“Uma?” Jessie’s voice broke through her thoughts. “You feel ready to try it out?”
No.“Sure,” she said, the image of nonchalance. Maybe. She glanced at Ivan and looked immediately away.
“All right, let’s partner you up with Steve. Ive, you and Monica can start.”
Steve? Not Ivan? What a relief.Right?
And then therealfear kicked in.
Oh, Steve was nice about it, but Uma’s hesitation was obvious. He didn’t push, didn’t pressure. But the first time he moved, she lurched back and bleated, like some pathetic barnyard animal. He was small compared to Ivan, and older, but he looked strong.
A man like him could hold her down, force her face into the floor, grind the imprint of the cold mat into her cheek. He’d cover her windpipe with his soft Italian leather loafer and show her with a twist of the heel how easy it was to crush the life out of a woman. With one hand, he could yank—
“I got this, Steve.” Ivan broke through the flashback and muscled it aside, the tendrils of his deep, dark voice oozing around the images and pulling them apart. Behind Uma, he was real and robust enough to chase the memories away. “Need a break?” he asked, close but not overwhelming. She couldn’t be sure whether she nodded or not.
Somehow she ended up at the back of the room, listening to the water dispenserglugin a way that was oddly reminiscent of how his words churned out—slow and solid and one rounded syllable at a time. His hand held a paper cup to her mouth, and water trickled into her parched throat. He was the third person to shove liquids at her that evening. She must have looked thirsty.
She was sitting on the floor beside him, his hand a cool, reassuring weight on the back of her neck, the innocuous view of the mat between her bent legs. There was a worn spot, where threads peeped through. Uma worried at it with numb fingers, pulling at the threads until one broke off, and it occurred to her that she was thoughtlessly destroying property.
He released her neck, and a waft of air reached her, fresh from his body. She smelled something woodsy mixed with sweat.Man soap, she thought. She hated herself for how weak she’d become. This was all wrong—not at all how her new life was supposed to be. She was supposed to be fearless and strong.
“I’m sorry.”
He grunted.
“I can’t believe I did that. It’s just…” Uma cleared the tightness out of her throat and grasped at the paper cup shoved into her hand. After a sip, she mumbled, “Embarrassing. Sorry.”
“Quit that,” he rumbled softly.
“Sorry.”
He sighed, sounded like he’d say something else, then settled for a second grunt.
“I guess I’ll go.” She set the cup aside and pushed up to standing, then stopped when his hand landed lightly on her calf. She looked down, met his eyes, and the room tilted. His hand tightened, but he didn’t stand.
“Stay.”
“Oh, no, I—”
“I’ll help you. Come on.” He got up and moved a few feet farther onto the mat, and she followed, like a sleepwalker.
Ivan led her through it again, attacking without touching or any hint of aggression. The movements were purely mechanical—a lean in, a counter. She swept her wrists in, up, and out, and he stepped away. It couldn’t possibly be that easy in real life, but it was progress.
She didn’t dare look at the rest of the class, didn’t want to see the pity on their faces.
Jessie’s voice rang out, telling the other ladies to move on to the second move. She and Steve were acting as attackers. Uma looked up to meet the curious gaze of one woman, Binx, whose eyes flicked between her and Ivan.
“Ignore ’em.”
The second round involved a different kind of move altogether—what Jessie called an arm bar. A hand to the shoulder, countered by the brutal twisting back of the attacker’s arm. There would be more invasion of personal space this time, inevitably, their closeness underlining what a sweaty mess she’d become in her long-sleeved shirt and jeans.
“Ready?” he asked. She nodded once and waited for him to step straight in, less than an arm’s length away.
His hand landed gently on Uma’s shoulder, but it might as well have been on her breast for the effect it had. Electrified by the contact, she grabbed and twisted.
“Follow through, Uma,” Jessie called out, bringing her back into the class, back to reality. “He’s a lot bigger than you.”
No shit.
