Gritting my teeth, I shake my head. I hate lying, but with the way his eyes are beaming into mine like he wants to ravish me, I’ll let my little white lie slide. It’s funny, before Rico, I would have done anything to have Colt looking at me like that. Whereas now, I just want to go back to us being friends. I wonder if my logic will change as the months continue to fly by? Or will I never move on from Rico?
My heart squeezes. I’ll never forget him.
Placing his hand on the small of my back, Colt directs me to a section of floor that’s covered with a bouncy material similar to a gymnastics mat. It’s squishy and reminds me of a trampoline. It forces a genuine smile onto my face. I loved gymnastics when I was younger. Katie and I practiced our routines on the trampoline in her backyard for hours every weekend. That was what we were doing prior to our attack in the alleyway. Understandably, I haven’t done gymnastics since that day.
Trying to keep my focus on the task at hand and not the burning hole in middle of my chest, I yank a hair tie off my wrist and secure my hair into a ponytail. “Alright, let’s do this.”
Colt smiles a full-toothed grin while waggling his brows. I flinch and stumble backwards when one of the pads covering his hands whizzes past the tip of my nose. Although the pad didn’t connect with any region of my face, my first response is to drop to the ground and cower. Thankfully, even with ice-cold fear lacing my veins, I manage to hold my ground.
Panic wells in my stomach as the memory of my attack in the servants’ quarters races to the forefront of my mind. I shift my eyes to the side, anticipating seeing Rico magically appear. The pain shredding my heart in two amplifies when I fail to locate anyone standing next to me, let alone the man who promised to always protect me.
“Blaire.” Colt’s voice sounds distant.
I blink three times in a row when he yanks off one of his pads and touches my cheek, drawing me back to the present.
When I see the confusion marring his face, I pretend my knees aren’t clanging together. “Sorry, my reflexes are a little slow today. Probably shouldn’t have drunk so much last night.”
I can tell by the concern clouding his usually mischievous gaze that he isn’t fully buying my explanation, but mercifully, he doesn’t push the matter further. Colt is one of the people who doesn’t understand my unique bond with Rico. To him, I was the naughty school teacher having a two-week bender in Vegas. He doesn’t comprehend that I can barely breathe without Rico in my life.
“When the pads move in front of you, Blaire, you need to block them. Strike. Block. Strike. Block.” Colt sweeps the pads on his hands across the front of me but at a slower pace than he used earlier.
“Okay,” I breathe out slowly, my one word shaky.
Over the next hour, Colt teaches me basic self-defense moves. How to block a direct hit. How to execute an open hand punch, and how even someone with my small stature has enough strength to throw a man Colt’s size over my shoulder. The last part of our training was theory, not practical. Since I had to fight the urge to flinch every time he grabbed me, he said we’d slowly build up to that level of training.
Although I was apprehensive when I first arrived, I did enjoy our one-on-one training session. Actually, I really enjoyed it. Colt took his time, never pushing me further than I felt comfortable with, and for the past hour, my mind moved away from my heartache. That in itself is worth the burning ache of my weary muscles.
“I’ll see you on Tuesday?” Colt guides me to the main entrance door of the gym.
I swallow down half a bottle of water before nodding. “Wouldn’t miss it. Thanks.”
I instinctively lean in to kiss his cheek, forgetting we are at his place of employment. When a collection of wolf-whistling and catcalls sounds through my ears, my cheeks turn a hue of pink.
“See you Tuesday,” I mumble before spinning on my heels and fleeing the gym.
Lacey’s headlifts from her laptop balancing on her knees when our front door gives out a creak, announcing my arrival.
“Hey, how’d you do?” She shuts the screen of her laptop.
I throw my keys onto the entranceway table. “Good. Although I think my muscles might have a different opinion tomorrow.”
She laughs. “As my father would say ‘at least you know you’re alive.’” She places her laptop on the coffee table and stands from her seat. “There's a registered letter on the kitchen counter for you.”
My lips quirk. “On a Sunday?”
“Might be important.” Lacey shrugs.
After grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge, I lift the envelope off the counter. The heaviness Colt’s workout cleared off my chest comes steamrolling back in when I see the return address: The Office of Erik Monstrateo.
I throw my water bottle down onto the counter so hard, it falls over, sending water dribbling down the cabinets of our modestly sized kitchen. I don’t bother cleaning up the mess; I’m too curious as to what is in the envelope to do anything. This is the first contact I’ve had in a month from anyone associated with Rico.
Sensing my rattled composure, Lacey moves into the kitchen. I can register her lips moving, but I don’t hear a word she's speaking as I tear open the envelope and scan my eyes over the heavily documented forms inside it. Any pathetic attempts I made at healing my heart the past month come undone when I read the title of the forms: Petition for Dissolution of Marriage.
“He’s divorcing me,” I mumble through a sob sitting in the back of my throat. “Rico filed for divorce.”
Just like the day I arrived home a little over a month ago, Lacey cradles me in her arms and holds me until I have no more tears left to shed.
Chapter 33
