BREATHING IN THROUGH MY nose, out through my mouth, I negotiated the pain and bowed before entering the studio. I was late. I’d never been late. The instructor was going to give me shit, but when I stood back upright, he wasn’t there.
Instead, I was met with shrewd blue eyes I’d dreamed about for as long as I could remember.
Standing at the front of the studio in the instructor’s position was Ben in his Gi. “Take your position, Elyssia.”
I’d been in classes Ben had taught before the band took off. He was a higher rank than me and he’d always been better, but today, seeing him here? It was the last thing I’d expected.
“Yes, sir.” I flushed as I adjusted my Gi and joined the class on the mat. No one called me by my full name except him.
Ben Stark.
The serious boy who’d shown up at our house when I was fifteen. Marcus had brought him home from school beaten up, and casually told Mom they were hungry. Mom had wordlessly fixed Ben up, then she’d cooked a huge meal. A week later, she’d put me and Ben in karate classes and Marcus in boxing. She’d had to work overtime to pay for all the classes, but I’d never said anything to Ben. His foster parents never would’ve paid for those classes.
We went to classes together every week for four years. Ben had watched me go from a shy fifteen-year-old to a black belt. I’d watched him become a man. Now he was a rock star. A rock star I’d kissed… before he’d pushed me away.
Ben called out the kata and began the class. “Ichi, ni, san, shi…”
Five minutes later, sweat pouring off me, a tear mixed in with the pain shooting through my bruised and beaten body. I never should’ve come tonight, but I’d needed to get away and this was my second home. Determined to push through, I moved into the next kata, but when my left leg kicked out, I stumbled and winced.
Ben was behind me in half a second. “You dropped your guard,” he scolded. “Again.”
“Yes, sir!” I kicked again and saw stars. Bringing my knee back close to my body, I lost my balance and Ben caught me. The second his hands touched my back, I flinched in distress.
“Elyssia.” He barked my name short and fast and with a concern I wasn’t used to.
“Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.” I moved to repeat the kata.
“Stop,” he commanded.
I assumed the ready position, and Ben moved in front of me.
His voice dropped to just above a whisper, and worry lines creased his brow. “Are you hurt?”
Struggling to take a full breath, my back and my chest killing me, I stared straight ahead. “No, sir.” Oh God, why had I answered his texts?
“Eye contact,” he snapped.
Panting, I sucked in only half of a breath through my clenched teeth and looked up. “No, sir,” I repeated the lie.
Ben studied me.
Fighting the urge to squirm, I willed myself to hold his stare and my stance.
His sharp, precise nod was an extension of the control he carried, both in the studio and on stage. “Work through the katas with the two brown belts. Let them show you. Don’t do the moves with them. Correct their form when needed.”
“Yes, sir.” Relief flooded through me, only to be ripped away with his next words.
“Stay after class. You’re locking up tonight.”
Ben moved to the next student, and my stomach bottomed out. For the first time in my life, I wanted to run from this studio. The only thing stopping me was that I had nowhere to go. Steeling my resolve, I turned to find the younger students waiting for me. “Ready?”
“Yes, ma’am,” they answered in chorus.
For the next fifty minutes, I lost myself in the beauty of their synchronized movements. Then Ben dismissed class, hit the lights in the lobby, and locked the door as soon as the last student left.
With his unreadable blue eyes focused on me, Ben came back into the studio. His powerful body moving with quiet grace, his muscles rippling in perfect unison, he crossed the room to me.
My heart pounding, I held position.
“Remove your belt,” he said quietly.
What? “No!” The force of the single word robbed me of my breath in my bruised lungs.
His voice lost all of its softness. “Now,” he demanded.
Desperately fighting the stupid tears I’d been at war with all day, I didn’t question his barked command. I loosened the knot and let the belt fall to the mat. The muted thud made me drop my gaze and stare at the one thing that’d kept me sane for the past couple of months. Misery mixing with the pain, I didn’t notice him move behind me.
Long fingers reached from behind and pulled first one, then the second tie of my Gi. It happened so fast, I didn’t have time to stop it. Ben jerked the top down my arms and heavy cotton hit the mat a split second before his sharp intake of breath echoed through the studio.
“Who did this?” he roared.
I crossed my arms over my sports bra and choked back shame. I didn’t say a word. I couldn’t.
