow for the man we had both lost.

I let out a sniff as tears rolled down my cheeks and I rubbed my face against her shirt, wiping the moisture off. “As much as I miss Mom, I miss Dad more.” The words, when they emerged, were watery.

I stood in her arms, crying out all the pain, all the anger I felt. When there was nothing left but small, soft hiccups, Grandma finally released me and took my hands in hers. “Come with me, Nicole, I have something to show you.”

She led me out to the yard and over to the rose garden, where opening her arms, she waved them toward the brilliant rose beds before us. “This is how I grieve.” Then, taking my hand again, she led me further into the garden.

With mud squishing up between my toes and coating the bottom of her shoes, she came to a stop before a bush filled with yellow roses. “This one, I planted after I lost your great-grandfather.”

Moving on to another, she continued, “This one, your great-grandmother.”

As she led me to half a dozen others, she named every loved one she’d lost.

When we came to a stop before one whose flower was a deep, dark red, she peered at it, sadness dimming her eyes before she spoke. “This one, I planted last year for your dad, Magpie.”

~~

PRESENT-DAY

As I came back to the present, I gazed upon that same garden I’d walked through so many years ago with my grandma. Only now, it held two more rose bushes than before; one for her and one I’d recently planted for my deceased partner, Special Agent, Shane Kennedy.

Walking over, I stood before Grandma’s roses, peering at them as I began to talk. “I sure wish you were here—everything is so messed up right now, Grandma.” The words came out as a whisper, however, the pain inside me shouted at the unfairness of it all.

After a few minutes, I turned and made my way over to where I kept the garden utensils, grabbing a pair of pruning shears from within the utility box, I returned to the gardens. Snipping at the rose bushes, I used only the bright beams of the moon for light as I chattered to my family.

As I cut away blooms which were no longer strong and healthy, I tried in vain to keep my mind distracted from wandering back to the events of earlier with Ethan. They came whispering in anyway, and unable to stop the flow, I replayed every scene, every word over again within my mind.

With a sigh, I slipped off my gloves and stretched, feeling discontent as I gazed up at the stars.

Several more minutes passed, then I did what I’d known I’d do all along; I picked up my cell and called Ethan’s phone.

Four rings later, his voicemail picked up, and I let out a breath. “Hey, it’s me. I know things are a bit confused at the moment—but we’ll work it out, okay?”

Afterward and not knowing what else to say, I ended the call, then wiped at the tears in my eyes, declaring to the surrounding air, “Forrest Gump’s mama was right about the stupidity thing, and I’ve been damn stupid. I’ve fallen in love with Ethan Townsand.”

Giving my head a small shake, I glanced down at the phone in my hand and felt my stomach roll. “Ah, fuck my life,” I moaned, the call button stared boldly back at me in green, telling me the call was still active.

ETHAN

As a cop, I was well aware that underground boxing was illegal, but in that moment, I couldn't give a fuck. I had come to this place to confront my inner demons, and this brutal form of combat seemed like the perfect outlet for my pent-up anger and frustration.

Stepping into the makeshift ring, I could feel the cold, damp concrete beneath my feet, sending a chill up my spine. The scent of sweat and adrenaline permeated the air, filling my nostrils with a potent mix of determination and anticipation.

The murmurs of the crowd created a low, steady rhythm that reverberated around me, intensifying the atmosphere. Taking a deep breath, I tried to block out everything except the upcoming fight, clearing my mind of any distractions.

My opponent, Joel, was a local street thug with a menacing presence. He was shorter than me, but his stocky, muscular frame exuded power. His dark eyes flickered with malice as he circled the ring, assessing me.

Meeting his gaze, my heart quickened in anticipation of the impending clash. This wasn't about money like in my younger days; it was a primal release.

The referee stepped forward, his voice sharp and commanding, breaking the tension. "Are you ready?" he asked, his words echoing in my ears. I nodded, feeling the weight of the moment settle on my shoulders. Stepping back, the referee signaled the start, and Joel charged towards me with fierce determination. I swiftly evaded his oncoming fist, feeling the rush of air as it narrowly missed my face. Seizing the opportunity, I retaliated with a rapid jab to his ribs, but he effortlessly blocked it, countering with a powerful punch to my left arm. The sharp pain shot through my body, but I refused to let it deter me.

We circled each other once more, our eyes locked, analyzing each other's weaknesses.

The sound of my rapid breaths filled the air, mixing with the surge of adrenaline coursing through my veins. The crowd fell into an almost eerie silence, their anticipation palpable. Joel feigned a jab with his left hand, and I anticipated the move. Swiftly, I ducked beneath his arm, executing a nimble spin behind him. Before he could react, I unleashed a powerful uppercut to the back of his head.

Momentarily dazed, Joel stumbled forward.

Seizing the opportunity, I unleashed a flurry of punches, targeting his vulnerable spots, determined to end the fight swiftly. However, Joel proved tougher than his appearance suggested. He managed to block most of my blows and retaliated with a few of his own.

The taste of iron filled my mouth as blood trickled down my forehead, but I refused to let it distract me. If I wanted victory, I knew I had to tap into an unseen reservoir of inner strength.

Round after round, we traded blows, our bodies battered and bruised. The ring surrounding us became a gruesome tableau of blood and sweat, a testament to our unwavering resolve. Despite my legs beginning to wobble beneath me, I pushed myself forward, knowing this was my moment.

Deep in my gut, I felt it, and I refused to let it slip away. Summoning my last reserves of energy, I lunged at Joel, landing a devastating blow that sent him crashing to the ground. Motionless, he lay there, and for an instant, conflicting emotions of relief and regret washed over me. However, the referee swiftly approached, lifting my hand in victory.

Weary, I managed a weak smile, nodding as he declared me the winner. As I stumbled out of the ring, the crowd erupted into a cacophony of cheers. They rose to their feet, clapping and shouting my name. Yet, their jubilation was drowned out by the pounding in my head.

This victory represented more than just winning a fight; it symbolized my rediscovery of self, the reclamation of control over my own life.

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