We head to that corner of the basement. Rev straddles the…

““We head to that corner of the basement. Rev straddles the weight bench and sits down while Declan sits on a yoga ball and leans against the corner. They fall into these positions so easily that I wonder if this is their space, the way Rowan and I claim her room or the plush couch in my basement. I’m not a violent person, but hitting something sounds really good. I draw back a hand and swing, throwing my whole body into it. Ow. Ow. The bag swings slightly, but shock reverberates down my arm. I think I’ve dislocated every joint of every finger, but I can feel it, and it’s the first thing I’ve truly felt in weeks. It feels fantastic. I need one of these in my basement. I grit my teeth and pull back my arm to do it again. “Whoa.” A hand catches my arm in midswing. I’m standing there, gasping, and Declan has a hold of my elbow. His eyebrows are way up. “So . . . yeah,” he says. “I don’t want to be sexist here, but after the way you talk about cars, I didn’t expect you to throw a punch like that.” I draw back and straighten, feeling foolish. “Sorry.” “What are you apologizing for?” He looks at me like I’m crazy. “I just don’t want to watch you break a wrist.” “Here.” Rev half stands, holding out a pair of black padded gloves. He’s pushed back the hood of his sweatshirt, and I wonder if he’s grown more comfortable around me—or if he’s just warm. “If you really want to beat on it, put on gloves””

— Brigid Kemmerer