Graceful like a panther, Ben moved in front of me and dropped to a squat. With a gentleness I’d never known, his hands slipped around my left ankle and he pushed my pant leg up. The stoic expression he religiously carried had turned into pure fury.
Rocking back, he looked up at me with horror. “Who?” he demanded.
I started to cry.
An inhuman roar of rage broke from his lungs, and in the next instant, I was in his arms—in Ben Stark’s arms. For the second time in my life, I was exactly where I wanted to be, and for the second time, it was all wrong.
I cried harder.
“Elyssia.” Like my body, like my spirit, his voice broke. His hands held the back of my head, as if he knew it was the only undamaged place on my body.
I couldn’t stand another second in his strength because I knew it was fleeting. He would push me away like he did last year, but more, I was steeped in a secrecy I would never betray, not even to the one person I looked up to.
I did the only thing in my power to do. I pushed him away first.
But he caught my face and didn’t let go. With his deep blue eyes boring into mine, his thumbs glanced across my cheeks. “Is this why you were avoiding me? When did this happen?”
I said nothing.
He dropped his voice to a soft cadence. “Elyssia, please. Tell me so I can help you.”
I pulled out of his grasp. “I’m fine.”
His nostrils flared, but his voice never rose again. “Someone beat you, Elyssia. That is not fine.”
I bent for my Gi, the simple movement stealing my breath.
The hard lines in his forehead etched deeper.
“It’s—it’s not what you think,” I stammered, struggling to push my arms through the sleeves.
His hands covered mine, and he took over, gently putting my Gi back on. “I know you don’t have a boyfriend.” He deftly tied the sides of my top, then reached to the mat for my belt. Wrapping it around my waist twice, he knotted it with practiced efficiency and gave the long ends a final tug. “Who attacked you?”
None of the excuses I’d come up with over the past couple of months rolled off my tongue. My carefully controlled existence was crumbling, and I had nothing to grasp at. So I asked the one thing that stupidly felt like a safe topic. “How do you know I don’t have a boyfriend?”
His dirty-blond hair, half disheveled, half spiky, and the only testament to his rock-star status, glistened at his temples as his intense gaze studied me. “Do you?”
Tearing my eyes away, I shook my head. “I have to go.” I stepped around him.
Then Ben did something he’d never done. He grabbed my hand and wove his fingers through mine. “I’m here,” he said quietly.
That was just it. Ben Stark wasn’t here. He never was. Distant, aloof, he’d pushed me away after he’d fiercely kissed me back, then he’d done what he always did. He’d kept to himself. I’d fallen in love with him so long ago, I didn’t remember my life before him, but I never really knew him. He was the foster boy whose dad had died, leaving him an orphan. He was the serious and quiet seventeen-year-old my brother had brought home. He was the lost soul my mother had taken in and loved like her own. He was the determined boy who’d grown into a man and made a life for himself most never even dreamed of. He was the drummer for a famous rock band. But Ben Stark wasn’t ever really there for me, not emotionally.
He’d driven us back to Ocala from Miami that night I’d braved going to the concert to get in touch with him. He’d made the arrangements to get Mom transferred to hospice. He’d gotten a hold of Marcus so he could come home, and he’d quietly sat next to me while I’d fallen apart at my mom’s wake. A day later, when Marcus deployed again, he silently stood next to me. Then he’d bought me groceries and gone back on tour with his band.
But he’d never talked to me.
We didn’t even talk about the kiss. I was too caught up in my own grief to register the deep embarrassment I would feel weeks later, but it hadn’t mattered. Ben had said goodbye and simply left.
The next day, he texted and asked how I was feeling. Then he’d texted the same kind of question every day for a month. I hadn’t answered because I was angry. I was angry at him for asking such a stupid question, and I was angry my mother had been taken so young, and I was angry that my own brother hadn’t even texted. So I’d ignored Ben, but then he’d threatened to call Marcus if I didn’t respond. I didn’t want my brother to worry when he was downrange, so I’d texted back. After that, Ben’s daily texts dropped to three times a week. Each one was more impersonal than the last, because that was who Ben Stark was.
He was an island.
And he always would be.
I pulled my hand free from his grasp and walked to the door. “Go. I’ll finish locking up.”