Chapter Eleven
Meghan
I’m early.
After work, Nick took off to the dojo thingy to get ready for his class, while I ran home to change. I debated on what to wear for at least twenty minutes, finally opting for a pair of capri yoga pants and workout tank top.
Now, here I stand, out on the sidewalk, trying to build up the courage to actually walk in. I’m not sure why I’m so nervous, but I am. Maybe it’s the thought of having to learn hand-to-hand combat and knowing that I might actually have to use it someday. Or it could be that it’s because Nick is the one who’ll be teaching me.
We’ll be close.
Touching.
Finally, curiosity gets the best of me, and I enter the building. There’s a small sitting area where a few women are chatting, and when I walk in, a couple of them sitting in the corner turn my way. They really seem to take in my appearance with a very critical eye. It makes me feel self-conscious, like they find me lacking.
“Meghan,” Rhenn croons like a verse in a love song, approaching from the small hallway that leads to the back.
“Hey, Rhenn,” I reply, offering him a smile. “I’m a little early.”
“You’re fine,” he says with his own killer smile. He really is a good-looking guy. “Come with me, darlin’.” Rhenn places his hand on my lower back and guides me to the hall. Glancing over my shoulder, I find a few sets of eyes glaring daggers into the back of my head. “Ignore them,” he whispers. “They’re jealous because I don’t sleep with the moms. Learned that lesson the hard way when I first started this place,” he adds with a wink.
“So they think I’m with you?”
“Of course, they do. Do you see how gorgeous of a couple we make?” he asks with a laugh, ensuring the rest of my tension ebbs from my shoulders.
At the end of the hall is a large, open room. It’s well lit and has a large red and blue mat on the floor. There are mirrors at the front of the room, with some stuff in the back that looks like workout equipment. The entire room is clean, accessible, and doesn’t smell like a locker room.
“Five punches, let’s see it,” Nick bellows with authority, drawing my eyes back up to the front of the room. He’s standing there, wearing his white…outfit (or whatever it’s called) with a black belt cinched around his waist. His feet are bare, and I’ll be honest, it’s kinda hot.
“One,” he instructs, followed by eight little preschoolers wearing white, all punching with their right fist, yelling, “Huhhh!”
“Two.” They punch with their left fist and yell once more.
They continue until Nick says five, eight little fists flying with force and determination. “Good job,” he says, offering the kids a smile that does something to my stomach. It flutters like ten thousand butterflies, and when he glances my way and notices me standing next to Rhenn? That thousand-watt smile is completely disarming, making my panties practically useless.
“The kids love him. He has way more patience than anyone I’ve ever met. That’s why he’s perfect to lead this class,” Rhenn whispers as we stand there and watch Nick work with his little students. Even when the kids bounce around and “practice” their moves, he remains completely patient and always encouraging.
“Let’s see high kicks,” Nick instructs, walking into the group and placing his hands out. “One,” and the kids kick. In fact, one little girl with brown pigtails and a toothless grin, kicks so high, she knocks Nick’s hand up.
“Two.” Again, they kick, as Nick moves through the group and allows different kids to kick at his hands.
“Greyson, your kicks are looking great, bud. And Emma, I think you hurt my hand,” he boasts at the sweet little girl in the back row. She gives him a shy little grin, but I can tell she appreciates the compliment.
“Great job tonight, everyone,” he says, walking into the middle of the group for a bow and a round of high fives. Each student jumps up and slaps his hand, some earn a pained face from Nick as well as a shaking of his hand, like their slaps hurt. “Tonight was our last class for the spring. Is everyone coming back this fall?” he asks.
“Yes!” the entire group of students hollers at the same time.
“I’ll be right back,” Nick says as he approaches. “I’m running up front to make sure all of the students meet up with their parents.”
And with that, I’m left alone in the back…with Rhenn.
“Feel free to set your stuff down over on one of the benches,” he says, pointing to the side of the room.
Within five minutes, Nick rejoins us, and Rhenn makes his excuses to leave. “I’ll be in the office if you need me.”
Suddenly, being alone with Nick in the dojo has me nervous. I’m shifting my weight from foot to foot and not completely sure what to do with my hands. “Hey,” he finally says, offering me a small smile.
“Hi.”
