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There is always some madness in love. But there is also always some reason in madness.
~Friedrich Nietzsche
1
Lessons
Avery
“Focus. Concentrate. Ignore everything else.” Quinn repositions the black punching pad before me, his gaze unwavering. “Use the pain. Channel it.”
I want to roll my eyes. Instead, I drive a swollen, wrapped fist into the pad. “You sound like an after school special. Yes, sir, Mr. Miyagi, sir.” My fist sticks the pad again, and I wince.
With an irritated huff, Quinn tosses the pad to the floor and advances. Out of reflex, I step back. He grips my arms. “I know you’re tired.”
I shamefully avert my eyes toward the corner of the precinct gym. Tired is a laughable understatement.
“I know you’re scared.” he continues. My gaze flicks up in time to catch the flash of fear in his own hazel eyes. It’s gone quickly, replaced by the stubborn determination that’s driven these lessons for the past two weeks. “But stop deflecting.”
“I’m not deflecting,” I rebound.
He arches an eyebrow. “Sarcasm will get you hurt. It’s a weakness, Aves. It means you accept that you’re not strong enough to master this. And…” he trails off, that glimmer of fear peeking through. “You are strong enough. I need you to accept—”
“I do accept it. I get it – I’m in danger.” I accept that I’ve spent my life sealed inside a lab with a false sense of security, where the outside world—full of criminals and villains—couldn’t touch me. And now… Now, that world has bled into every facet of my life.
I am not safe.
That fact infuriates Quinn as much as it worries him. He cannot protect me. Not all the time. These self-defense lessons are as much his outlet, a way to cope with that festering doubt, as they’re meant to enable me to protect myself.
His stern features soften. “I was going to say, you need to accept your strength. Fear of success is just as crippling as fear of failure.”
“Oh.” I tilt my head, studying him. The way his white T-shirt accentuates his muscular build, the six-pack I know lies beneath. The way his pants sit low on his waist, so tempting. He wants me to take this seriously, and I do—but my newfound sex drive tends to be distracting, and Quinn in his sexy practice attire doesn’t help.
I blow at my bangs from the side of my mouth. “And here I thought you mocked that psychobabble nonsense.” I lean into his grip, letting his strength hold me upright. Arching my chest toward his, daring him.
A defeated scowl pulls his features tight. “That smart-ass mouth is going to get you in trouble.”
“You promise, detective?”
His low groan presses against my skin, tantalizing. We both know this banter is a form of deflection, avoiding our very disturbing reality. But within these walls, locked in Quinn’s strong embrace, I can pretend reality doesn’t exist.
At least for the half hour I get alone with him in the mornings.
Quinn gives my arms a reassuring squeeze before he releases me. “Stand on your own. And remember, defend your space.” In a flash, he lunges for me, and I have just enough time to react and sidestep his attack.
“Good.” He goes for my core, and I attempt to block. I’m not strong enough. His arms wrap around me, welding mine to my sides. “Your attacker is going to use their physical size and strength against you,” he says as he releases me. “But he’s not taking into account your mental strength. Always be one mental step ahead of his attacks. Don’t fight when evading is the smartest counter. Let’s do it again.”
We dance like this for a while, him attacking, me applying my newly acquired defensive skills to block and evade his attacks. All the while, he drills the lessons.
