Your Echo: Gatlin Brothers Book 1 by Vi Summers

Author:Vi Summers [Summers, Vi]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Vi Summers
Published: 2023-05-22T16:00:00+00:00

~

“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.

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