“You ready?”
“As I’ll ever be,” I grumble, not really sure if I can do this.
Or if I should.
No, I definitely should. After what happened last week, a woman should know a few basic self-defense moves.
Nick heads over to the bench and unties his belt, dropping it on the bench beside my bag. Then, he strips off his white jacket.
My jaw hits the floor.
Unlike our time on the boat Monday, where he wasn’t wearing a shirt, this time he’s wearing a white tank top underneath, and if it’s possible, I think it makes him hotter. It hugs his very hard, very muscular upper body in a way that I’ve only read about in books. (Or saw one time when Linkin stripped for my sister, Lexi.) His shoulders…my word, his shoulders. The definition and muscles are like a work of art. Nick turns back to face me. “Is this okay? It’s hot.”
Yep. Definitely hot.
“Umm, sure. Whatever. Fine.” I know I try to sound casual, but really, it just comes out like a bumbling, blubbering teenager.
“Good. Now come here,” he instructs, and the tone goes straight to the apex of my legs (which are practically shaking, by the way). Why does it sound dirty?
“I’m going to show you just a few moves to help you escape an assailant. The first is an open hand strike. You’re going to use the heel of your hand to strike some of your assailant’s most sensitive areas,” he teaches, demonstrating the move. “Aim for the eyes, nose, mouth, or neck.” He stands in front of me and holds my hand, positioning it and showing me the correct ways to execute. “Here,” he adds, moving my hand to his face.
I can feel his breath on the palm of my hand as I slowly shadow his movements, practicing without actually striking him.
“Good. Now, if he comes at you from behind, your elbow is a valuable weapon. It’s hard, and when thrust into his face, neck, or stomach, you could definitely buy some precious time to get away.” He moves behind me and I immediately thrust upward with my elbow. He easily dodges the blow, as mortification tinges my cheeks.
“Oh my God, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to try to hit you, it just…was a reflex,” I insist.
“You’re fine,” he chuckles. “It’s good for you to actually practice the moves. Well, except this next one. No need to practice the knee to the groin. Just know it’s one of the most effective ways to disarm an assailant. If done right, your perp will be lying on the ground, crying for his mommy while you run away,” Nick teases, holding his hand over his…area.
Of course, my eyes drop down.
Why wouldn’t they?
He was just referring to someone’s…package.
“Yeah, no need to practice that,” I quickly reply, again a blush burning my neck and cheeks.
Is it hot in here?
“Let’s go over a few ways to block a punch or slap,” he says, showing me a few techniques using my arms and hands, before finally demonstrating what to do if the assailant gets me down on the ground.
Yep, I’ve officially lost my mind. I’m practically rolling around on the mat with Nick, who is trying to teach me moves that might one day save my life. And all I can think about is the way his arms feel when they wrap around me or the way his package brushes up against my thigh, not once, but five times.
Five.
Yes, I counted.
“Okay, that’s the basics. I want to do a few of them in a real-life situation. Stand over there, and I’ll come at you. I want you to take me down.”
“Wait, what? I can’t take you down. You’re…big.”
And, cue the blush…
Nick chuckles. “I’ll be okay, honey. Promise.” Then he winks at me, and my entire body seems to catch fire. “Ready?”
No. I’m definitely not ready for this.
But before I can give the idea of Nick attacking me another thought, he moves and is on me. He tries to pin my arms, but I block his hold and thrust the heel of my hand into his stomach. It’s hard and unforgiving, and doesn’t have the effect I thought it would.
That kinda pisses me off.
“Good,” he says, allowing me a moment to catch my breath. He doesn’t wait too long, though, and I hear him say, “Again.”
This time, he comes at me from behind, wrapping his big, strong arms around me in a bear hug. He pulls me along, showing me how easy it would be for a man of his size to overcome me and practically cart me off to wherever. I can’t breathe.
“Come on, Meg. Fight. Don’t let me win.”
Fear starts to spread through my entire body, and I start to wiggle. I try to twist and free my arms, but he just holds me that much tighter. My fear turns to anger. I’m suddenly very pissed off. I’m angry at Nick for showing me just how easy it is to overcome me, at the man who tried to hurt me last week and almost got away with it. I’m angry at everyone who has treated me as if I were broken and talked to me in that sad, pitiful voice. I’m angry at the world for showing me its ugly, dark side.
