I lose myself in the task. In the smashing and aggression, so much so that when the buzzer rings telling us our time is up, besides being out of breath, I am completely unaware that there are tears staining both of my cheeks.

Gunner notices but only nods. In fact, he doesn’t say a word to me while we’re removing our protective equipment and gathering our personal belongings.

And I’m glad he doesn’t, because I’m a mess.

His hand on my lower back ushering me out of the place—and his absolute silence—shows me he understands the tumult of emotion I’m going through. He’s giving me time to sort through it.

And it’s only when we clear the building and we’re about to get in his truck that the tidal wave of feelings hits me and drags me under its hold. Gunner wraps his arms around me while I sob.

I’m angry that she’s gone. I hate that I haven’t had a mom for more than half of my life. I hate that my dad lost the love of his life. I loathe that I let Finn’s infidelity affect me. I’m furious that Gunner’s mom and stepdad hurt him so remorselessly. I’m crushed that I’ve met this amazing, wonderful man, and I can’t have him in my life after I leave.

And I’m angry at myself.

Because I might be another person to cause him pain.

The pain and hurt surges in a whirl of sorrow. I’ve never felt this before. Never known I was capable of feeling this . . . distress. And if you asked me a month ago, I would have said I was a pretty happy person. In this moment, I can see why I’m so driven. Why I keep pushing forward. Why I stick to lists and spreadsheets.

They can’t hurt you.

And through this mess, Gunner holds me. He continues to silently comfort me. When the sobs subside, he grabs my hand and says, “Some fresh air and a walk might do some good.”

So we walk.

Toward the park and on its meandering path. Around games of hopscotch and between kids riding their bikes.

He allows me to sort out my feelings without asking, and there’s something so powerful in that to me. That he knew me well enough, understands this well enough, knowing what I needed when I didn’t even know.

“I can admit that I’m mortified I just had a major meltdown, but it’s not going to do anything to take it back,” I say as we circle around the small lake that edges the park.