Chapter Nine

Danica

Present Day

T he air escapes my lungs with the brutal force of impact as I am tackled to the ground. With a grunt, I roll slightly to one side and hook my leg around the first object I can find, my attacker’s bent knee. He anticipates my next move, and I am quickly flipped to my stomach, hands pinned to the floor on either side of my head as a heavy weight settles on top of me. I freeze, momentary panic setting in at the memories that come rushing back with alarming clarity. Trying my best to force it down, I inhale deeply, holding it for a moment as I feel the pounding of my heart, before letting out a long exhale.

After a moment I feel his face brush against my cheek as he leans across my back, breath softly blowing against my ears. “You are on the ground; your attacker is stronger than you and has your arms pinned down. They know they have the upper hand. Take a breath. Think.”

His words break through the wave of panic trying to force its way into my soul like a riptide; they are all I need to focus once more on the task at hand. Hooking one of my knees to lock around my attacker’s, I simultaneously slide our connected hands on my right so that they are outstretched above my head and roll into my attacker, throwing him off balance. Resettling myself as I now sit on top of him, I slam the heel of my palm into his face, quickly jumping up and moving to kick sharply at his temple before backing away.

Breathing heavily, the man in black stands, giving me a sharp nod .

“Good, Danni. You’ve got this.”

“Yeah, but I froze. I panicked.”

“You didn’t though.” He stares pointedly at me. “I saw the signs of panic as it hit you, but you worked through it. Even without my reminder, you were already focusing on your breathing, still alert to your surroundings.”

Groaning in frustration, I run my hands jaggedly through my hair, smoothing back the curled tendrils that have escaped my ponytail.

“Still. I can do better. That was shit, and I know I can do better.”

His perceptive gaze pierces me and I feel it in my soul. Jonathan has been working with me for years now; honing my skills in self-defense while helping me to work through my trauma through physical exertion. I love gymnastics, but with the rage that fills me, sometimes I just need to punch some shit. Jonathan gets that. He gets me, and he has been around- teaching me to use him as my own personal punching bag- for several years now, all thanks to Finn.

“What’s going on in that head of yours, Ellis?”

I shake my head, unable to answer my friend.

With eyes narrowed, I can see his tongue run over his teeth through under his lips as he considers me. He does this sometimes, like a subconscious habit that he can’t help but do when he is thinking through a problem. And apparently today I represent that problem.

“Alright. Boxing, ice cream, or sex?”

My stomach drops and I feel the faintest hint of butterflies as they try to flutter. But my pulse doesn’t increase in speed, I don’t have an uptick in breathing, my heart doesn’t skip a beat. Still, Jonathan gets me. By now, he knows me well enough and can read me like an open book, which can be really fucking annoying sometimes.

Rather than answer, I turn on my heels and head over to the square mat in the center of his private gym. Ducking under the rope, I step into the ring and reach for my gloves which are resting on a stool, and throw a coy look over my shoulder as I start to put them on. His grin is the only answer I need.

Seven Years Earlier

-July-

“I need your help.” Plopping down on the couch, I wiggle around, trying to make myself comfortable as I squeeze in between two of my favorite people. Finn shifts, uncomfortable with the sudden closeness, as Bash casually drapes his arm across my shoulders.

“How can we be of service, Kitty Cat?” Eyebrows wagging suggestively, Bash playfully squeezes the top of my arm, his lewd undertones perfectly clear. Choosing to ignore him as I always do, I place a hand on each of my guys, firmly squeezing their thighs.

“Bash, this is serious. Listen.”

Eyebrows furrowing in concern, I can feel Bash shift in his spot, turning to face me more fully. Finn, whose gaze had been glued to his computer screen, quickly glances up at me in acknowledgement before turning once again to his screen. Unfazed by his apparent lack of consideration, I know Finn is listening, even with his attention apparently focused elsewhere. He can’t help it. When he is in the zone, he fixates hard on whatever has drawn his attention. It’s only through years of practice that he has been able to divide his focus enough to show me he is listening by looking up at me. I press on.

“I need you to teach me how to fight.”

Bash’s jaw drops, the shock of my words apparently too much for him. Finn just hums as he mutters under his breath, continuing to type away on his laptop.

“I know you guys know how to fight. I’ve seen you on the ice. You guys get in fights all the time. I need you to teach me how to fight like you do.”

“Wh- where is this even coming from?” Standing abruptly, Bash starts pacing back and forth in front of the couch, running a hand through his hair in agitation. “Why do you want to learn to fight so badly? And why us, for that matter? Why not ask Caleb, or Theo?”

I roll my eyes as I bring myself to stand, forcing Bash to stop abruptly in his pacing. Reaching out, I grab his hand that is not currently messing up his hair. “You know how it is. Caleb is, well. . . Caleb. He wouldn’t understand. And Theo? Well, I don’t exactly know what is going on with him right now but something is different. He’s been distant lately, stressed. I’m not sure if it’s the transition of him moving to Seattle soon that is bothering him or what, but he won’t open up to me about it. ”

I squeeze Bash’s hand while gazing up at him imploringly. “Please Bash. This is important to me.”

Shifting his hand in my own, Bash intertwines his fingers with mine. “You still haven’t told me why you want to learn to fight, KC. I can’t, in good conscience, just teach you how to fight without having any context. Give me something to work with here.” He implores me with those gorgeous brown eyes of his.

I bring our joined hands up, hold them against my chest, my expression earnest as I lay my fears out before me. “I can’t do it again, Bash. I can’t play the victim anymore. Twice, I have had the shit beat out of me. For most of the last year I have been a victim, trapped in a cycle of abuse that I couldn’t defend myself against. You guys all helped me through that, helped me get out of a situation that I thought would be the death of me, and I am forever thankful for all your help. But I am so much more than that, I am more than just a victim or a survivor. And I don’t ever want to find myself in a situation again without knowing how to take care of myself. So please, pretty please, would you teach me how to fight?

A sense of relief fills me, and I grin, sensing his walls of defense crumbling before me. I didn’t go to Caleb because despite all that I have been through, Caleb wouldn’t understand. If I asked him for his help, as my overprotective older brother I’m sure he would simply insist that it wasn’t necessary, that he would protect me in the off chance anything ever came up again. And Theo? Well, I know he absolutely would be willing to teach me how to take care of myself, but I wasn’t lying when I said that something has been off with him lately. Whatever it is has been weighing on him, and I don’t want to add to that burden.

I don’t know what it is, but ever since hockey season officially ended, he has been. . . distant. I don’t know, stressed doesn’t seem like quite the right word. For weeks now, he has been closed off. We still spend every free moment we can together, but when he is with me, he seems preoccupied. Even the nights we spend in each other’s arms, it’s as if his head is elsewhere instead of with me in the moment. I have tried talking to him about it, but he insists he is just worried about the transition to the NHL, and our potentially having to navigate a long-distance relationship, depending on where I go to school.

Without a glance up from his screen, Finn interrupts my musings, not giving Bash a chance to respond. “You don’t need to learn to fight. You need to learn to protect yourself. You need Jonathan.” My brows furrow in confusion. I have no idea who he is talking about, but I trust Finn; he’s never failed me yet.