“What kind of?—”
He pulls back, but his hand still holds mine. “Do you trust me?”
Pressing my lips together, I nod slowly, not even having to think about it. “I trust you.”
Matthew’s face softens at my words, almost like he wasn’t sure what my answer would be. Fingers interlocked, we walk down the path I just came from, and before long the main house appears, but instead of going there, he leads me to… the barn?
My brows pull together in confusion. My fingers grip Matthew’s tighter as we’re surrounded by darkness, but the panic isn’t nearly as intense with Matthew at my side. There is asoft click before the light flickers on, blinding me temporarily. I blink to clear my vision; the space coming into focus.
“What is this?”
“Chase’s gym.”
The space is minimalistic. There is a treadmill along with a weight bench and a rack with different weights neatly put together. A punching bag hangs from a thick chain in the middle of the room.
“He doesn’t really do people, so he made this space for himself when he was going through PT,” Matthew explains as he slips in between the machines.
I’m still taking it in when he comes to a stop in the middle of the mat and turns around to face me. It takes me a heartbeat to realize why we’re here.
I shake my head immediately. “No.”
“Yes.”
“No, Matthew. I’m a nurse, not a fighter.”
“And you don’t have to be.” Matthew places his hands on my shoulders gently. His words are spoken softly, so softly they make my chest ache. “I need you to be a survivor.”
“Matthew…” A knot forms in my throat, making it hard to breathe.
Those large hands skim upward, his palms cupping my cheeks as he tilts my head back.
“You’re scared, and that’s normal. Somebody invaded your privacy and took away the sense of safety you had in your home. The only way you can get back some semblance of control is by taking the initiative. Knowing that if something like that happens again, you can fight back and come out on top.”
His face is serious, a perfect mask of composure, but I can see the cracks hidden in his irises. The smidge of worry. Fear.
“I can’t fight.”
“Sure, you can. I’ll teach you.”
“I…” My tongue darts out, sliding over my lower lip. “Fine, but I’m going to suck at it.”
Matthew’s shoulders relax after a heartbeat, the corner of his mouth tipping upward. His thumb skims over my cheekbone. “We’ll see about that.”
Letting his hands drop, he takes a step back and eyes me. There is nothing sexual about the way he looks at me. His gaze is all predator, assessing its prey, looking for any weaknesses he can exploit.
“Make a fist.”
I shift my weight from one foot to another before folding my hands into a ball and lifting them in the air. “Happy?”
Matthew quirks his brow at my attitude before his gaze shifts to my fists. His fingers cover mine, and I relax slightly. He gently rearranges my fingers, securing the thumb on the outside, just below my pointer and middle finger. “You don’t want to get your fingers broken, so make sure not to tuck your thumb.”
“Don’t tuck your thumb, got it.”
“Now, what’s the first lesson of self-defense?”
“Punch as hard as you can?” I ask weakly, unsure of where he’s going with this, but knowing I don’t want to be here. Don’t want to do any of this.
It’s not like you have a choice. Suck it up, buttercup.