And I’m angry at…Josh.
I’m so fucking angry at the one man who vowed to always love and protect me. I’m livid that he broke that promise, that he left before we were truly able to live our life. I’m furious at the hand life has dealt me, at the pain and the sorrow. I’m outraged that I’m alone.
Suddenly, I’m crying. Big, fat angry tears slide down my face, but I can’t stop. I fight off my assailant, turning every ounce of anger that has been bubbling beneath the surface for so long onto the innocent man in front of me. I kick, I punch, and I fight.
And I scream.
“Why!” I bellow, swinging my arms wildly, feeling the strike of flesh beneath each blow. “Why did you leave? Everything was perfect, and then you just left! You took everything. You lied. You broke your promise. You died and I couldn’t do anything to stop it! You swore to always love me and you lied!” his words from that night – those final, heart-wrenching words – the ones that are repeated every night in my dreams – come back to me.
“You were wrong! It wasn’t supposed to be the end, and it was. You were wrong, Josh. Wrong.”
The tears pour from me like a faucet and all of my energy just seems to vanish. I’m tired, exhausted really, and that’s when I finally know the truth, something I’ve hidden from, fought, and ignored for the last two years.
Josh is never coming back.
Gazing down, realization slams into me like a semi. “Oh my God!” I bawl, noticing for the first time the blood. I’m straddling Nick on the mat, a steady stream of blood oozing from his nose and lip. His eyes are locked on mine, but it’s not fear or anger that I see.
It’s relief.
The same relief I feel sweep through my weary body.
He moves quickly, just as the humiliation starts to set in, and wraps his arms around me. I don’t even realize I’m crying again until I hear him. “Shhhh,” he coos, his hand gently on the side of my face in a comforting manner. “I’ve got you.”
And I know he does.
I cry against his shoulder, gripping his top as if it were a lifeline, as everything washes over me. It’s like losing Josh all over again, but I guess if I’m being honest, it’s more accurately like I’m finally accepting that he’s gone. I’ve carried it around with me, like a security blanket, but now I’m facing it – really staring it down, face-to-face. He’s not coming back.
Ever.
“I’m going to get up, okay?” he whispers gently, his hand still stroking my face. Unable to speak words, I just nod.
Nick stands up, me in his arms. I hear him holler for Rhenn, who helps gather up my bag, as well as Nick’s stuff, and follows us out the back. Nick sets me in his passenger seat, his nose no longer bleeding. He wipes the remaining blood off with the back of his hand and closes my door. He speaks to Rhenn for a moment before coming around and climbing into the driver’s seat.
Without saying a word, he takes me home.
I try to get out on my own accord, but Nick won’t have it. He meets me at the passenger door and instantly pulls me into his arms. He carries me up the steps and to the door, where he digs in my bag and retrieves my keys. I’m so grateful because I’m not sure I have the strength for the simplest of tasks right now.
Inside, he secures the front door before carrying me back to my bedroom. I feel the soft mattress beneath me and Nick’s arms disappear. Reflexively, I reach for him. “I’ll be right back,” he whispers before placing a kiss on my forehead. It’s unexpected, but a welcome comfort.
Nick returns just a few minutes later and sets a glass of water on the nightstand. He moves around to the opposite side of bed and climbs in, wrapping his arm around me. “You okay?” he asks softly, stroking my hair where it’s tucked behind my ear.
“I’m so sorry.”
“Please don’t be sorry. I’m proud of you, actually.”
“Proud? How can you be proud of me? I beat the crap out of you and made you bleed,” I argue, though my words hold no bite.
“Because you just released two years worth of feelings that you’ve kept bottled up inside you.”
“I do feel better,” I confess, tears threatening to spill once more. “I don’t know what came over me. It was like everything that has gone wrong in my life, all just sort of exploded like a volcano. And once it started to erupt, I couldn’t stop it.”
I take a deep breath before continuing. “I know he’s gone, but it was like, tonight, I finally let go. Everyone kept saying anger was part of the grieving process, but I didn’t believe it. I guess I proved them all right, huh? And only two years late.”
“There is no timeline for grief,” he says softly.
