Tortured Souls (Rebels of Sandland 2)

I pointed my finger at him and gave him my last threatening look of the night.

“You ever call me that and I’ll break every one of your fingers. You’ll never D.J. or type on a keyboard ever again.”

He threw his head back and laughed, but he knew I was serious. I’d let that one slide, but next time, he’d regret it.

“I’ve gotta say, mate, I loved the Charlie Manson reference.”

I grimaced but held myself back. I hadn’t said anything in there for his entertainment. But right on cue, Ryan butted in. He could read me like a book, and he knew Zak was skating on thin ice.

“We need to leave. I don’t think us standing in this fucking road dissecting what just happened is going to help anyone.” We all nodded in agreement. “Brandon, mate. I’m here if you need me. Call me tomorrow or whenever. You know where I am.”

I slapped him on the back and then said my goodbyes. Just as I opened the passenger door to Harper’s car, Finn spoke up.

“We are not a reflection of our fathers. We make our own impression in this life. Remember that. The chain can be broken.”

Zak frowned at him like he was speaking a foreign language, but I got it. I knew Finn better than anyone else. I also knew what he was telling me. It was time for me to break the chain. Time for my life to move on.

Six months later

“Okay, find a space and let’s practise some cool down exercises.”

I watched their little legs run around trying to find a space, and after a few seconds, I realised that without spots for them to stand on on the floor, they were struggling. I’d need to add that to my list for the next time I did a session like this. I pointed to a few places and helped them to scatter out as best I could, and Harper chuckled and joined in. She wasn’t supposed to be taking part, but this was her school, and the kids really listened to her.

I was impressed that they’d all paid attention and copied me as well as they did. The night before, I’d had a nightmare that the school gym had erupted into total chaos with kids climbing the walls, breaking out into fights, and ignoring every damn word I’d said. But they didn’t. They were hanging on my every word and every one of them was giving it one hundred percent, pushing themselves to be the best.

After a few minutes of cool down, I called them all over to sit with me. This was the first boxing and self-defence class I’d done in a primary school. I say boxing, but we’d marketed it as an anti-bullying workshop, incorporating physical training with the exercises my college course had taught me on dealing with all aspects of childhood trauma.

When I’d walked out on Pat Murphy and my dreams of making it as a boxer all those months ago, I thought my skills would be useless. I resigned myself to the fact that I’d forever be stuck on some building site somewhere, doing manual labour, and if I was really lucky, somewhere down the line, I’d get to learn a trade. But Harper woke me up to the potential that was out there for a man like me. She was the one who’d come up with the idea of starting the boxing lessons. I asked at my local gym, the one I used to work at, and they agreed to let me rent the space for an hour, twice a week. I didn’t think anyone would show up that first night, but they did. And soon the fees covered the cost of the room and then some.

The boxing lessons soon turned into self-defence classes as more and more people joined. I’d asked them what they wanted to learn, and I took their feedback on board. They wanted to know how to look after themselves. They wanted to feel powerful.

One day, I had a young lad come into my class. Fifteen years old, and I knew right away that he was suffering. I could see it in his eyes. I helped him as best I could through exercise, but that kid broke my fucking heart, and after every session with him I went home to Harper and told her how helpless I felt. She did her research, found a course at the same college Ryan went to, and the following week, I enrolled in a child counselling course. Never thought I’d see the day when I was excited about going back to school, but I was. I loved it. And after finishing with a distinction, I went on to take the advanced course.

It’d been Harper’s idea to expand the business. Reach out to schools and use what I knew and what I’d learnt to help younger kids. Harper had scored my first gig at her school, and seeing as she was due to return to work in a week’s time, they’d agreed. Other schools in the area signed up too after I spoke to her headteacher and told him what I did. I was fully booked up for the next month and I fucking loved it. Had to watch the language though. F bombs weren’t great for business when you were teaching five-year-olds.

I hadn’t spoken to Don Lockwood since that night when he’d begrudgingly admitted he was my father. Funnily enough, a week after the whole showdown, a brand new black Range Rover was delivered to my nan’s house, registered in my name.

I didn’t want it.

I didn’t want to accept anything from that bastard, but Nan and Harper had been with me when it came and they both disagreed with me. Nan said I should keep it and run him over with it. But Harper told me to sell it. Use the money for something I really wanted. As she pointed out, he owed me that much. So I did. I sold it back to the dealership and used the money for a deposit on the flat I now shared with Harper. It was the best move I ever made. Waking up with her in my arms was like every birthday and Christmas I’d never had growing up.

I sat with the kids on the floor of the school gym and I talked to them about ways they could improve their health. I explained what their mental health was and how their mind was just as important as their body. Then I touched on some deeper subjects, telling them that words could hurt just as much as punches. I called a kid over to stand next to me and handed him a tube of toothpaste. They all laughed when I told him to squeeze it all out into my hands. He did, and his giggle warmed my heart as he piled the white stuff into my outstretched palms. He thought this was the funniest thing to ever happen to him.

“That’s a lot of toothpaste to clean your teeth with,” one of the girls at the front said, widening her eyes as she took it all in.

“You did good, mate.” I smiled, looking down at the mess he’d made. “Now put it all back into the tube.”

His little face fell, and the rest of the class covered their mouths with their hands as some gasped and others chuckled.

“Don’t panic,” I reassured him. “I don’t expect you to get it back in. But what I wanted to show you was that words are kind of like toothpaste. Once they’re out there, once they leave your mouth you can’t put them back. It’s impossible. So, you always need to think about how you use your words. Your words could make someone’s day, or they could ruin it. Use your words carefully.”

The other adults in the room gave me a little clap and the children followed suit. One lad at the front asked me if he could eat the toothpaste. I told him no. Harper was right, teaching kids was like being a zookeeper at times. But I loved how unpredictable they were. This session had been the most fun I’d had in ages.

“You have a lot of tattoos,” another girl said, staring at my arms like she was mulling something over.

“I want to colour them in,” her friend piped up and they both laughed.

“Are you Miss Yates’s dad?” a little lad in glasses asked me, and I threw my head back, laughing.