One More Round

There was a knock at the door. Three of them, actually. Jax froze with his hand on the arm of the couch, the sound cutting through the air. Nobody knocked on his door anymore, not in a long time, not since everything stopped feeling like a home. It sounded like Misty’s knock. He stood up slowly, his heart pushing against his ribs like it wanted out, and crossed the living room that still smelled faintly of her perfume, no matter how many times he cleaned. The door handle felt cold in his palm. As he turned it and opened the door, there she was, Misty, standing there with her hair pulled back the way she wore it when she was about to spar, eyes bright and wide. Her lips curled into a small smile that hit him right in the chest.

  He didn’t say a word at first. He just stared at her because some part of him was afraid that if he blinked, she would leave. She stepped forward without waiting for an invitation and moved past him into the house, her fingers grazing the edge of the couch like she was touching a memory, the light spilling over her skin making her shine more than she ever did. She saw the swords on the wall and her grin widened. She turned back to him, her voice carrying that same teasing edge it always had.

  “So you still keep them, still waiting for me to show up and give you a lesson.”

  He swallowed hard and forced out a sound that might have been a laugh. “Of course I do. You’d kill me if I didn’t.”

  She tilted her head like she was about to call him out on something and then just smiled. She picked up her sword from the wall without asking and tossed the other one to him. He caught it by reflex, his hand remembering the weight as if no time had passed at all.

  “You’re serious,” he muttered.

  She raised her blade and smiled. “Come on, one more round.”

  They took their places in the middle of the room, and for a heartbeat, it was just like before. Her feet slid over the rug, her eyes locked on his, her whole body charged with energy while he tried to keep up and loving every second of it. Their blades clanged together, sharp and quick, the sound bouncing off the walls as she pressed him back, laughing with every strike.

  “Watch out,” she said. “You’re getting slow.”

  He tried to counter, but she slipped past him again, graceful and fierce like she’d been born with a sword in her hand.

  His heart pounded, not just from the fight but from seeing her like this, standing there, moving, smiling, and then it hit him all at once. The memory of the tournament. The phone call. The way his stomach dropped when he heard the news. His grip weakened. He lowered his sword without meaning to, and she stopped too, the grin fading as she took a step closer.

  “Jax, what’s wrong?” she asked softly, love flowing from her voice.

  He tried to hold it back, tried to just smile and act like nothing had changed, but he couldn’t look at her without the words spilling out. “You were so good,” he said, his voice breaking, “but I tried to stop you from entering that challenge.”

  Her face changed, the playfulness slipping away. She stepped close enough to touch his arm. “I know,” she said, “but I had to try.”

  He shook his head, his voice breaking again. “You didn’t have to. You could have walked away.”

  She smiled a sad kind of smile. “You know me better than that. Sword fighting is what I always loved.”

She lowered her eyes for a moment, then gently laid her sword on the couch beside her.

  He felt the tears before he knew they were coming, his voice low and rough. “I miss you so much.”

  She squeezed his arm. “I miss you too.”

  The room went quiet around them except for their breathing and the fading light coming through the window. He wanted to stay in that moment forever, but he could already see her edges softening, the sunlight bleeding through her like she was made of air.

  He was so lost in his grief he didn’t hear his brother’s footsteps coming from the hallway.

   “I can’t wait to be with you,” he whispered, and Misty reached up, brushing her fingers against his cheek. “Be patient, my love. We’ll be together again, but not yet.”

  She gave him a faint smile. “I have to go now,” she said softly, her hand still touching him.

  His throat tightened. “Take care,” he said. “I love you.”

  “I love you too.”

  Then she started to fade, her shape swaying like a reflection in water until she was gone, and the room felt empty again.

  Jax stood there with the sword hanging at his side, his eyes locked on the space where she had been, trying to hold onto the warmth she left behind.

  “Who were you talking to?” his brother asked, his voice soft and careful. Jax turned slowly.

  “Misty.”

  His brother’s face fell. “Jax, she’s been gone a year.”

  Jax nodded. “I know. I just think about her a lot.”

  His brother stepped closer and laid a hand on his shoulder. “Come on, little bro. Let’s take her some flowers to her grave.”

  Jax finally set the sword down, wiped his hand over his face, and followed his brother out, her voice still clear in his head as they headed for the cemetery.