Page 117 of Vengeful Guard

I frown harder.

A thumping noise comes from down the hallway, and I head down to the gym, finding Paige punching the standing bag over and over.

She hasn’t wrapped her knuckles, and they’re red and cracked and bleeding.

“Princess.” I walk toward her, careful not to startle her.

She doesn’t look at me. She keeps punching the bag, in the same spot, again and again, just like I taught her.

My heart aches for her. I know how hard tonight’s dinner was and how hard it was at the hospital.

“Paige, sweetheart, your knuckles. Stop.” I grab her around the waist, tugging her backward.

She yelps and fights me with all she’s got, but I keep her in my arms, finally turning her around to face me.

“It’s okay to break down, princess.”

“I—I can’t.” She shakes her head. “I can’t because I don’t know if I can pull myself back together after. If I’ll be able to keep going if I do.”

“I’ll help you. I won’t let you stay broken. I promise.”

She fights me until I let her go, and she goes to start wrapping her bloody knuckles.

I want to tell her it’s a bit too late for that, but she seems determined not to stop and think.

“If you want to help me, spar with me,” she shoots back, and I run a hand through my hair.

She needs this, needs some kind of release, and it’s something I understand so deeply it hurts. This was how I’d worked through when my sister died, and I can’t deny her the same need to let things go. The same way to let things go.

“All right, fine. Get on the mat.”

She bounces over to the mat, holding her stance just the way I taught her.

I motion for her to come at me, and she does.

I avoid the first couple of throws. Sloppy, instinctual, primal.

She’s not thinking, she just wants to hit something, to let it all go.

I let her throw in one punch, before dodging the following blows as well.

I dance in place, trying to urge her to do the same, to remember where she is, who she is.

Her eyes are slits aimed at me. Except I think she doesn’t even realize who’s in front of her. I wonder what or who she’s seeing. Who or what she’s facing.

Grunting, she tackles me around the waist with her legs.

Stumbling, I try to regain my balance, but I can’t without hurting her, and I’m bringing her down with me.

I go down on my back.

She’s growling as she straddles my waist, punching me around the ribs.

Knowing she needs this, I let her have a few throws, but she has gotten better, stronger, and I’m feeling every single hit.

When one of her blows hits me just right, I let out a groan and flip her over, pinning her wrists above her head.

She wiggles in my grasp.

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