“I guess,” I shrug, feeling small and tired. “It’s time, isn’t it.” It’s not a question. “It’s time to stop living in the past and…let go.” Just saying the words feels like someone sliced my chest open with a box cutter. “I don’t know if I can do it, though. I’m letting go of everything I’ve ever envisioned for myself. Our life together.”
“You don’t have to let him go completely, you know. There’s room for him and whatever your future has in store for you, Meg. Josh will always have a place in your heart.”
Blinking the tears, I nod my head. “I know. I was always so afraid to acknowledge that, but I guess tonight, it happened all on its own.”
“Not a bad thing. Now, you can live. I knew Josh well enough to know he would want that for you.”
Again, I nod and sniffle. “I know. You’re completely right, and everyone keeps reminding me of that. It’s just so…hard, you know? Everything we had planned, every wish we had ever made was together. It’s just gone, and I don’t know how to deal with that.”
“Well, you start with baby steps. Dreams come in all shapes and sizes, right? So let’s start small and work our way up,” he suggests.
“We?” I ask with a smile.
“We. We’re a team.”
The way he says that makes me smile. It’s a small one, but it’s there nonetheless. The idea of being a part of a team once more, of having a friend or someone close to you to share the burden is awfully appealing.
Plus, there’s Nick, and he’s quite appealing himself.
We lie in silence for a while, the occasional noise of a passing vehicle mixed with our breathing are the only sounds. I think about Josh and everything we shared, and then I try to look to the future. It’s scary and dark. A mystery. But if I think about what Nick said, about taking small steps toward whatever the future may hold for me, then it doesn’t look so daunting.
It almost feels manageable.
“You know, there’s never been another man in this bed.”
“I can go,” Nick says, starting to get up.
“No,” I reply immediately, reaching for his arm. “Stay. I want you to stay.” And I’m surprised to realize how much truth is in that statement. “Please.”
His hazel eyes look dark in the moonlight, and they follow my every move. They appear so relaxed, so familiar, and yet hold so many secrets. His cheekbones are high and his jaw covered in two days’ worth of stubble. Nick hasn’t shaved daily since Collette moved out of his life and took his cat.
I glance at his nose, which is usually fairly straight, but tonight is a bit tweaked and puffy. You know, from where I punched him?
And then my eyes fall to his lips. His perfectly kissable, soft lips. I probably shouldn’t be thinking about them that way, but I can’t seem to stop myself. “Your lip is swollen,” I whisper, lightly touching the smarted flesh of his bottom lip.
“Pssh, you should see the other guy,” he teases, trying to give me a grin, but realizing it pulls against the broken flesh.
“I’m sorry.”
“I’m not. I’ve never been beat up by a gorgeous woman before. Not that I’ll be telling all my buddies, but it wasn’t so bad.”
“You think I’m gorgeous?” The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them. Dammit!
“I think you’re incredibly beautiful. And smart. And funny. And when you smile, I think the sun shines even brighter.”
My heart gallops in my chest and I almost forget how to breathe. I have no idea what to say, or if I’m supposed to say anything in return. What do I say, “Thanks, you’re pretty damn hot yourself?”
Instead of saying words, I place my arm across his side, resting it on his back. The movement brings our bodies much closer than they’ve ever really been – especially on this more intimate level. Nick brings his arm up and sets it on my side. He moves so slowly, as if testing the waters.
I don’t stop him.
When our arms are crossed, essentially holding each other, I lean my head forward against his jaw. I exhale deeply, then breathe in his woodsy scent. Sure, there’s a weird mixture of sweat and blood, but it’s oddly familiar. He just smells like…Nick. Leaning in even more, my cheek comes to rest on his chest. His very firm, muscular chest. I can hear the steady beat of his heart beneath his tank top, a solid reminder that he’s alive. That I’m alive.
I close my eyes and relax into our new (and really nice) position, entwined together on top of my bed. The events of the night, the day, the week, and hell, probably the last couple of years, finally catch up to me and start to drag me under. My eyelids can no longer stay open and my mind just wants to shut down. For the first time in…forever, I don’t dwell on the past, like I normally do at bedtime. I don’t think about what I lost or the one who was stolen from me. I don’t picture our future and what could have been.
For the first time in so very long, I’m not alone.