Chapter 3: Gloves, Ghosts, and Old Wounds

Back at the house, I found the staff clearing out my boxing room.

They moved quietly, packing my gear into boxes, careful not to look at me. The heavy bag was already gone. The walls looked bare and strange.

I snapped. Stormed across the room. "Who told you to touch my stuff?"

My voice rang out, sharp and angry. The staff froze, hands in mid-air, eyes wide. Nobody dared answer.

The staff all looked past me. I turned and saw Savannah standing behind me.

She stood in the doorway, arms crossed, expression stony. Her heels clicked on the hardwood as she stepped inside.

Her brows were furrowed, her perfectly made-up face full of impatience.

She looked at me like I was a kid throwing a tantrum. My anger burned hot in my chest.

"I told them to. You’re basically useless now, so don’t bother thinking about boxing again."

She didn’t even try to soften it. Her words were cold, final. The staff kept glancing between us, waiting for the storm.

She waved her hand, signaling the staff to keep going.

They hurried to obey, stacking my gloves and trophies in boxes. I felt something break inside me.

"Wait!"

My voice cracked. I rushed over, heart pounding.

I hurried over and clutched the boxing gloves Mariah had given me to my chest.

They were old, the leather worn smooth. They still smelled faintly of sweat and hope. I hugged them tight, refusing to let go.

"I’m keeping these gloves. Take everything else if you want."

My voice shook, but I stood my ground. The gloves were all I had left of Mariah—and of who I used to be.

Savannah narrowed her eyes at me, and I actually caught a hint of jealousy in her gaze.

Her lips tightened, her eyes flashing. For a moment, something raw and ugly flickered in her face.

She strode over, yanked the gloves from my arms, and threw them hard on the floor.

The sound echoed, sharp and final. I winced as they hit the ground, the sting of betrayal burning in my chest.

"Mariah’s been gone five years, and you’re still hung up on her!" she yelled through gritted teeth.

"She’s not coming back. Why keep these stupid gloves?"

Her voice was shrill, desperate. I could see the hurt under her anger, but it didn’t matter. The gloves meant more to me than she ever could.

I glared at her.

My fists clenched at my sides, pain shooting up my injured wrist. I forced myself to meet her gaze, refusing to back down.

"Savvy, we all grew up together in foster care. Why are you so hostile toward Mariah?"

"She was always the big sister who looked out for you!"

The words tumbled out before I could stop them.

Savannah just sneered. "Looked after me? If she cared so much, why’d she leave without a word?"

Her voice caught for just a second. I saw something flicker in her eyes—hurt, maybe, or regret. She covered it with a scowl.

I opened my mouth, but in the end, I didn’t tell her the real reason.

The truth sat heavy on my tongue, but I swallowed it. Some things were better left unsaid.

"These gloves are limited edition, and Carter likes them. I’ll just give them to him," Savannah said lightly.

She tossed the words over her shoulder, like it didn’t matter. But I could see the challenge in her eyes.

"No!" I shouted.

My voice echoed down the hallway. The staff jumped, startled. I lunged for the gloves, but Savannah stepped between us.

But it was useless—the staff had already taken the gloves away.

I watched helplessly as they disappeared down the hall, my last link to Mariah slipping through my fingers.

Savannah’s eyes were red as she glared at me, sarcasm dripping from her words: "Eli, your hand’s wrecked, so why bother keeping those?"

She spat the words like poison, her voice trembling with emotion. I wondered if she even realized how much she was hurting me.

She ignored me, leaving me standing there in defeat.

I sank to the floor, my back against the wall. For the first time, I let myself cry.