No Exit by Taylor Adams 2

“Darby, I swear to God, if you really killed my baby
brother in there, I will cut the meat off Jaybird’s little bones—”
“You’ll never touch her,” Darby said, her words hardening
with a chilling certainty. “I have the gun now. And you’re
next.”
Ashley punched the door.
A bolt of shattering pain exploded through his fist. A
jangling echo throbbed up his forearm. That was a mistake —
a huge mistake — and he clenched his knuckles, his breaths
curling through gnashed teeth, his eyes welling with hot tears.
Broken. Definitely sprained, at minimum.
He screamed. Something he wouldn’t remember. It started
as Lars’s name, maybe, but it morphed into howling nonsense.
He wanted to slug the door again, again, again, to break his
other hand, to bash his forehead, to destroy himself against an
immovable object. But that would solve nothing.
Later. He’d grieve later.
He leaned against the door, his forehead touching the iced
metal, controlling his breathing. It was still okay. He was still
in this fight. In his unhurt hand, he still had his cordless nailer.
And plenty of steel 16-pennies, purchased secondhand and
fingerprint-free, stacked up in the drum magazine. Ready for
duty. The cold weather hadn’t yet sapped the battery. The
indicator light was still green.
Alright, Darby.
You lost your mom. I lost my baby brother. There was an
intoxicating symmetry to their suffering tonight. Two wounded
souls, each reeling from loss, each nursing damaged hands,
joined by the rawest pain—
This is our dance, you and I.
He could still taste her lips from when he’d kissed her in
the restroom. He’d never forget it. The sweet sourness of Red
Bull, coffee, and the bacteria on her teeth. The humility of it,
the realness of a pretty girl with bad breath.