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I glared at him, rubbing my sore wrist. The pain was ebbing away now, leaving only a dull throb in its wake.
“What’s lesson three?” I asked, determined not to back down.
He paused for a moment before stepping closer again, his piercing blue eyes holding my gaze in a way that made my stomach flutter nervously.
“Never underestimate your opponent,” he murmured, his voice low and intense.
I involuntarily shivered at the intensity of his voice. The cold autumn air nipped at my skin as I tightly clenched my fists, bracing myself for his next move.
“Lesson four,” he continued, his gaze never wavered from mine. “Always have a backup plan.” Before I could contemplate what he meant, he lunged towards me.
Reacting on instinct, I swung my foot towards him, aiming for a low blow that would make any man cringe. But Tristan was too quick. He sidestepped swiftly, catching my ankle mid-air and sending me sprawling onto the asphalt. He caught me before I managed to fall down, his arm wrapped around my waist. “Are you okay?” he asked.
I shrugged him off.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” I muttered, pushing myself to my feet and dusting off my jeans. My pride was more bruised than my body, but I wasn’t about to let him see that. “Just…just give me a minute.”
I paced back and forth in the glow of the car’s headlights, taking deep breaths to calm my racing heart. Across from me, I could see Tristan watching in silence, his expression unreadable in the semi-darkness.
After a moment, I squared my shoulders and turned to face him again. “Alright,” I said firmly, trying to sound more confident than I felt. “What’s the next lesson?”
Tristan nodded, shifting on his feet. “Lesson five,” he began, a hint of a smirk playing on his lips. “Don’t let your emotions dictate your actions.”
Ignoring the sting of the comment, I steadied myself and took a deep breath. His lessons were hard to swallow, but they were valuable. My pride might have been wounded but I knew he knew what he was talking about. Damn Tristan Callahan. Not like he followed his own advice; after all, he was the one who had beat a man from within an inch of his life an hour ago.
“Is that all?” I asked, trying to keep my voice steady. He shook his head, his smile now fully formed. “Seems easy.”
“It’s the second hardest one. The really hard one is this one. Your final lesson,” he said as he took a step closer to me, narrowing the gap between us. “Know when to walk away.”
“And what’s that supposed to mean?” I spat, my heart pounding against my chest as his gaze bore into mine.
“Just what it sounds like,” he replied, his voice husky. His eyes were an intense blue in the semi-darkness, sparkling with a mix of amusement and determination. “Always know when to walk away from a fight. Live to fight another day.”
“So you’re saying I should just run away?” I accused with a hint of disgust in my voice.
“No,” he stated, “I’m saying you should always have an escape plan. In a dangerous situation, your priority is to get out alive.”
“I’m not afraid to fight,” I said.
“I know,” he said, his gaze softening as he reached out to tuck a loose strand of hair behind my ear. “But bravery isn’t about not being afraid. It’s about knowing when to fight, and when it’s better to walk away.”
“You literally just beat a man within an inch of his life. What do you know about walking away?”
His eyes hardened at my words, a flicker of something burning within them that made me regret my outburst. “I know more than you think,” he shot back, an edge to his voice that hadn’t been there before. The sudden intensity hung heavily in the air between us.
His voice was raw, laced with pain and something else I couldn’t quite place. Regret, maybe.
A strange sensation clenched at my heart. Tristan Callahan, the charming bad boy with a chip on his shoulder and secrets buried deep inside him. The man who had captured my attention and drawn me into his turbulent world despite all the odds stacked against it.
The man I was supposed to marry.
“Teach me to fight,” I said.
“What?” he asked.
“Teach me.”
He blinked at me, his surprise evident. “Why?”
