He turns to Char. “Let’s get to work. Come on over here to this side of the mat and I’ll go over a few things before we get started. Have you done any self-defensive training before?”
“No. Not really. Only a few in high school.” Char watches his every move, wide eyed. I can almost see her come alive with Fire. I don’t know how the pompous son of a gun does it. But he’s alwaysbeen the best at any personal training or self-defense coaching he’s done. Or I wouldn’t endure watching him put his hands on her. But a few moments of discomfort for a lifetime of increased security against incoming threats is worth it.
Watching him teach her self-defense is like watching a storm form. Quiet strength building into something fierce and unstoppable. I knew he’d be able to give her the confidence she needs to face any crisis in the future. And as much as I wish I didn’t have to come back here to deal with him and our past, I’d do it again and again if it will keep Char safe.
Bzzz. Bzzz.
Pulling my cell from my pocket, I reluctantly pull my attention from Char and my ex-best friend to see who’s calling. My face falls when I see my father’s name.
“Hello.”
“David,” he says in that smooth, practiced tone that sounds like a business call instead of a conversation. “There’s a charity gala next weekend in Washington. The board expects you there.”
“Hard pass.” I’m not in the mood to dance through another evening of his manipulation.
He sighs, a little too loudly. “It’s in honor of your grandfather this year.”
That stops me cold. My chest tightens. Of course. He’s using Grandpa as bait. Typical.
Still, the thought of ignoring something that bears my grandfather’s name feels like spitting on the man’s memory. The man who actually taught me what honor looked like.
“As much as I’d rather be getting a root canal,” I say, pinching the bridge of my nose, “I’ll be there.”
“Good,” he replies, satisfaction leaking into his voice before he hangs up. No goodbye. Just that.
I shove it back into my pocket hard enough to rip the seam.
“Hey,” a soft voice pulls me back. Char’s walking toward me from across Fire’s studio, a hand pressed to her middle. Her face is pale, her breathing shallow.
Instant panic spikes through me. “You okay?”
She nods, trying to smile. “Yes. That was great.”
Relief drains through me so fast my knees almost give out. I can’t believe I let my guard down long enough for my father’s poison to distract me.
Fire gives me a brief nod from across the room, already moving to clean up his gear. I lift a hand in a half-hearted wave before guiding Char toward the door.
Once we’re outside, I squeeze her hand. “That was my dad. He’s roped me into a charity thing in D.C. Normally, I’d turn him down in a hot second, but it’s in honor of my grandfather.”
Her brow furrows. “So you’re going?”
“I have to,” I admit. “I wouldn’t disrespect my grandfather, just because the thought of being in the same room with my father makes me want to explode.” I hesitate briefly before turning to her, holding her hands tightly in mine. “It would mean the world to me to have you there by my side.”
“D.C.?” she repeats, hesitating. I can see the calculation in her eyes. “It’s so close to where I left.” The alarm in her face is evident. The risk, the fear of being seen.
“I know it’s scary. But you’ll be with me the entire time. I’d never let anything happen to you.” I’d never pressure her, but having her by my side might make the evening marginally bearable.
She studies me for a long moment, like she’s measuring whether she can believe that. Then, slowly, she nods.
I thread my fingers through hers. The heaviness lifting from my chest. “Thank you,” I utter, my gratitude and relief rolling off of me in waves. “I know I’m asking a lot. This is a really big step. But maybe it’s time. For both of us living in fear. To stop hiding.”
Her eyes soften, and she gives a small, trembling smile. Like she understands I need her with me, every bit as much as she needs me. “Maybe it is.”
The night of the gala,we stay at a low profile hotel near the venue. We stick with room service. Anything necessary to keep her comfortable. She spends the majority of the day getting ready. But she’s here with me, and that’s all that matters.
Once she emerges from the bathroom, dressed and ready to go, my breath catches in my throat. She’s a vision. Her hair is blonde now, shimmering under the room’s soft light. I love all of my chameleon’s colors, but somehow her light colored locks seem to suit her best of all. When I can finally tear my gaze away from her face and hair, I notice the red sequined dress she’s wearing. It hugs her curves like it was sewn onto her.
“You’re going to get me arrested for indecent thoughts,” I whisper, earning an eye roll and a nervous laugh.
