Twisted Hearts

Heavy thuds echoed in the dimly lit gym. Leather met leather with a relentless rhythm, each punch sending vibrations up the arms of the man relentlessly sending punch after punch. Sweat dripped from a furrowed brow, stinging his eyes and soaking the gloves. Every strike was sharp, precise, controlled. The punching bag swung violently, snapping back as the figure landed a spinning hook. A hiss of breath, a grunt, a foot pivoted—muscles screaming, heartbeat hammering, yet he kept moving, kept striking, his breath coming out in heavy puffs. The gym door creaked open. A familiar voice cut through the rhythmic thuds of the man in the room. “Gabriel,” the intruder called, leaning against the doorway, an iPad in one hand as a smirk tugged at his lips. “Have you seen the news yet? Do you know Sebastian’s back in town?” Gabriel froze mid-punch. The bag swung back, colliding with his ribs. A sharp grunt escaped him. “Oh, for f**k’s sake…” He jabbed the bag again, slower now, trying to push down the surge of emotion the name brought. “Where the hell did you hear that?” Jason shrugged, clearly enjoying the effect the name brought on his brother. He shook the iPad in his hand like a toy. “The news. Social media. Everywhere. Thought you’d like a heads-up.” He raised an eyebrow. He walked into the gym, stopping by the row of benches to grab a towel and throw it at his brother. Gabriel gritted his teeth as it landed on his head, covering his face. He took off the boxing gloves and, with one head free, started wiping sweat from his face with the towel. “I haven’t seen it,” he muttered, more to himself than to Jason, though the irritation lingered in his tone. He tried to hide the twisted feeling in the pit of his stomach using irritation, although from the look Jason kept giving him he could tell his attempts were nothing short of pathetic. Jason stepped into the gym, hands in his pockets, a teasing glint in his eyes. “You know, you never really told me why you two fought. Come on, Gab. A little story time for your favorite brother?” Gabriel rolled his eyes, snorted, and shook his head. “Not now. Really, not now.” Jason chuckled, then leaned casually against the wall, watching him. “Sure, sure. But man… you look like a statue trying to ignore a punch in the gut.” Gabriel muttered a curse, tossing the towel on the bench. “I need a shower,” he said, brushing past Jason without meeting his gaze. “Mm-hmm. Running away again, I see.” Jason’s grin lingered long after Gabriel had turned the corner. Gabriel didn’t answer his brother. The sound of his bare footsteps echoed down the hall as he made his way to his room, sweat cooling on his skin. The door clicked shut behind him, muffling the distant hum of the TV in the living room. Silence. He stood there for a moment, chest heaving, staring blankly at the closed door as the words repeated in his mind—Sebastian’s back in town. His hand dropped from the handle. The tension that had kept him upright cracked all at once. “f**k,” he muttered under his breath, voice hoarse. He paced once, twice, then snatched his phone from the nightstand. His fingers moved fast, typing the name before he could think better of it. The search results loaded instantly—headlines, articles, images. Sebastian Knight returns to take over his father's company. The words glared up at him. Beside them, a picture of Sebastian, he looked older now, sharper around the edges but still unmistakably him. He still has the same dark hair, the same cutting stare. The same reminder of everything Gabriel had tried to bury. A sound escaped him, low and uneven—something between a laugh and a curse. He sank down onto the edge of his bed, the phone still clutched in his hand, his thumb hovering uselessly over the screen. His stomach twisted, and his chest felt hollow. There was anger—he could feel it buzzing under his skin—but beneath it, confusion. Hurt. Years’ worth of questions clawing up all at once. He wanted to be furious, but he wasn’t sure at who. Instead, he felt nothing. Just the heavy quiet pressing down on him, the sound of his own breathing filling the space where his thoughts should’ve been. He ran a hand over his face, pushing back his hair, exhaling a shaky breath. “You’ve got to be kidding me…” The phone screen dimmed, leaving his reflection in the black glass. For a moment, he didn’t recognize the man staring back—sweat-streaked, his jaw tight, eyes flickering with something he refused to name. He tossed the phone onto the bed, stood up abruptly, and began stripping off his shirt, as if motion alone could stop the memories clawing their way out. The sound of the shower running filled the room a minute later, steady and cold—an anchor in the storm of silence. But even under the stream of water, the echo of that name wouldn’t fade. Sebastian. When he finally stepped out, his skin chilled, he dressed methodically—dark jeans, a crisp shirt and leather jacket on top. Motion, routine, control. He packed his bag slowly, grabbed his keys, and moved silently through the house, careful to avoid Jason, who had vanished, probably grinning somewhere at his little victory. The Jeep’s engine rumbled to life. The streets were quiet this early, normally the drive from his house to his office was the most peaceful part of his mornings, but today Gabriel’s mind was a mess of shadows and half-thoughts. He kept his gaze fixed on the road, his hands tight on the wheel, so tight his knuckles were pale from his hold. The phone buzzed, cutting through the jumble of his thoughts. Dad. He exhaled slowly, stiffened, then answered. “Old man.” His voice was calm—too calm, masking the churn inside him. Part of him cringed at the sound, and he prayed his father wouldn't notice. “Nice to hear from you, son. Been a while,” his father said, warm, steady. “Yeah… busy week,” Gabriel replied, his eyes moving forward, gripping the wheel. “I suppose running your own firm keeps you occupied.” “Yes. Very.” The words were clipped. Not the full truth but technically not a lie. Being a lawyer had to some extent taught him how best to tell half-truths. There was a pause, then softer, deliberate: “I was wondering if you could spare your old man some time tonight. Small dinner. I’d like to have you there.” Gabriel’s chest tightened. It had been one month since they’d last met, a month where work and distractions had kept him from facing anything personal—and now this name, this news, pressing at him like a weight he couldn’t shake. He forced a measured exhale, swallowing back the excuse he normally used. For some reason, he really wanted to be in his father's presence again. “Sure. I’ll be there.” “Seven-thirty. And bring that expensive wine I like,” his father added, with faint amusement in his tone. “Right.” Gabriel pocketed the phone, pressing the accelerator a little harder. The Jeep ate the empty streets, and outside, the morning sun was indifferent to his turmoil. Inside, his mind was a storm of confusion, anger, and a hollow ache he didn’t yet know how to name. The call ended, but the echo of that name lingered in his chest. He rubbed his hand over his jaw, eyes flicking to the rearview mirror, as if searching for a ghost he wasn’t sure he wanted to see again . Another long day lay ahead, and it had already started badly.